eye becomes more
eloquent when the tongue is silent. Every quiver of my fingers as
I turned over her music-sheets told her my secret. But she--she
was admirable. It is in these matters that women have a genius for
deception. If I had not penetrated her secret I should often have
thought that she forgot even that I was in the house. For hours she
would sit lost in a sweet melancholy, while I admired her pale face and
her curls in the lamp-light, and thrilled within me to think that I had
moved her so deeply. Then at last I would speak, and she would start
in her chair and stare at me with the most admirable pretence of being
surprised to find me in the room. Ah! how I longed to hurl myself
suddenly at her feet, to kiss her white hand, to assure her that I had
surprised her secret and that I would not abuse her confidence.

But no, I was not her equal, and I was under her roof as a castaway
enemy. My lips were sealed. I endeavoured to imitate her own wonderful
affectation of indifference, but, as you may think? I was eagerly alert
for any opportunity of serving her.

One morning Lady Jane had driven in her phaeton to Okehampton, and I
strolled along the road which led to that place in the hope that I might
meet her on her return.

It was the early winter, and banks of fading fern sloped down to the
winding road. It is a bleak place this Dartmoor, wild and rocky--a
country of wind and mist.

I felt as I walked that it is no wonder Englishmen should suffer from
the spleen. My own heart was heavy within me, and I sat upon a rock
by the wayside looking out on the dreary view with my thoughts full of
trouble and foreboding. Suddenly, however, as I glanced down the road,
I saw a sight which drove everything else from my mind, and caused me to
leap to my feet with a cry of astonishment and anger.

Down the curve of the road a phaeton was coming, the pony tearing along
at full gallop. Within was the very lady whom I had come to meet. She
lashed at the pony like one who endeavours to escape from some pressing
danger, glancing ever backward over her shoulder. The bend of the road
concealed from me what it was that had alarmed her, and I ran forward
not knowing what to expect.

The next instant I saw the pursuer, and my amazement was increased at
the sight. It was a gentleman in the red coat of an English fox-hunter,
mounted on a great grey horse. He was galloping as if in a race, and the
long stride of the splendid creature