own.

From his corner also, with dreams yet more vain and daring, Castruccio
Cesarini cast his eyes upon the queen-like brow of the great heiress.
Oh, yes, she had a soul--she could disdain rank and revere genius!
What a triumph over De Montaigne--Maltravers--all the world, if he, the
neglected poet, could win the hand for which the magnates of the earth
sighed in vain! Pure and lofty as he thought himself, it was her birth
and her wealth which Cesarini adored in Florence. And Lumley, nearer
perhaps to the prize than either--yet still far off--went on conversing,
with eloquent lips and sparkling eyes, while his cold heart was planning
every word, dictating every glance, and laying out (for the most worldly
are often the most visionary) the chart for a royal road to fortune.
And Florence Lascelles, when the crowd had dispersed and she sought her
chamber, forgot all three; and with that morbid romance often peculiar
to those for whom Fate smiles the most, mused over the ideal image of
the one she _could_ love--"in maiden meditation _not_ fancy-free!"

CHAPTER IV.

"In mea vesanas habui dispendia vires,
Et valui poenas fortis in ipse meas."*--OVID.

* I had the strength of a madman to my own cost, and employed that
strength in my own punishment.

"Then might my breast be read within,
A thousand volumes would be written there."
EARL OF STIRLING.

ERNEST MALTRAVERS was at the height of his reputation; the work which
he had deemed the crisis that was to make or mar him was the most
brilliantly successful of all he had yet committed to the public.
Certainly, chance did as much for it as merit, as is usually the case
with works that become instantaneously popular. We may hammer away at
the casket with strong arm and good purpose, and all in vain; when some
morning a careless stroke hits the right nail on the head, and we secure
the treasure.

It was at this time, when in the prime of youth--rich, courted,
respected, run after--that Ernest Maltravers fell seriously ill. It was
no active or visible disease, but a general irritability of the nerves,
and a languid sinking of the whole frame. His labours began, perhaps, to
tell against him. In earlier life he had been as active as a hunter
of the chamois, and the hardy exercise of his frame counteracted the
effects of a restless and ardent mind. The change from an athletic to a
sedentary habit of life--the wear and tear of the brain--the absorbing
passion