Beauchamp felt that he was listened to, that he pleased, that he might be beloved. He had seen nothing coquettish about Isabella; he had heard a high character of her; he had been told by one, who had known her from childhood, that she seemed lighter than she really was; that if there was any thing assumed, it was the gaiety; that all the more profound things, that occasionally appeared in her character, might be trusted and relied upon; and that the seemingly high spirits were but as the breeze, that ruffles the tree tops without touching the depth of the forest. He felt sure, therefore, that she would not sport with him, if she believed he was in earnest, and he took care, that upon that subject she should have little doubt. Thus passed away their walk; and though Mary Clifford would have given a great deal, had she dared to venture, to make Mr. Beauchamp a sharer in the secret of Sir John Slingsby's affairs, and asked the advice and assistance of one who had evidently gained much experience of the world, without being spoiled by the world, yet she knew not how to begin; a feeling of timidity came over her that stopped her; and the course of the conversation--its sparkling rapidity at some times, its deep and intense feelings at others--gave no opportunity of introducing a subject entirely discordant, without forcing it in a manner both harsh and discourteous. She determined, therefore, as they approached the river, to leave the matter to Captain Hayward, whose frank straightforwardness, she thought, would soon either find or make an opportunity. When they reached the bank, however, Captain Hayward was not to be seen; but Isabella pointed to an elbow of the wood, which concealed a turn in the stream, saying that he was most likely higher up, and accordingly they walked on. As they were passing through the little path that cut through an angle of the woodland, they heard suddenly a loud exclamation, then a very ungentlemanly oath, and the next moment, as they issued forth, they saw Ned Hayward grappling with a tall, powerful man, in what may be called a semi-military dress. The two were, apparently, well matched, though few, either in strength, activity, or skill, could match our friend. But the stranger, whoever he was, practised a trick, which he thought likely to free himself from his adversary, even at the risk of his own life. He struggled hard, and in the struggle drew towards the brink. Ned Hayward made a violent effort to resist the impulse, and most likely would have been successful; for, if any thing, he was the stronger man of the two. But a part of the green turf gave way, undermined by the course of the current, and both plunged in together into a deep pool, and disappeared for an instant in the water. CHAPTER XX.