328 THE SMUGGLER. 



It is, indeed, conscience that makes cowards of us all, and 

 had the fair girl's conversation with her new friend been on 

 any other subject than that to which it related, had it been 

 about love, marriage, arms, or divinity, she would have found 

 no difficulty in parrying her aunt's observations, however mal- 

 appropos they might have been. At present, however, she 

 was embarrassed by doubts of the propriety of what she was 

 doing, more especially as she felt sure that her father would 

 be inquisitive and suspicious, if the tale the maid had told was 

 true. Acting, however, as she not unfrequently did, in any 

 difficulty, she met Mrs. Barbara's inuendoes at once, replying, 

 " Indeed I shall not say anything about it to any one, my dear 

 aunt. I will manage some matters for myself; and the only 

 thing I shall repeat is Sir Edward's last dying speech, which 

 was to the effect, that he feared he might be detained till after 

 our dinner hour, but would be back as soon as ever he could, 

 and trusted my father would not wait." 



"Do you know where he is gone, and why?" asked Sir 

 Eobert Croyland, in a much quieter tone than she expected. 

 But poor Zara was still puzzled for an answer; and, as her 

 only resource, she replied vaguely, " Something about some of 

 the smugglers, I believe." 



" Then had he any message or intelligence brought him ?" 

 inquired Sir Robert Croyland. 



" I do not know. Oh ! yes, I believe he had," replied his 

 daughter, in a hesitating tone and with a cheek that was be- 

 ginning to grow red. " He spoke with one of the soldiers at 

 the corner of the road, I know ; and, oh I yes, I saw a man 

 ride up with a letter." 



"That was after he was gone," observed Mrs. Barbara; but 

 Sir Robert paid little attention, and, ringing, ordered dinner to 

 be served. Could we see into the breasts of others, we should 

 often save ourselves a great deal of unnecessary anxiety. 

 Zara forgot that her father was not as well aware that Sir 

 Edward Digby was Lay ton's dearest friend, as she was ; but, 

 in truth, all that he concluded, either from the pertinent re- 

 marks of Mrs. Barbara or from Zara's embarrassment, was, 

 that the young baronet had been making a little love to his 

 daughter, which, to say sooth, was a consummation that Sir 

 Robert Croyland was not a little inclined to see. 



In about a quarter of an hour more, the dinner was an- 



