wheels of the clock!--Fool--brilliant fool!--you are eighteen, and a poet!--What more can you desire?--Bid Time stop for ever! One morning Ernest rose earlier than his wont, and sauntered carelessly through the conservatory which adjoined his sitting-room; observing the plants with placid curiosity (for besides being a little of a botanist, he had odd visionary notions about the life of plants, and he saw in them a hundred mysteries which the herbalists do not teach us), when he heard a low and very musical voice singing at a little distance. He listened, and recognised, with surprise, words of his own, which he had lately set to music, and was sufficiently pleased with to sing nightly. When the song ended, Maltravers stole softly through the conservatory, and as he opened the door which led into the garden, he saw at the open window of a little room which was apportioned to Alice, and jutted out from the building in the fanciful irregularity common to ornamental cottages, the form of his discarded pupil. She did not observe him, and it was not till he twice called her by name, that she started from her thoughtful and melancholy posture. “Alice,” said he, gently, “put on your bonnet, and walk with me in the garden: you look pale, child; the fresh air will do you good.” Alice coloured and smiled, and in a few moments was by his side. Maltravers, meanwhile, had gone in and lighted his meerschaum, for it was his great inspirer whenever his thoughts were perplexed, or he felt his usual fluency likely to fail him, and such was the case now. With this faithful ally he awaited Alice in the little walk that circled the lawn, amidst shrubs and evergreens. “Alice,” said he after a pause; but he stopped short. Alice looked up at him with grave respect. “Tush!” said Maltravers; “perhaps the smoke is unpleasant to you. It is a bad habit of mine.” “No, sir,” answered Alice; and she seemed disappointed. Maltravers paused, and picked up a snowdrop. “It is pretty,” he said; “do you love flowers?” “Oh, dearly,” answered Alice, with some enthusiasm; “I never saw many till I came here.” “Now then I can go on,” thought Maltravers; why, I cannot say, for I do not see the _sequitur_; but on he went _in medias res_. “Alice, you sing charmingly.” “Ah! sir, you--you--” she stopped abruptly, and trembled visibly. “Yes, I overheard you, Alice.” “And you are angry?” “I!--Heaven forbid! It is a _talent_--but you don’t know what that is; I mean it is an excellent thing to have an ear; and a voice, and a heart for music; and you have all three.” He paused, for he felt his hand touched; Alice suddenly clasped and kissed it. Maltravers thrilled through his whole frame; but there was something in the girl’s look that showed she was wholly unaware that she had committed an unmaidenly or forward action. “I was so afraid you would be angry,” she said, wiping her eyes as she dropped his hand; “and now I suppose you know all.” “All!”