"To be sure I had," replied the lad. "In the first place, I know that I am not worthy of you, that I am not fit for you. In the next place, I know that you would not like it; that you love another; and, that, if you were driven to marry me, you would always be thinking of him, and loving him, and not me. I should be your jailor, and not your husband, and I should be wretched too; for I should be always flying after your thoughts, like a sparrow-hawk after a lark, to see if you were not thinking of your lover all the time. You know you love him, Emmy. You love him very well, very dearly, and I do not wonder at you." The rosy colour that spread over her face, and neck, and forehead would have been sufficient answer; but she said, in a low though distinct tone-- "I do." There was a pause, of a moment or two, and then Richard said-- "What a fool I should be, Emmeline--a greater fool than I am, and that is bad enough--if I suffered my wits to be set wool-gathering by any nonsense about ever marrying you, or putting Smeaton out of your head. But still, Emmy," he continued, in a tender tone, "you will love me after a sort--as you always have--as a kind friend--as a sister." "Indeed I will, Richard," exclaimed Emmeline, earnestly, "and love you all the better for your conduct this day. Now I know what you mean by setting the eagle free; you would fain set Smeaton free of all difficulties, if you could." "No, dear Emmy," pursued Richard; "I did not exactly mean that. Indeed I do not clearly know that I meant anything; but, as I rode homeward, and thought how happy you might be if people left you to do just what you liked, I wished to help you to do so--to make you quite free; and then, when saw the poor eagle in the court, I thought how happy he would be if he could soar away in the skies again at his own pleasure, and then the thought came across me of what my father would say if I unchained the bird's leg, and I answered myself, that I had a right--that the bird was mine--that he had been given to me, and so had you; and, therefore, I determined to set you both free. I do not know how it was; but, somehow, there seemed a likeness between your fate and his; though when he fluttered his wings, and struck at me, as I unchained him, I said to myself, Emmeline will know better, and so she does." "Indeed she does, Richard," replied Emmeline; "and she will never mistake you for an enemy." "But do you know, Emmeline," continued her cousin, "that I have a strange notion it would be better for us both to dissemble a little? for I fancy my father has some suspicion about you and Smeaton." "I fear I am a bad dissembler," returned Emmeline, incautiously. "I cannot but dread that Sir John sees I have been dissembling with him lately." Richard, however, did not ask in what respect, but rambled on as usual.