THE SMUGGLER. 143 



of autumn, seemed to make no difference, for the shades were 

 always blue, dull and heavy, mingling with the thin filmy mist 

 that rose up from the plashy ground on either side of the road. 



A faint sort of shudder came over Sir Robert Croyland, 

 probably from the damp air; and he urged his horse rapidly 

 down the hill without any consideration for the beast's knees. 

 He was spurring on towards the other side, as if eager to get 

 out of it, when a voice was heard from amongst the trees, ex- 

 claiming, in a sad and melancholy tone. "Robert Croyland! 

 Robert Croyland! what look you for here?" 



The baronet turned on his saddle with a look of terror and 

 anguish ; but, instead of stopping, he dug his spurs into the 

 horse's sides, and galloped up the opposite slope. As if irre- 

 sistibly impelled to look at that which he dreaded, he gazed 

 round twice as he ascended, and each time beheld, standing in 

 the middle of the road, the same figure, wrapped in a large 

 dark cloak, which he had seen when first the voice caught his 

 ear. Each time he averted his eyes in an instant, and spurred 

 on more furiously than ever. His accelerated pace soon car- 

 ried him to the top of the hill, where he could see over the 

 trees; and in about a quarter of an hour he reached Halden, 

 when he began to check his horse, and reasoned with himself 

 on his own sensations. There was a great struggle in his 

 mind; but ere he arrived at Harbourne House he had 

 gained sufficient mastery over himself to say, "What a strange 

 thing imagination is 1" 



CHAPTER XIY. 



WHAT a varying thing is the stream of life! How it sparkles 

 and glitters! Now it bounds along its pebbly bed, sometimes 

 in sunshine, and sometimes in shade; sometimes sporting 

 round all things, as if its essence were merriment and bright- 

 ness ; sometimes flowing solemnly on, as if it were derived from 

 Lethe itself. Now it runs like a liquid diamond along the 

 meadow; now it plunges in fume and fury over the rock; now 

 it is clear and limpid, as youth and innocence can make it ; 

 now it is heavy and turbid, with the varying streams of 



