THE ARRANGEMENT.

29

"No."

"Why? they do not insult you."

"No; but they make a noise, and I like to be quiet to think of you."

The young philosopher was reconciled again to his scheme.

“Well, Alice, go back—I will take a cottage to-morrow, and you shall be my servant, and I will teach you to read and write, and say your prayers, and know that you have a Father above, who loves you better than he below. Meet me again at the same hour to-morrow. Why do you cry, Alice? why do you cry?"

"Because-because," sobbed the girl, "I am so hap-` py, and I shall live with you, and see you.",

"Go, child-go, child," said Maltravers, hastily; and he walked away with a quicker pulse than became his new character of master and preceptor.

He looked back, and saw the girl gazing at him-he waved his hand, and she moved on and followed him slowly back to the town.

Maltravers, though not an elder son, was the heir of affluent fortunes; he enjoyed a munificent allowance that sufficed for the whims of a youth who had learned in Germany none of the extravagant notions common to young Englishmen of similar birth and prospects. He was a spoiled child, with no law but his own fancy -his return home was not expected-there was nothing to prevent the indulgence of his new caprice. The next day he hired a cottage in the neighbourhood, which was one of those pretty thatched edifices, with verandahs and monthly roses, a conservatory and a lawn, which justify the English proverb about a cottage and love. It had been built by a mercantile bachelor for some fair Rosamond, and did credit to his taste. An old woman, let with the house, was to cook and do the work. Alice was but a nominal servant. Neither the old woman nor the landlord comprehended the platonic intentions of the young stranger. But he paid his rent in advance, and they were not particular. He, however, thought it prudent to conceal his name. It was one sure to be known in a town not very distant from the residence of his father, a wealthy and long-descended country gentleman. He adopted, therefore, the common name of Butler, which, indeed, belonged to one of his maternal connexions, and by that name alone was he

30

READING AND WRITING.

known both in the neighbourhood and to Alice. From her he would not have sought concealment; but, somehow or other, no occasion ever occurred for him to talk much to her of his parentage or birth.

CHAPTER V.

"Thought would destroy their paradise.”

GRAY.

MALTRAVERS found Alice as docile a pupil as any reasonable preceptor might have desired. But still, reading and writing-they are very uninteresting elements ! Had the groundwork been laid, it might have been delightful to raise the fairy palace of knowledge; but the digging the foundations and the constructing the cellars is weary labour. Perhaps he felt it so―for in a few days Alice was handed over to the very oldest and ugliest writing-master that the neighbouring town could afford. It is astonishing what care Maltravers took of her morals. The poor girl at first wept much at the exchange, but the grave remonstrances and solemn exhortations of Maltravers reconciled her at last, and she promised to work hard and pay every attention to her lessons. I am not sure, however, that it was the tedium of the work that deterred the idealist-perhaps he felt its danger-and at the bottom of his sparkling dreams and brilliant follies lay a sound, generous, and noble heart. He was fond of pleasure, and had been already the darling of the sentimental German ladies. But he was too young, and too vivid, and too romantic to be that which is called a sensualist. He could not look upon a fair face, and a guileless smile, and all the ineffable symmetry of a woman's shape, with the eye of a man buying cattle for base uses. He very easily fell in love, or fancied he did, it is true; but then he could not separate desire from fancy, or calculate the game of passion without bringing the heart or the imagination into the matter. And though Alice was very pretty and very engaging, he was not yet in love with her, and he had no intention of becoming so.

He felt the evening somewhat long when for the first time Alice discontinued her usual lesson; but Maltravers had abundant resources within himself. He placed Shakspeare and Schiller on his table, and lighted his German meerschaum-he read till he became inspired, and then he wrote-and when he had composed a few stanzas, he was not contented till he had set them to music, and tried their melody with his voice. For he had all the passion of a German for song and musicthat wild Maltravers! and his voice was sweet, his taste consummate, his science profound. As the sun puts out a star, so the full blaze of his imagination, fairly kindled, extinguished for the time his fairy fancy for his beautiful pupil.

It was late that night when Maltravers went to bed; and as he passed through the narrow corridor that led to his chamber, he heard a light step flying before him, and caught the glimpse of a female figure escaping through a distant door. "The silly child!" thought he, at once divining the cause-" she has been listening to my singing. I shall scold her." But he forgot that resolution.

