The next moment they turned up to the house of old Mr. Croyland; and while the servants were holding the horses, and Zara, with the aid of Sir Edward Digby, dismounting at the door, they saw, to her horror and consternation, a large, yellow coach coming down the hill towards the house, which she instantly recognised as her father's family vehicle. "My aunt, my aunt, upon my life!" exclaimed Zara, with a rueful shake of the head. "I must speak one word with Edith before she comes; so forgive me, Sir Edward," and she darted into the house, asking a black servant, in a shawl turban and a long white gown, where Miss Croyland was to be found. "She out in de garden, pretty missy," replied the man; and Zara ran on through the vestibule before her. Unfortunately, vestibules will have doors communicating with them, which, I have often remarked, have an unhappy propensity to open when any one is anxious to pass by them quietly. It was so in the present instance: roused from a reverie by the ringing of the bell, and the sound of voices without, Mr. Croyland issued forth just at the moment when Zara's light foot was carrying her across to the garden; and catching her by the arm, he detained her, asking, "What brought you here, saucy girl, and whither are you running so fast?" Now Zara, though she was not good Mr. Zachary's favourite, had a very just appreciation of her uncle's character, and knew that the simple truth was less dangerous with him than with nine hundred and ninety-nine persons out of a thousand in civilized society. She, therefore, replied at once. "Don't stop me, uncle, there's a good man! I came to speak a few words to Edith, and wish to speak them before my aunt arrives." "What! plot and counterplot, I will warrant!" exclaimed Mr. Croyland, freeing her arm. "Well, get you gone, you graceless monkey! Ha! who have we here? Why, my young friend, the half-bottle man! Are you one of the plotters too, Sir Edward?" "Oh, I am a complete master in the art of domestic strategy, I assure you," answered the young officer, "and I propose--having heard what Miss Croyland has just said--that we take up a position across these glass doors, in order to favour her operations. We can then impede the advance of Mrs. Barbara's corps, by throwing forward the light-infantry of small-talk, assure her it is a most beautiful day, tell her that the view from the hill is lovely, and that the slight yellowness of September gives a fine warmth to the green foliage--with various other pieces of information which she does not desire--till the man[oe]uvres in our rear are complete." "Ah, you are a sad knave," replied Mr. Zachary Croyland, laughing, "and, I see, are quite ready to aid the young in bamboozling the old."