"Oh, we all dissemble more than we are aware," he said. "Here, I never thought to deceive my father in anything; and yet, for some reason--either from something in himself or in me--I never can tell him all I think. I never can turn my heart inside out before him, as I can with you. When I should most wish to say all, and make him understand everything that is going on inside of me, some devil, I think it is, comes and stops me, and makes me go rambling away with vague answers about nothing at all, which he may take one way or another, just as he likes. But what I mean is, not that we should just exactly dissemble; for, as you love me well, and I love you well, it is not dissembling to seem to do so. I would only have you look happy when I am with you, and I'll try to make you so too; for I'll talk to you of Smeaton, and we'll plan plans and plot plots about him, and all sorts of pleasant things." "There can be no harm in that, Richard," replied Emmeline, in a graver tone than her young cousin had expected; for he was trying, though hardly knowing it, to win her mind away from all heavy thoughts. But, to say sooth, Emmeline was somewhat puzzled how to act towards him. There was so much candour, so much frank kindness, in his whole conduct, that her heart smote her for not telling him all she knew and all she intended. She remembered, however, that the secrets in her heart were not altogether her own--that she had only a divided right over them; and, though it cost her some pain, she was silent. Richard went on talking with her even after he heard the sounds which accompanied his father's return; and, when he left her and went down the stairs, although he was inclined to be more thoughtful than perhaps he had ever felt in his life, he assumed a gay and joyous look. "Well, Dick," said his father, when he met him; "where have you been all this time?" "I have been sitting with Emmeline ever since I came back," replied the lad; "and we have been talking of all sorts of things. She is a dear girl indeed." "But what is the matter with your forehead?" said his father. "Did your horse fall?" "Oh, no." cried Richard. "It was that brute of an eagle. I was tired of seeing him sitting moping on his perch; so I went to unchain him, and he pecked me on the head." "Why, you foolish boy, you have not set him free?" exclaimed Sir John. "Oh, yes, I have," answered Richard; "and he pecked me for my pains. But Emmeline did not peck me, whatever I said to her. So I care not. No chance of my being hen-pecked, father." And, with a gay laugh, he turned away.