tures
swelled the heart of the wanderer, as he gazed around him! The Poet
and the Freeman alike stirred within his shattered heart! He paused to
contemplate the berries of the icy trees, to listen to the sharp glee of
the blackbird; and once--when he found beneath a hedge a cold, scentless
group of hardy violets--he laughed aloud in his joy. In that laughter
there was no madness, no danger; but when as he journeyed on, he passed
through a little hamlet, and saw the children at play upon the ground,
and heard from the open door of a cabin the sound of rustic music, then
indeed he paused abruptly; the past gathered over him: _he knew that
which he had been, that which he was now_!--an awful memory! a dread
revelation! And, covering his face with his hands, he wept aloud. In
those tears were the peril and method of madness. He woke from them
to think of his youth, his hopes, of Florence, of revenge! Lumley Lord
Vargrave! better, from that hour, to encounter the tiger in his lair
than find thyself alone with that miserable man!

CHAPTER VI.

IT seemed the laurel chaste and stubborn oak,
And all the gentle trees on earth that grew,
It seemed the land, the sea, and heaven above,
All breathed out fancy sweet, and sighed out love.
FAIRFAX'S _Tasso_.

AT De Montaigne's villa, Evelyn, for the first time, gathered from the
looks, the manners, of Maltravers that she was beloved. It was no longer
possible to mistake the evidences of affection. Formerly, Maltravers
had availed himself of his advantage of years and experience, and would
warn, admonish, dispute, even reprove; formerly, there had been so much
of seeming caprice, of cold distance, of sudden and wayward haughtiness,
in his bearing; but now the whole man was changed,--the Mentor had
vanished in the Lover; he held his being on her breath. Her lightest
pleasure seemed to have grown his law, no coldness ever alternated the
deep devotion of his manner; an anxious, a timid, a watchful softness
replaced all his stately self-possession. Evelyn saw that she was loved;
and she then looked into her own heart.

I have said before that Evelyn was gentle, even to _yieldingness_; that
her susceptibility made her shrink from the thought of pain to another:
and so thoroughly did she revere Maltravers, so grateful did she feel
for a love that could not but flatter pride, and raise her in her
self-esteem, that she felt it impossible that she could