ave had no reason to complain of the non-appreciation of talent?"

"Humph! if I had had a grain more talent I should have been crushed by
it. There is a subtle allegory in the story of the lean poet, who
put _lead_ in his pocket to prevent being blown away! 'Mais a nos
moutons,'--to return to Maltravers. Let us suppose that he was merely
clever, had not had a particle of what is called genius, been merely a
hardworking able gentleman, of good character and fortune, he might be
half-way up the hill by this time; whereas now, what is he? Less before
the public than he was at twenty-eight,--a discontented anchorite, a
meditative idler."

"No, not that," said Evelyn, warmly, and then checked herself.

Lord Vargrave looked at her sharply; but his knowledge of life told him
that Legard was a much more dangerous rival than Maltravers. Now and
then, it is true, a suspicion to the contrary crossed him; but it did
not take root and become a serious apprehension. Still, he did not quite
like the tone of voice in which Evelyn had put her abrupt negative, and
said, with a slight sneer,--

"If not that, what is he?"

"One who purchased by the noblest exertions the right to be idle," said
Evelyn with spirit; "and whom genius itself will not suffer to be idle
long."

"Besides," said Mr. Merton, "he has won a high reputation, which he
cannot lose merely by not seeking to increase it."

"Reputation! Oh, yes! we give men like that--men of genius--a large
property in the clouds, in order to justify ourselves in pushing them
out of our way below. But if they are contented with fame, why, they
deserve their fate. Hang fame,--give me power."

"And is there no power in genius?" said Evelyn, with deepening fervour;
"no power over the mind, and the heart, and the thought; no power over
its own time, over posterity, over nations yet uncivilized, races yet
unborn?"

This burst from one so simple and young as Evelyn seemed to Vargrave so
surprising that he stared on her without saying a word.

"You will laugh at my championship," she added, with a blush and a
smile; "but you provoked the encounter."

"And you have won the battle," said Vargrave, with prompt gallantry. "My
charming ward, every day develops in you some new gift of nature!"

Caroline, with a movement of impatience, put her horse into a canter.

Just at this time, from a cross-road, emerged a horseman,--it was
Maltravers. The party halted, salutations were exchanged.