"Was it Sir John Newark?" asked Smeaton, while a cloud came over his brow. "If so, a full explanation must come before it is desirable."
"I think not," replied Emmeline. "The shadow first caught my eye; and, before could see distinctly, the figure was gone. Nevertheless, I think it was that of Richard."
Smeaton mused for a moment, and then said.
"Of course he will tell his father what he may have seen and overheard, and we must take our determination accordingly, Emmeline."
"I do not think he will," said Emmeline, eagerly; but she paused at the next sentence, adding, more slowly, as if not knowing well how to express what she meant without some violation of propriety: "Very few persons here, I believe, are inclined to tell my guardian anything unless he asks. Why it is, I am sure I do not know, for he is very kind in most things; yet they seem to fear him, and do not like to say what they think, lest they should make mischief. Some of the servants, indeed, but not many even of them, report to him all that passes under their eyes; but I have never dared to speak freely with him upon any thing; and, I believe, Richard feels the same. Hark! there is his foot coming through the great hall. It must have been he who was looking through the window. Poor boy! he would never think of repeating anything which he thought could pain me; but I ought not to ask him to conceal any thing from his father."
"Certainly not," replied Smeaton, frankly. "Let things take their course; only ascertain as soon as possible what he really does do; and, in the mean time, dear Emmeline, let me beseech you to cast away all restraint towards me. It is needful to you and to your own future fate now, and I feel it is needful to me and my happiness, that you should give me every opportunity of speaking to you, consulting with you, advising you in private. Though I, perhaps, must find the opportunities, you must aid me to take advantage of them. Much must be decided within the next two or three weeks, and upon what is decided all the future course of your life will depend--and mine also," he added, in a lower voice. "Ay, and of mine also."
Before she could reply, the latch of the door was raised, and Richard Newark entered the room, with a slow and thoughtful pace, very different from his light irregular walk. Emmeline drew a step back; but Smeaton remained exactly where he was, without the slightest change of look or manner, while the boy advanced into the room, humming to himself the snatch of some old song, as if wrapped up in his own thoughts, and hardly conscious that anybody was there.
"Well, Richard," said Smeaton, "where have you been wandering?"
"I have been upon the terrace for the last five minutes," replied the lad, simply.
"That I know," rejoined Smeaton. "We saw your shadow on the floor."