rgreen oaks, while beyond appeared a
dense mass of wood; and, through the scattered tufts of trees and thick
woodland at the extreme of the park ran several paths traced by deer,
and park-keepers, and country folk. Thus for various reasons some
guidance was needful to Marlow on his way, and for more reasons still he
was well pleased that the guide should be Emily Hastings. In the course
of their walk, amongst many other subjects they spoke of Mrs. Hazleton,
and Marlow expatiated warmly on her beauty, and grace, and kindness of
heart. How different was the effect of all this upon Emily Hastings from
that which his words in her praise had produced upon her of whom he
spoke! Emily's heart was free. Emily had no schemes, no plans, no
purposes. She knew not that there was one feeling in her bosom with
which praise of Mrs. Hazleton could ever jar. She loved her well. Such
eyes as hers are not practised in seeing into darkness. She had divined
the Italian singer--perhaps by instinct, perhaps by some distinct trait,
which occasionally will betray the most wily. But Mrs. Hazleton was a
fellow-woman--a woman of great brightness and many fine qualities.
Neither had she any superficial defects to indicate a baser metal or a
harder within. If she was not all gold, she was doubly gilt.

Emily praised her too, warmed with the theme; and eagerly exclaimed,
"She always seems to me like one of those dames of fairy tales, upon
whom some enchanter has bestowed a charm that no one can resist. It is
not her beauty; for I feel the same when I hear her voice and shut my
eyes. It is not her conversation; for I feel the same when I look at her
and she is silent. It seems to breathe from her presence like the odor
of a flower. It is the same when she is grave as when she is gay."

"Aye, and when she is melancholy," replied Marlow. "I never felt it more
powerfully than a few days ago when I spent an hour with her, and she
was not only grave but sad."

"Melancholy!" exclaimed Emily. "I never saw her so. Grave I have seen
her--thoughtful, silent--but never sad; and I do not know that she has
not seemed more charming to me in those grave, stiller moods, than in
more cheerful ones. Do you know that in looking at the beautiful statues
which I have seen in London, I have often thought they might lose half
their charm if they would move and speak? Thus, too, with Mrs. Hazleton;
she seems to me even more lovely, more full of grace, in perfect
stillness