Meredith went away, as he had proposed, leaving Morton at New Baden. The latter soon came to the opinion that he had never yet found so interesting a subject of psychological observation as that afforded him in the person of his relative, Miss Euston. She seemed to him the most wayward of mortals; yet in the midst of this lawlessness, generous instincts were constantly betraying themselves, and a certain native grace, a charm of womanhood, followed her wildest caprices. She often gave great offence by her brusqueries; yet those who best knew her were commonly her ardent friends. Mrs. Primrose looked upon her with her most profound and unqualified disapprobation. Her daughter copied her sentiments; while Stubb thought her an outside barbarian of the most alarming character. Fanny Euston's perceptions were very acute. She saw the effect she had produced, and seemed to take peculiar delight in aggravating it, and shocking the prejudices of her critics still more. One afternoon, Miss Primrose, Mr. Stubb, Fanny Euston, Morton, and several others, set out on a horseback excursion, matronized by Mrs. Primrose. At a few miles from New Baden, Morton found himself riding at his cousin's side, a little behind the rest. "Do you know, I came this morning, to ask you to join us on our walk to Elk Ridge." "Ah, I am sorry I was not there." "You were there; but you seemed so deep in Ivanhoe, or some other of your favorites, that I had no heart to interrupt you." "But that was quite absurd. I should like to have gone." "I am curious to know what book you were so busy with. Something of Scott's--was it not?" "Not precisely." "Nor one of the new novels," pursued Morton--"those are not after your taste." "Not at all; they are all full of some grand reform or philanthropic scheme, or the sorrows of some destitute, uninteresting little wretch, with whom you are required to sympathize." "You are not moulded after the philanthropic model. But may I ask, what book was entertaining you so much?" "Napier's Life of Montrose." "And do you like it?" "Indeed I do." "And you like Montrose?" "Certainly I like him." "I could have sworn it. Do you remember his verses to the lady of his heart?" "That I do," said Fanny Euston,-- "'Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone; My heart shall evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who puts it not unto the touch, To win or lose it all. "'But if thou wilt be constant then, And faithful of thy word, I'll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword; I'll serve thee in such noble ways Was never heard before; I'll dress and crown thee all with bays, And love thee evermore.'" "Admirable! I thought I had a good memory, but you beat me hollow. You repeat the lines as if you liked them." "Who would not like them?"