The lady and her companion rode on for a few moments in silence; but, at length; Smeaton said, bending his head and speaking low,
"Do you comprehend what you have seen?"
She shook her head gravely, and then replied--
"It is like seeing the picture of a city we never visited. There are houses, and streets, and public places; but, unless we have a guide or a map, we know not what they are. The monuments I have already seen; the names upon them I have heard before; but know not to whom or by whom they were erected."
Smeaton paused, and gazed at her earnestly, as if he hesitated to proceed.
"Dear lady," he said, at length. "I needs must trust you, or rather must trust to your own discretion; for it is yourself and your future fate which is to be influenced by your prudence or imprudence. Let me warn you, however, that your own happiness and the possibility of your obtaining farther information depend upon your concealing from every one that you have received any information at all; but I believe you have a spirit of sufficient power, Emmeline, to govern your words, and even looks, when you know that so much is at stake."
He called her Emmeline for the first time--perhaps before the length of their acquaintance justified it; but it sounded very pleasant to her ear; and, indeed, that day's ride, and the matters of deep interest which had been discussed between them, had drawn them closer to each other than if they had been acquainted many months.
"I will be prudent and careful, indeed," she replied. "I should ill repay your kindness, if I neglected your warning for a moment."
"Well, then," replied Smeaton, "you have seen just now the monument of your ancestor who fell at Naseby; that of his son, your grandfather, who died the day after the battle of the Boyne; and a tablet to the memory of your grandfather's brother, the father of Sir John Newark--"
"And my father?" interrupted Emmeline--"my father?"