off all strange
disguise, and promised that he would take no base advantage of their
openness. That something was perhaps his earnestness: one felt that he
was true in all he said or did or looked: that his words were but his
spoken feelings: his countenance a paper on which the heart at once
recorded its sensations. But let me not be mistaken. Do not let it be
supposed that when I say he was earnest, I mean that he was even grave.
Oh no! Earnestness can exist as well in the merriest as in the soberest
heart. One can be as earnest, as truthful, even as eager in joy or
sport, as in sorrow or sternness. But he was earnest in all things, and
it was this earnestness which probably found a way for him to so many
dissimilar hearts.

Emily knew not at all what it was doing with hers; but she felt that he
was one before whom she had no need to hide a thought: that if she were
gay, she might be gay in safety: that if she were inclined to muse, she
might muse on in peace.

Onward they walked, talking of every thing on earth but love. It was in
the thoughts of neither. Emily knew nothing about it: the tranquil
expanse of life had never for her been even rippled by the wing of
passion. Marlow might know more; but for the time he was lost in the
enjoyment of the moment. The little enemy might be carrying on the war
against the fortress of each unconscious bosom; but if so, it was by the
silent sap and mine, more potent far than the fierce assault or
thundering cannonade--at least in this sort of warfare.

They were wending their way towards a gate, at the very extreme limit of
the park, which opened upon a path leading by a much shorter way to Mr.
Marlow's own dwelling than the road he usually pursued. He had that
morning come to spend but an hour at the house of Sir Philip Hastings,
and he had an engagement at his own house at noon. He had spent two
hours instead of one with Emily and her mother, and therefore short
paths were preferable to long ones for his purpose, Emily had offered to
show him the way to the gate, and her company was sure to shorten the
road, though it might lengthen the time it took to travel.

Now in describing the park of Sir Philip Hastings, I have said that
there was a wide open space around the mansion; but I have also said,
that at some distance the trees gathered thick and sombre. Those nearest
the house gathered together in clumps, confusing the eye in a wilderness
of hawthorns, and bushes, and eve