THE SMUGGLER. 357 



one so fair and so excellent, one possessing so much bright- 

 ness, in spite of a few little spots, it was natural that his tone 

 should become tenderer every minute. At length, however, 

 she stopped him, saying, " I am very anxious just now. I 

 fear there is some mischief going on there, which we cannot 

 prevent, and may never know. Edith's absence is certainly 

 very strange ; and I fear they may foil us yet." 



In a minute or two after, Mrs. Barbara Croyland returned, 

 but in such a flutter that she spoilt her embroidery, which she 

 snatched up to cover her agitation, dropped her finest scissors 

 and broke the point off, and finally ran the needle into her 

 finger, which, thereupon, spotted the silk with blood. She 

 gave no explanation, indeed of all this emotion, but looked 

 several times at Zara, with a meaning glance; and when, at 

 length, Sir Robert Croyland entered the drawing-room, his 

 whole air and manner did not tend to remove from his 

 daughter's mind the apprehension which his sister's demeanour 

 had cast over it. 



There is a general tone in every landscape which it never 

 entirely loses; yet how infinite are the varieties which sun- 

 shine, and cloud, and storm, and morning, evening, and noon, 

 bring upon it ; and thus with the expression and conduct of 

 every man, although they retain certain distinctive character- 

 istics, yet innumerable are the varieties produced by the moods, 

 the passions, and the emotions of the mind. Sir Robert 

 Croyland was no longer irritably thoughtful; but he was 

 stern, gloomy, melancholy. He strove to converse, indeed; 

 but the effort was so apparent, the pain it gave him so evident, 

 that Sir Edward Digby felt, or fancied, that his presence was 

 a restraint. He had too much tact, however, to show that he 

 imagined such to be the case; and he only resolved to retire 

 to his own room as soon as he decently could. He was wrong 

 in his supposition, indeed, that his host might wish to commu- 

 nicate something privately to Zara, or to Mrs. Barbara. Sir 

 Robert had nothing to tell ; and therefore the presence of Sir 

 Edward Digby was rather agreeable to him than not, as 

 shielding him from inquiries, which it might not have suited 

 him to answer. He would have talked if he could, and would 

 have done his best to make his house agreeable to his young 

 guest; but his thoughts still turned, with all the bitterness of 

 (smothered anger, to the indignity he had sufferec!, and he 



