302 THE SMUGGLER. 



Mrs. Barbara was a very lenient and gentle-minded person, 

 and thought it quite right that any two human beings, who 

 were likely to fall in love with each other, should have every 

 opportunity of doing so to their hearts' content. But it so 

 happened, from a sort of fatality which hung over all her 

 plans, that whenever she interfered with anything, which, in- 

 deed, she always did with everything she could lay her hands 

 upon, the result was sure to be directly the contrary to that 

 which she intended. It might be, indeed, that she did not 

 always manage matters quite judiciously; that she acted with- 

 out considering all the circumstances of the case; and un- 

 doubtedly it would have been quite as well if she had not 

 acted at all when she was not asked. 



In the present instance, when she had remained in the 

 drawing-room with her niece and Sir Edward for near half 

 an hour after her brother had departed, it just struck her that 

 they might wish to be alone together; for she had made up 

 her mind by this time that the young officer's visit was to end 

 in a love affair; and, as the very best means of accomplishing 

 the desired object, instead of going to speak with the house- 

 keeper, or to give orders to the dairy-maid, or to talk to the 

 steward, as any other prudent, respectable, and well-arranged 

 aunt would have done, she said to her niece, as if a sudden 

 thought had occurred to her, " I don't think Sir Edward Digby 

 has ever seen the library. Zara, my dear, you had better 

 show it to him. There are some very curious books there, 

 and the manuscript in vellum, with all the kingV heads 

 painted." 



Zara felt that it was rather a coarse piece of work which 

 her aunt had just turned out of hand; and being a little too 

 much susceptible of ridicule, she did not like to have anything 

 to do with it, although to say the truth, she was very anxious 

 herself for the few minutes that Mrs. Barbara was inclined to 

 give her. 



" Oh I I dare say, my dear aunt, 5 ' she replied, " Sir Edward 

 Digby does not care anything about old books. I don't be- 

 lieve they have been opened for these fifty years." 



" The greater the treasure, Miss Croyland," answered the 

 young officer. " I can assure you nothing delights me more 

 than an old library; so I think I shall go and find it out my- 

 self, if you are not disposed to show it to me." 