The next day, and the next, and many days passed, and Maltravers saw but little of the pupil for whose sake he had shut himself up in a country cottage in the depth of winter. Still he did not repent his purpose, nor was he in the least tired of his seclusion; he would not inspect Alice's progress, for he was certain he should be dissatisfied with its slowness-and people, however handsome, cannot learn to read and write in a day. But he amused himself, notwithstanding. He was glad of an opportunity to be alone with his own thoughts, for he was at one of those periodical epochs of life when we like to pause and breathe a while from that methodical race in which we run to the grave. He wished to recollect the stores of his past experience and repose on his own mind before he started afresh upon the active world. The weather was cold and inclement; but Ernest Maltravers was a hardy lover of nature, and neither snow nor frost could detain him from his daily rambles. So, about noon, he regularly threw aside books and papers, took his hat and staff, and went whistling or humming his favourite airs through the dreary streets, or along the bleak waters, or amid the leafless woods, just as the humour seized him; for he

was not an Edwin or Harold, who reserved speculation only for lonely brooks and pastoral hills. Maltravers delighted to contemplate nature in men as well as in sheep or trees. The humblest alley in a crowded town had something poetical for him; he was ever ready to mix in a crowd, if it were only gathered round a barrelorgan or a dogfight, and listen to all that was said and notice all that was done. And this I take to be true poetical temperament essential to every artist who aspires to be something more than a scene-painter. But, above all things, he was most interested in any display of human passions or affections; he loved to see the true colours of the heart, where they are most transparent-in the uneducated and poor. For he was something of an optimist, and had a hearty faith in the loveliness of our nature. Perhaps, indeed, he owed much of the insight into and mastery over character that he was afterward considered to display, to his belief that there is any wickedness so dark as not to be susceptible of the light in some place or another.

But Maltravers had his fits of unsociability, and then nothing but the most solitary scenes delighted him. Winter or summer, barren waste or prodigal verdure, all had beauty in his eyes; for their beauty lay in his own soul, through which he beheld them. From these walks he would return home at dusk, take his simple meal, rhyme or read away the long evenings with such alternation as the music or the dreamy thoughts of a young man with gay life before him could afford. Happy Maltravers! youth and genius have luxuries all the Rothschilds cannot purchase! And yet, Maltravers, you are ambitious! life moves too slowly for you! you would push on the wheels of the clock! Fool-brilliant fool! you are eighteen and a poet! What more can you desire? Bid time stop for ever!

One morning Ernest rose earlier than his wont, and sauntered carelessly through the conservatory which adjoined his sitting-room, observing the plants with placid curiosity (for, besides being a little of a botanist, he had odd visionary notions about the life of plants, and he saw in them a hundred mysteries which the herbalists do not teach us), when he heard a low and very musical voice singing at a little distance. He listened, and recognised with surprise words of his own, which

A CONVERSATION.,

33

he had lately set to music, and was sufficiently pleased with to sing nightly.

When the song ended, Maltravers stole softly through the conservatory, and as he opened the door which led into the garden, he saw at the open window of a little room which was apportioned to Alice, and jutted out from the building in the fanciful irregularity common to ornamental cottages, the form of his discarded pupil. She did not observe him, and it was not till he twice called her by name that she started from her thoughtful and melancholy posture.

"Alice," said he, gently, "put on your bonnet, and walk with me in the garden; you look pale, child; the fresh air will do you good."

Alice coloured and smiled, and in a few moments was by his side. Maltravers, meanwhile, had gone in and lighted his meerschaum, for it was his great inspirer whenever his thoughts were perplexed, or he felt his usual fluency likely to fail him, and such was the case now. With this faithful ally he awaited Alice in the little walk that circled the lawn, amid shrubs and evergreens.

Alice," said he, after a pause, but he stopped short. Alice looked up at him with grave respect.

"Tush!" said Maltravers-" perhaps the smoke is unpleasant to you. It is a bad habit of mine."

No, sir," answered Alice, and she seemed disappointed. Maltravers paused and picked up a snowdrop. "It is pretty," he said; "do you love flowers?"

66

Oh, dearly," ," answered Alice, with some enthusiasm; "I never saw many till I came here.”

"Now, then, I can go on," thought Maltravers: why, I cannot say, for I do not see the sequitur; but on he went in medias res. “Alice, you sing charmingly.”

"Ah! sir, you-you-" she stopped abruptly and trembled visibly.

"Yes, I overheard you, Alice."

66 And you are angry."

"I-Heaven forbid! It is a talent, but you don't know what that is; I mean, it is an excellent thing to have an ear, and a voice, and a heart for music; and you have all three."

He paused, for he felt his denly clasped and kissed it. his whole frame; but there

hand touched; Alice sudMaltravers thrilled through was something in the girl's