I sometimes fear so--it is a horrid thought." "You are very young yet," said Maltravers; "how few at your age ever sicken for fame! That first step is, perhaps, the half way to the prize." I am not sure that Ernest thought exactly as he spoke; but it was the most delicate consolation to offer to a man whose abrupt frankness embarrassed and distressed him.

The young man shook his head despondingly.

Maltravers tried to change the subject--he rose and moved to the balcony, which overhung the lake--he talked of the weather--he dwelt on the exquisite scenery--he pointed to the minute and more latent beauties around, with the eye and taste of one who had looked at Nature in her details.

The poet grew more animated and cheerful; he became even eloquent; he quoted poetry and he talked it.

Maltravers was more and more interested in him.