THE SMUGGLER. 67 



to him, was the very last upon the face of the earth which he 

 coveted. Every man has his vanity, and it is an imp that 

 takes an infinite variety of different forms, frequently the most 

 hideous and the most absurd. Now Mr. Croyland's vanity 

 lay in his oddity and acerbity. There was nothing on earth 

 which he considered so foolish as good-nature, and he was 

 heartily ashamed of the large portion with which Heaven had 

 endowed him. 



"la good soul!" he exclaimed. " Let me tell you, Bab, 

 you are very much mistaken in that, as in every other thing 

 you say or do. I am nothing more nor less than a very cross, 

 ill-tempered old man ; and you know it quite well, if you 

 wouldn't be a hypocrite." 



" Well, I do believe you are," said the lady, with her own 

 particular vanity mortified into a state of irritation, " and the 

 only way is to let you alone." 



While this conversation had been passing between brother 

 and sister, Sir Edward Digby, taking advantage of the position 

 in which they stood, arid which masked his own operations 

 from the rest of the party, bent down to speak a few words 

 to Edith, who, whatever they were, looked up with a smile, 

 faint and thoughtful indeed, but still expressing as much 

 cheerfulness as her countenance ever showed. The topic 

 which he spoke upon might be common-place, but what he 

 said was said with grace, and had a degree of originality in 

 it, mingled with courtliness and propriety of expression, which 

 at once awakened attention and repaid it. It was not strong 

 beer, it was not strong spirit; but it was like some delicate 

 kind of wine, which has more power than the fineness of the 

 flavour suffers to be apparent at the first taste. 



Their conversation was not long, however; for by the time 

 that the young gentleman and lady had exchanged a few 

 sentences, and Mr. Croyland had finished his discussion with 

 his sister, the name of Mr. Radford was announced; and Sir 

 Edward Digby turned quickly round to examine the appear- 

 ance of the new comer. As he did so, however, his eye fell 

 for a moment upon the countenance of Edith Croyland, and he 

 thought he remarked an expression of anxiety not unmingled 

 with pain, till the door closed after admitting a single figure, 

 when a look of relief brightened her face, and she gave a glance 

 across the room to her sister. The younger girl instantly rose, 



