it became a case of conscience, which puzzled the poor girl
much, whether she ought or ought not to have promised not to mention
what had occurred in the park. She loved no concealment, and nothing
would have induced her to tell a falsehood; but she knew that if she
mentioned the facts, especially while the young man whom she had seen
crossing the park with a gun lay wounded at the cottage, great evil
might have resulted; and though she somewhat reproached herself for
rashly giving her word, she would not break it when given.

As to seeing him again, however--as to visiting him at the cottage, even
to inquire after his health, when he had refused all aid from her
father's house, that was an act she never dreamed of. His last words,
indeed, had puzzled her; and there was something in his face, too, which
set her fancy wandering. It was not exactly what she liked; but yet
there was a resemblance, she thought, to some one she knew and was
attached to. It could not be to her father, she said to herself, and yet
her father's face recurred to her mind more frequently than any other
when she thought of that of the young man she had seen; and from that
fact a sort of prepossession in the youth's favor took possession of
her, making her long to know who he really was.

For some days Emily did not go near the cottage, but at length she
ventured on the road which passed it--not without a hope, indeed, that
she might meet one of the old people who tenanted it, and have an
opportunity of inquiring after his health--but certainly not, as some
good-natured reader may suppose, with any expectation of seeing him
herself. As she approached, however, she perceived him sitting on a
bench at the cottage-door, and, by a natural impulse, she turned at once
into another path, which led back by a way nearly as short to the hall.
The young man instantly rose, and followed her, addressing her by name,
in a voice still weak, in truth, but too loud for her not to hear, or to
affect not to hear.

She paused, rather provoked than otherwise, and slightly inclined her
head, while the young man approached, with every appearance of respect,
and thanked her for the assistance she had rendered him.

He had had his lesson in the mean time, and he played his part not
amiss. All coarse swagger, all vulgar assumption was gone from his
manner; and referring himself to some words he had spoken when last they
had met, he said: "Pardon me, Miss Hastings, for w