quite a young lady. Such very flighty attire is exceedingly unbecoming. If there is anything that offends me it is to see a servant dressed up." The lady's mind was just as changeable where her children's lessons were concerned. One day Freddy ought not to be asked to learn spelling. It was too great a strain. Children learnt spelling by instinct when they grew older. But the next day Freddy's letter to his papa was quite disgraceful. She really thought Miss Fairfax might teach him a little spelling. At last she found out that I knew nothing about the violin, which was a great drawback, and could not be got over. She had heard of a nursery governess who taught the rudiments of the violin. And really a nursery governess ought to teach the rudiments of everything. So I was ordered to pack my trunks, and depart out of Queen's-gate. I next went as sick nurse to a dying woman in a grand, gloomy house in Russell-square. Her wits were very keen, and she wanted to be amused. I read to her, told her stories, and prayed with her when I dared. Sometimes she was able to have a drive in her carriage, and then we rolled slowly through the gay places of the world, and she groaned as she went along, because the people would not miss her when she was gone. She told me it was only in the night time that she could believe in another world. In the day time she believed only in the sunshine; in laughing faces; in high-stepping horses and brilliant dinner-tables, in rich brocade gowns, and diamonds, and flower-gardens. She used to sit and gaze at me, envying me my youth and my health, my hair, which she called pretty, my eyes, and my very teeth. Sometimes, when nervous from her companionship and the gloom of her house, I got a momentary superstition that she would steal these things from me in some unholy way. I tried to be tender to her, and she liked to have me with her. I was alone with her when she died, for the servants were having a supper-party, and the doctor had paid his visit for the night and gone away. I did what I could to give her up with fitting reverence into the hands of her God. She left me some gay coral earrings and a necklace of pearls, "so that," said the will," she may dress herself and look pretty while her little day lasts." All this time Ned's letters had been punctual, and the thought of his dear face. and strong arm had been a constant joy to me, so that nothing made me fear, and sad ness was only a shadow that passed away. There is just one black period of a day and a night that lies like a blot on my wholesome memory of those waiting, working years. It is not pleasant now to look back on it, but I have promised Ned to write truly, and this would not be a faithful picture if I did not put in the darkest touch, as well as the highest light. One morning while I lived in Russellsquare, my former landlady, Mrs. Rice, came to pay me a visit. She was accustomed to visit me at intervals, bringing a cake of her own baking. But on this occasion her hands were empty, and when she saw me she fell to wiping her eyes and dropping curtsies. I knew of old this sad apologetic pantomime, which was always with her the preface to ill news. My first thought was that her curly-headed grandson had got to heaven out of the measles; my next that the mother herself was dead, leaving Curly-Head to his grandmother. For either of these troubles I should have been very grieved indeed, for Mrs. Rice was a faithful friend to me. I took her to my own room, and prepared to condole with her. "Oh, miss dear," she said, bursting into tears, sorry I am to have to bring you such news, but he have gone and married, he have, in spite of his soft eyes and kind ways; which I'm sure they was most delightful when you did not know how they would end." "Who has got married ?" I asked. "Mr. Lance, miss; your husband as was to have been." 66 'Nonsense, Mrs. Rice," I said; what an exceedingly silly story. I am not such a baby as to listen to it." Mrs. Rice did not like to be contradicted, and to have any statement that she made ridiculed was altogether more than her patience could endure. Well,” ," she said, wiping her eyes resolutely, as if she thought tears were wasted on me, and tightening her shawl round her with a twitch of resentful dignity, "I don't know about silly stories, miss, but all I can say is, as how my Mary Ann, being in Paris at the time on account of the spring fashions, beheld your young gentleman in a church putting a ring on a fine young lady, as busy as could be. And if that ain't marrying, it's what used to go by the name. But maybe my Mary Ann don't know her right hand from her left." "Your daughter does not know Mr. Lance's appearance," I said, stoutly. "Not know his appearance!" cried Mrs. Rice. "Well, there is a good 'un! Her as used to see him constant goin' up and down hall of an evening when she came my for a quiet shrimp and a cup of tea with me in my parlour. And didn't she know him when he went to buy that duck of a little bonnet from her as arrove for you afterwards as a surprise on Christmas Eve? Howsomever, if you don't believe my story, miss, it's high time I was a taking of myself off." "Good-bye, Mrs. Rice," I said, "and I don't believe your story." When she was gone I returned to my duties, and tried to forget her visit and her news. But everything was a trouble to me. I felt weary and ill, and terrible fears kept pressing on my mind. By evening I was white in the face with trying to keep them at bay. It was part of my day's work to sit for two hours every evening, silent and motionless, in my mistress's large front bedroom, while she slept. It was dark in the room, and I dared not have lights lest my patient should be disturbed. On this particular evening I found this duty very hard, as I could not do anything to divert my thoughts from the one haunting subject. My will was firm, never to doubt Ned, unless he told me himself that he had deserted me, yet my treacherous imagination kept running on the likelihood of his having been tempted to do so. Why should he keep faithful to a poor creature like me? It was true that I could love him and