the moment; and, driven to and fro by whatever impulse, or
whatever passion, caught the caprice of a wild, roving, and all-poetical
imagination, Maltravers was, half unconsciously, a poet--a poet of
action, and woman was his muse.

He had formed no plan of conduct towards the poor girl he was to meet.
He meant no harm to her. If she had been less handsome, he would have
been equally grateful; and her dress, and youth, and condition, would
equally have compelled him to select the hour of dusk for an interview.

He arrived at the spot. The winter night had already descended; but a
sharp frost had set in: the air was clear, the stars were bright, and
the long shadows slept, still and calm, along the broad road, and the
whitened fields beyond.

He walked briskly to and fro, without much thought of the interview, or
its object, half chanting old verses, German and English, to himself,
and stopping to gaze every moment at the silent stars.

At length he saw Alice approach: she came up to him timidly and gently.
His heart beat more quickly; he felt that he was young and alone
with beauty. "Sweet girl," he said, with involuntary and mechanical
compliment, "how well this light becomes you. How shall I thank you for
not forgetting me?"

Alice surrendered her hand to his without a struggle.

"What is your name?" said he, bending his face down to hers.

"Alice Darvil."

"And your terrible father,--_is_ he, in truth, your father?"

"Indeed he is my father and mother too!"

"What made you suspect his intention to murder me? Has he ever attempted
the like crime?"

"No; but lately he has often talked of robbery. He is very poor, sir.
And when I saw his eye, and when afterwards, while your back was turned,
he took the key from the door, I felt that--that you were in danger."

"Good girl--go on."

"I told him so when we went up-stairs. I did not know what to believe,
when he said he would not hurt you; but I stole the key of the front
door, which he had thrown on the table, and went to my room. I listened
at my door; I heard him go down the stairs--he stopped there for some
time; and I watched him from above. The place where he was opened to the
field by the back-way. After some time, I heard a voice whisper him; I
knew the voice, and then they both went out by the back-way; so I stole
down, and went out and listened; and I knew the other man was John
Walters. I'm afraid of _him_, sir. And then Walters said, says he, 'I
w