on ever presented itself to induce him to talk
much to her of his parentage or birth.

CHAPTER V.

"Thought would destroy their Paradise."--GRAY.

MALTRAVERS found Alice as docile a pupil as any reasonable preceptor
might have desired. But still, reading and writing--they are very
uninteresting elements! Had the groundwork been laid, it might have been
delightful to raise the fairy palace of knowledge; but the digging the
foundations and the constructing the cellars is weary labour. Perhaps he
felt it so; for in a few days Alice was handed over to the very oldest
and ugliest writing-master that the neighbouring town could afford.
The poor girl at first wept much at the exchange; but the grave
remonstrances and solemn exhortations of Maltravers reconciled her
at last, and she promised to work hard and pay every attention to her
lessons. I am not sure, however, that it was the tedium of the work that
deterred the idealist--perhaps he felt its danger--and at the bottom of
his sparkling dreams and brilliant follies lay a sound, generous, and
noble heart. He was fond of pleasure, and had been already the darling
of the sentimental German ladies. But he was too young and too vivid,
and too romantic, to be what is called a sensualist. He could not look
upon a fair face, and a guileless smile, and all the ineffable symmetry
of a woman's shape, with the eye of a man buying cattle for base uses.
He very easily fell in love, or fancied he did, it is true,--but then he
could not separate desire from fancy, or calculate the game of passion
without bringing the heart or the imagination into the matter. And
though Alice was very pretty and very engaging, he was not yet in love
with her, and he had no intention of becoming so.

He felt the evening somewhat long, when for the first time Alice
discontinued her usual lesson; but Maltravers had abundant resources in
himself. He placed Shakespeare and Schiller on his table, and lighted
his German meerschaum--he read till he became inspired, and then he
wrote--and when he had composed a few stanzas he was not contented till
he had set them to music, and tried their melody with his voice. For
he had all the passion of a German for song, and music--that wild
Maltravers!--and his voice was sweet, his taste consummate, his
science profound. As the sun puts out a star, so the full blaze of his
imagination, fairly kindled, extinguished for the time his fairy fancy
for his beautiful pupil.