lliant and eloquent as they
were, with a fearless and unsuspecting gaze, and pointed out to her
companion, with all a child's quick and unrestrained impulse, the
shining and raven gloss, the arched and haughty neck, of Ernest's
beautiful Arabian.

Now there happened between Maltravers and the young object of his
admiration a little adventure, which served, perhaps, to fix in her
recollection this short encounter with a stranger; for certain it
is that, years after, she did remember both the circumstances of the
adventure and the features of Maltravers. She wore one of those large
straw-hats which look so pretty upon children, and the warmth of the day
made her untie the strings which confined it. A gentle breeze arose, as
by a turn in the road the country became more open, and suddenly wafted
the hat from its proper post, almost to the hoofs of Ernest's horse. The
child naturally made a spring forward to arrest the deserter, and her
foot slipped down the bank, which was rather steeply raised above
the road. She uttered a low cry of pain. To dismount--to regain the
prize--and to restore it to its owner, was, with Ernest, the work of
a moment; the poor girl had twisted her ankle and was leaning upon her
servant for support. But when she saw the anxiety, and almost the alarm,
upon the stranger's face (and her exclamation of pain had literally
thrilled his heart--so much and so unaccountably had she excited his
interest), she made an effort at self-control, not common at her years,
and, with a forced smile, assured him she was not much hurt--that it was
nothing--that she was just at home.

"Oh, miss!" said the servant, "I am sure you are very bad. Dear heart,
how angry master will be! It was not my fault; was it, sir?"

"Oh, no, it was not your fault, Margaret; don't be frightened--papa
sha'n't blame you. But I'm much better now." So saying, she tried to
walk; but the effort was in vain--she turned yet more pale, and though
she struggled to prevent a shriek, the tears rolled down her cheeks.

It was very odd, but Maltravers had never felt more touched--the tears
stood in his own eyes; he longed to carry her in his arms, but, child
as she was, a strange kind of nervous timidity forbade him. Margaret,
perhaps, expected it of him, for she looked hard in his face, before she
attempted a burthen to which, being a small, slight person, she was by
no means equal. However, after a pause, she took up her charge, who,
ashamed of