He listened for a moment; but all was silent, and then, opening the door of his room, he descended again to the saloon. He had hardly been there a moment when Emmeline joined him, with a bright frank smile upon her face, saying, as she entered-- "You have been singing--and one of my dear old nursery songs." "You left it incomplete," replied Smeaton; "and, as it is one of my dear old nursery songs too, I felt myself called upon for its honour to add the last stanza--at least, the last that I remember; for I believe there are several more." "Oh, yes," replied Emmeline. "I will sing them all to you some evening, though Sir John Newark is not very fond of music. Are you?" "I do not know what life would be without it," replied Smeaton. "Mine, I know, would have lost many of its few happy hours." "And does your wife like music? And does she sing often? And has she a good voice?" exclaimed Emmeline, putting question upon question before her companion could answer. But a gay smile upon Smeaton's lips stopped her at length. "My wife, dear lady!" he said, half laughing. "My wife! I hope she will sing, if I am ever fortunate enough to have one; but, up to the present hour, certainly, I have no wife." Emmeline looked astonished, almost frightened; and, for a moment, she stood, gazing in his face in silence, and then said, in a slow and hesitating manner-- "Sir John Newark told me you had a wife." "Did he, indeed?" asked Smeaton, with a smile, not unmingled with a look of astonishment; but, the moment after, he added--"Now, I remember, there was conversation between us regarding Lady Eskdale. He must have changed my mother into my wife, it seems, which is contrary, dear lady, to the law of all lands. He pressed the subject upon me, I recollect; and I gave him very short answers, not thinking fit to enter upon my own or my mother's affairs with him. I imagined that he wished to discover what we intended to do with Keanton; but he has led himself into a very great mistake; for I have no wife, I can assure you, dear lady."