378 THE SMUGGLER. 



Croyland, pausing on the words. "Are you sure of your own 

 firmness, Sir Edward Digby? If her father were to tell you 

 he is a ruined man; if he had many circumstances to relate 

 which might make it painful to you to connect yourself with 

 him; I do not say that it is so; but if it were?" 



"Rather an awkward position," thought Sir Edward 

 Digby; but his mind was fully made up, and he replied, with- 

 out hesitation, " It would still make no difference in my eyes, 

 Sir Eobert. I trust that none of these terrible things are the 

 case, for your sake; but I should despise myself if, with 

 enough of my own, I made fortune any ingredient in my con- 

 siderations, or if I could suffer my love for a being perfectly 

 amiable in herself, to be affected by the circumstances of her 

 family." 



Sir Robert Croyland wrung his hand hard; and Digby felt 

 that it was a sort of compact between them. " I fear I must 

 go," said Zara's father, " and therefore I cannot explain more ; 

 but it is absolutely necessary to tell you that all my unmort- 

 gaged property is entailed, and will go to my brother, that 

 Edith's fortune is totally independent, and that Zara has but 

 a tithe of what her sister has." 



" Still I say, as I said before," replied Digby, " that no- 

 thing of that kind can make any difference to me; nor will I 

 ever suffer any consideration, not affecting your daughter per- 

 sonally, *(and I beg this may be clearly understood,) to make 

 any change in my views. If I can win her love, her entire, 

 full, hearty love, with your sanction, she is mine. Have I 

 that sanction, Sir Robert?" 



" Fully, and from my heart," replied Sir Robert Croyland, 

 with the unwonted tears coursing over his cheeks. "Go to 

 her, my dear friend ; go to her, and make what progress you 

 may, with my best wishes. This is, indeed, a great happi- 

 ness, a great relief." 



Thus saying, he followed Sir Edward Digby out of the room, 

 and mounting a new horse which had been brought up from 

 his bailiff's, he rode slowly and thoughtfully away. As he 

 went, a faint hope, nay, it could hardly be called a hope, a 

 vague, wild fancy of explaining his whole situation to Sir 

 Edward Digby, and gaining the blessed relief of confidence 

 and counsel, arose in Sir Robert Croyland's breast. 



Alas I what an unhappy state has been brought about by 



