g that event with his solemn words on the previous
night, Evelyn asked herself, in wonder, what sentiments she could have
inspired in Maltravers. Could he love her,--her, so young, so inferior,
so uninformed? Impossible! Alas! alas! for Maltravers! His genius, his
gifts, his towering qualities,--all that won the admiration, almost the
awe, of Evelyn,--placed him at a distance from her heart! When she asked
herself if he loved her, she did not ask, even in that hour, if she
loved him. But even the question she did ask, her judgment answered
erringly in the negative. Why should he love, and yet fly her? She
understood not his high-wrought scruples, his self-deluding belief.
Aubrey was more puzzled than enlightened by his conversation with his
pupil; only one thing seemed certain,--her delight to return to the
cottage and her mother.

Evelyn could not sufficiently recover her composure to mix with the
party below; and Aubrey, at the sound of the second dinner-bell, left
her to her solitude, and bore her excuses to Mrs. Merton.

"Dear me!" said that worthy lady; "I am so sorry. I thought Miss Cameron
looked fatigued at breakfast, and there was something hysterical in
her spirits; and I suppose the surprise of your arrival has upset her.
Caroline, my dear, you had better go and see what she would like to have
taken up to her room,--a little soup and the wing of a chicken."

"My dear," said Mr. Merton, rather pompously, "I think it would be but a
proper respect to Miss Cameron, if you yourself accompanied Caroline."

"I assure you," said the curate, alarmed at the avalanche of politeness
that threatened poor Evelyn,--"I assure you that Miss Cameron would
prefer being left alone at present; as you say, Mrs. Merton, her spirits
are rather agitated."

But Mrs. Merton, with a sliding bow, had already quitted the room, and
Caroline with her.

"Come back, Sophy! Cecilia, come back!" said Mr. Merton, settling his
_jabot_.

"Oh, dear Evy! poor dear Evy!--Evy is ill!" said Sophy; "I may go to
Evy? I must go, Papa!"

"No, my dear, you are too noisy; these children are quite spoiled, Mr.
Aubrey."

The old man looked at them benevolently, and drew them to his knee; and,
while Cissy stroked his long white hair, and Sophy ran on about dear
Evy's prettiness and goodness, Lord Vargrave sauntered into the room.

On seeing the curate, his frank face lighted up with surprise and
pleasure; he hastened to him, seized him by both hands