THE SMUGGLER. 83 



path about a couple of hundred yards, he was led directly 

 into a good, broad, sandy road, in which he thought it would 

 be impossible to go astray. A few clouds that passed over 

 the sky from time to time cast their fitful and fanciful shadows 

 upon the way; the trees waved on either hand; and, with a 

 small border of green turf, the yellow path pursued its course 

 through the wood, forming a fine but pleasant contrast in 

 colour with the verdure of all the other things around. As 

 he went on, too, the sky overhead, and the shades amongst 

 the trees, began to assume a rosy hue as the day declined 

 farther and farther; and the busy little squirrels, as numerous 

 as mice, were seen running here and there up the trees and 

 along the branches, with their bright black eyes staring at the 

 stranger with a saucy activity very little mingled with fear. 

 The young baronet was fond of such scenes, and fond of the 

 somewhat grave musing which they very naturally inspire; 

 and he therefore went on, alternately pondering and admiring, 

 and very well contented with his walk, whether he met with 

 his fair friends or not. Sir Edward, indeed, would not allow 

 himself to fancy that he was by any means very anxious for 

 Zara's company, or Miss Croyland's either; for he was not in 

 the slightest hurry either to fall in love or to acknowledge it 

 to himself even if he were. With regard to Edith, indeed, 

 he felt himself in no possible danger; for had he continued to 

 think her, as he had done at first, more beautiful than her 

 sister, which by this time he did not, he was still guarded *in 

 her case by feelings, which, to a man of his character, were 

 as a triple shield of brass, or anything a great deal stronger. 



He walked on, however, and he walked on; not, indeed, 

 with a very slow pace, but with none of the eager hurry of 

 youth after beauty ; till at length, when he had proceeded for 

 about half an hour, he saw cultivated fields and hedgerows at 

 the end of the road he was pursuing, and soon after came to 

 the open country, without meeting with the slightest trace of 

 Sir Robert Croyland's daughters. 



On the right hand, as he issued out of the wood, there was 

 a small but very neat and picturesque cottage, with its little 

 kitchen-garden and its flower-garden, its wild roses, and its 

 vine. 



" I have certainly missed them," said Sir Edward Digby to 

 himself, " and I ought to make the best use of my time, for it 



