All things considered, the meal passed over with less embarrassment than might have been expected from a _tête à tête_ between two novices like us, who had parted in the unpromising manner we had done the night before. Although timid as one unacquainted with the world will naturally be when she is first addressed by a stranger, Isidora’s was the diffidence of maiden modesty rather than _mauvais honte_; while I, appertaining to that numerous class intituled “bashful Irishmen,” mustered my small stock of assurance, as I whispered to myself old Chapman’s lines-- “Ah! crrared sheep’s-head, hast thou liv’d thus long, And dar’st not look a woman in the face?” Certain it is, that, after having duly ascertained that my mare and baggage had passed through the hands of the Philistines uninjured, I returned gallantly to the drawing-room. There I behaved as a soldier of promise should do; ending by proposing a walk to the fair hostess, which invitation on her part was gracefully accepted. The day had improved considerably; and we strolled arm-in-arm to the brow of a small hill, which, rising boldly above the copse that encircled it, commanded a splendid view of a spacious lake, with woodlands in the foreground and mountains in the distance. This was a favourite spot, and frequently, as my companion told me, visited by herself and Mr. Hartley. We placed ourselves on a rustic bench under the shading of a fine old elm; and, while I could not but admire the romantic scenery that everywhere met the eye, I marvelled that one who had mingled in the world, and had ample means to do so--as all about his domicile inferred--should seclude the young beauty beside me in a wilderness, fitted for men only of lawless habits and broken fortunes. “Do you not, at times, find this place solitary, Miss Hartley?” I asked, in a careless tone. “It is retired, certainly; but I have been accustomed from my childhood to retirement,” she replied. “Yes, but one who has been in the world--” “Would, no doubt, find this mansion disagreeable. I have been secluded from infancy.” “Indeed!” “For fifteen years I never set my foot beyond the convent garden.” “Were you intended for a _religieuse?_” “I believe not.” “Why, then, seclude you from the world?” “The cloister is surely the best asylum for those who need protection.” “You lost your mother when young?” To judge by its effect on my fair companion, the allusion was particularly unfortunate. The cheek, “but feebly touched with red” just now, flushed, and told that I had committed a fresh indiscretion. By a sudden impulse I seized her hand:-- “Have I again offended? Alas, Miss Hartley, I am inexcusable! But, as it was perfectly unintentional, may I once more entreat forgiveness?” [Illustration: 0071] “For what?” exclaimed the deep voice of my host, as, to our mutual astonishment and dismay, he stepped from the thicket. In confusion, I dropped his daughter’s hand.