“Oh, dear Laura,” replied Wilton, “those services have been very small ones, and not worthy of your naming.  I certainly did strive to conceal my love,” he continued; “but I believe that, let us struggle against our feelings as we will, there are always some signs and tokens which show to the eyes of those we love—­if there be any sympathy between their hearts and ours—­that which is passing in regard to themselves within the most secret places of our bosom.  There is a cabalistic language in love, Laura—­unknown to any but those who really do love, but learnt in a moment, when the mighty secret is communicated to our hearts.  We speak it to each other without knowing it, dear Laura, and we are understood, without an effort, if there be sympathy between us.”

In such conversation wore the night away, as the carriage wended slowly onward.  Two changes of horses were required to carry Laura and her lover back to the metropolis, and bells had to be rung, ostlers and postilions wakened, horses brought slowly forth, and many another tedious process to be gone through, which had brought the night nearly to a close, before the carriage crossed the wide extent of Blackheath, and passed through a small part of the town of Greenwich, which had then never dreamt of the ambitious project that it has since achieved, of climbing up that long and heavy hill.

Wilton and Laura had sufficient matter for conversation during the whole way:  for when they had said all that could be said of the present and the past, there still remained the future to be considered; and Laura entreated her lover by no precipitate eagerness to call down upon them opposition, which, if it showed itself of a vehement kind at first, might only strengthen, instead of diminishing with time.  She besought him to let everything proceed as it had hitherto done, till his own fate was fully ascertained, and any doubt of his birth and station in society was entirely removed.

“Till that is the case,” she said, “to make any display of our feelings towards each other might only bring great pain upon us both.  My father might require me not to see you, might positively forbid our thinking of each other; whereas, were all difficulties on that one point removed, he might only express a regret that fortune had not been more favourable to you, or require a delay, to make him certain of our sincere and permanent attachment.  After that point is made clear, let us be open as the day with him.  In the meanwhile, he must receive you as a friend who has rendered him the greatest and deepest of services; and I shall ever receive you, Wilton, I need not tell you, as the only dear and valued friend that I possess.”

“But suppose, dear Laura,” said Wilton, “suppose I were to see you pressed to marry some one else; suppose I were to see some suitor in every respect qualified to hope for and expect your hand—­”

“You do not doubt me, Wilton?” said Lady Laura.