Vaga coming up, after having finished her affair with the donkey, observed the look, and it called forth a fresh display of that persiflage she so delighted in. Hitherto Sabrina had the best of it. Her turn now, and she took advantage of it, saying,-- "Why, sister Sab, you seem to have forgotten all about what you came here for! You're not looking at the Severn at all! Your glances are directed too low for it. And as to the glorious sunset you spoke of, that's going on behind you! Something on the road over yonder seems to be the attraction; though I can see nothing but the road itself." "Nor I," said Sabrina, a little confused, with just the slightest spot of red again showing on her cheeks. Enough, though, to catch the eye of her suspicious sister, who archly observed,-- "Rather strange, your gazing so earnestly at it, then?" "Well, yes; I suppose it is." "But not if you're expecting to see some one upon it." Sabrina started, the red on her cheeks becoming more pronounced; but she said nothing, since now her secret was discovered, or on the eve of discovery. Vaga's next words left her no longer in doubt. "Who is he, sister?" she asked with a sly look, and a laugh. "Who is who?" "He you expect to see come riding down yonder road. I take it he'll be on horseback?" "Vaga! you're a very inquisitive creature." "Have I not some right, after being dragged all the way hither, when I wanted to go home? If you called me a _hungry_ creature 'twould be nearer the truth. Jesting apart, I am that--quite famished; so weak I must seek support from a tree." And with a mock stagger, she brought up against the trunk of a hawthorn that grew near. Sabrina could not resist laughing too, though still keeping her eyes on the uphill road. It seemed as though she could not take her eyes off it. But the other quickly recovering strength, and more naturally than she had affected feebleness, once more returned to the attack, saying,-- "Sister mine; it's no use you're trying to hoodwink me. You forget that by accident I saw a letter that lately came to Hollymead--at least its superscription. Equally oblivious you appear to be, that the handwriting of a certain gentleman is quite familiar to me, having seen many other letters from the same to father. So, putting that and that together, I've not the slightest doubt that the one of last week, addressed to your sweet self, informed you that on a certain day, hour, afternoon, Sir Richard Walwyn would enter the Forest of Dean by the Drybrook Road on his way to--" "Vaga, you're a very demon!" "Which means I've read your secret aright. So you may as well make confession of it." "I won't; and just to punish you for prying. Curiosity ungratified will be to you very torture, as I know." "Oh, well! keep it close; it don't signify a bit. One has little care to be told what one knows without telling. If Sir Richard should come to Hollymead, why then six and six make a dozen, don't they?"