ely won by Evelyn's
kindness to the children, forgot all her husband's lectures, and
willingly ticketed the prizes, and wrote the numbers of the lots on
slips of paper carefully folded. A large old Indian jar was dragged
from the drawing-room and constituted the fated urn; the tickets were
deposited therein, and Cecilia was tying the handkerchief round Evelyn's
eyes,--while Fortune struggled archly not to be as blind as she ought
to be,--and the children, seated in a circle, were in full joy and
expectation when there was a sudden pause. The laughter stopped; so did
Cissy's little hands. What could it be? Evelyn slipped the bandage, and
her eyes rested on Maltravers!

"Well, really, my dear Miss Cameron," said the rector, who was by the
side of the intruder, and who, indeed, had just brought him to the spot,
"I don't know what these little folks will do to you next."

"I ought rather to be their victim," said Maltravers, good-humouredly;
"the fairies always punish us grown-up mortals for trespassing on their
revels."

While he spoke, his eyes--those eyes, the most eloquent in the
world--dwelt on Evelyn (as, to cover her blushes, she took Cecilia in
her arms, and appeared to attend to nothing else) with a look of such
admiration and delight as a mortal might well be supposed to cast on
some beautiful fairy.

Sophy, a very bold child, ran up to him. "How do, sir?" she lisped,
putting up her face to be kissed; "how's the pretty peacock?"

This opportune audacity served at once to renew the charm that had been
broken,--to unite the stranger with the children. Here was acquaintance
claimed and allowed in an instant. The next moment Maltravers was one
of the circle, on the turf with the rest, as gay, and almost as
noisy,--that hard, proud man, so disdainful of the trifles of the world!

"But the gentleman must have a prize, too," said Sophy, proud of her
tall new friend. "What's your other name; why do you have such a long,
hard name?"

"Call me Ernest," said Maltravers.

"Why don't we begin?" cried the children.

"Evy, come, be a good child, miss," said Sophy, as Evelyn, vexed and
ashamed, and half ready to cry, resisted the bandage.

Mr. Merton interposed his authority; but the children clamoured, and
Evelyn hastily yielded. It was Fortune's duty to draw the tickets from
the urn, and give them to each claimant whose name was called; when it
came to the turn of Maltravers, the bandage did not conceal the blush
a