The more he thought of what he had witnessed the evening before, and the more he considered the conversation which had just passed, the more satisfied he was that Jane Lambert was secretly betrothed to some one whom she dared not openly acknowledge as her lover. It was also plain, that, for some powerful reason, she had not confided the secret of this attachment even to Katharine, who was her bosom friend. He had comfort in remembering that nothing could be more respectful than the action of the stranger, when he kissed her hand at parting; and combining this with her own honest looks and proud though mysterious expressions, he was satisfied that, up to the present moment, she had taken no irrevocable step. There was, moreover, a warm strength in her last words, that assured him his friendly cautions were not thrown away, and that his motives were not misinterpreted. Upon the whole, he was justified, to his own mind, in what he had done; and his thoughts rested upon the character of Jane with greater interest than it had ever before excited in him. “How very generous and devoted would be the love of such a girl,” said he to himself: “what a proud spirit, what an affectionate heart, she has; what a fire there is in her fine eyes--I never before saw her look half so beautiful:--it is clear that they have been lighted up by love:--well, God grant that the man of her choice may be worthy of it!” He now sauntered slowly back to the house; and entering the library, found Cuthbert Noble sitting alone, and making extracts from an old folio volume. “You see,” said the young tutor, “I am making preparations for my departure from Milverton; but thus I may innocently suck honey from the hives of Sir Oliver, without robbing him, or those who come after him, of the smallest portion of such sweets as they contain.” “And what may be your study?” said Juxon, as he came up to the table, and looked over him. “A curious work,” replied Cuthbert, “containing the most remarkable pieces of John Huss, together with his life--imprinted in the last century at Augsburg.” “Friend Cuthbert, you are too constant in these serious and solemn studies and speculations.” “Master Juxon,” answered the pale youth, “they are every thing or they are nothing.” “Verily, for my part I think divine truth is as clear and glorious as the sun in the firmament; and to warm ourselves, and to walk in the light of it, is better wisdom than to read so many commentaries and discourses upon it.” “May we not sometimes lie indolently warming ourselves by a fire of our own, and fancy it as comfortable as basking in the sun? Walking in the light is no such easy matter; and in my case I find that the words, and, above all, the examples, of those who have earnestly contended for the truth, as so many outstretched and helping hands to assist me in climbing the hill.” “What hill?”