make him happy too, but there must be many in the world who would readily undertake to do the same. Perhaps they would do it better, for poverty is no beautifier of exteriors, and some rich and beautiful woman might have aspired to be his wife. I wrought myself nearly frantic between conjuring up these fancies, and striving to beat them down when they had risen up before me. But all the while I fancied that I had kept a fast trust in Ned. I found myself thinking over his late letters, recalling words and phrases, and asking myself could it be possible he could have written so on the eve of forgetting me for ever? I said it was not possible, but I felt weary enough for my grave when the two hours were ended. I got lights then, and as I closed the curtains over a mirror, I saw myself faded and pinched, and ten years older-looking than I had been in the morning. Ned's imaginary bride seemed to glimmer out of the recesses of the room, and to gaze over my shoulder with a pitying smile. I saw the glow of her perfect [Conducted by 'Nothing of the kind," I said; "I have only got a headache." Towards dusk And as I spoke I determined that it must be the truth which I was telling. If I had confessed my trouble all the cynical side of her temper would have been roused by such a story. She would have gloated over the faithlessness of man, and groaned for days about the general unkindness of human nature. This would have been more than I could bear, so I kept my own counsel. A long feverish night and day followed, in spite of my self-assurance that I was satisfied and at ease. the next evening I could endure suspense no longer. That day was the day on which a letter was due from Ned, and no letter had come. I asked leave of my mistress to take a walk down Gower-street to see my friend, Mrs. Rice. I sent a maid to sit with her till my return, and I flew to my own room to put on my bonnet. I had no plan formed as to what I should say to Mrs. Rice, but I felt that I must speak to somebody or go mad. I stood at the window while I tied on my bonnet. It was just getting dark, and the lamps were being lighted. I saw a figure crossing the square, from a corner of the side-walk round the railings of the garden. It was coming towards the house, and I seemed to know the figure. I remembered nothing more for some two or three minutes, and after that I found myself lying on the ground with my forehead slightly cut, and with a sort of belief that I had been dead, and was returning, like Lazarus, out of the jaws of the grave. I had fainted, for the first time in my life, with the joy of seeing Ned, who I had been coming across the square. When I got up on my feet again, I knew by my numb brains and tottering limbs how great my struggle had been. I went to meet Ned, and slipped my arm through his. I did not ask him a question, for I felt when saw him that the question which I could ask would be an insult. He had come all the way from Paris for no purpose but to see me. No letter had arrived in the morning because he himself was on the way. As we walked along together I told him that little story about his wedding. We went at once to Mrs. Rice to set her right, and she gave us tea and muffins, besides a shower of apologetic tears for having ever put her belief in that great gowk Mary Ann, who had an eye for nothing but the colour of a ribbon, and couldn't be sure of her own children if she met them a mile away from home! yet two miles to drive before I could reach When my mistress died I was again upon the world. It was now four years since I had lost my father, and Kitty, and Fan, all at once. I advertised for a new situation. This time I offered myself as companion to a lady. Very quickly I had an answer to my advertisement. The answer was from a lady in the country. She offered a good salary and a pleasant home. I accepted the situation without delay. The lady was a Mrs. Sutherland, of the Sycamores, Hopshire. After I had agreed to go to her, it struck me, while turning over her letter, that Sutherland was the name of the gentleman who had inherited Ned's fortune. How odd if I She was a beautiful creature, about five or should be domesticated in the house of this six years older than myself, and was attired very man! When writing to Ned I sug-in full evening dress, which struck my ungested this idea. In replying, he assured me that I had engaged myself as companion to the wife of that Sutherland who had been so singularly lucky. The Sycamores, in Hopshire, was his country seat. He had married within a year after inherit-pearls, and she wore a bouquet of scarlet ing his fortune. It was a snowy winter's day when I set out upon my journey, and Hopshire looked a ghostly world, with its tall, snowwreathed woods, and white, silent fields. I could not help thinking, as I spun along in the train, that there were very odd chances in the world, seeing that at one time it must have been a toss up with Fate whether I, Gretchen Fairfax, should be mistress of the Sycamores, instead of the wealthy Mrs. Sutherland, under whose roof I was this day seeking leave to earn my bread. I left the train at a small, bleaklooking station, and looked anxiously about for a vehicle of some description, for I had accustomed eyes as unusually splendid. She wore a long flowing robe of white satin, and her neck was heavily covered with chains of gold and pearls. Her hair and arms and bodice were decked with exotics in her bosom. Her face was dark I re and rich-looking, suggesting a warmer clime than this, yet she had all the delicacy of feature of an English woman. membered at the moment that Ned had said that Mrs. Sutherland had been a West Indian heiress. Indeed she looked like one on whom the bounties and tendernesses of the world had been showered, so lovely and sumptuous was she in her beauty and its adornments. Never had I seen a creature in the least like to her before. She came rapidly to meet me, with a strange look of anxiety and timidity on her face. "I am glad you are come," she said. "If I had known a little sooner that you were coming this evening I should not have engaged myself to go out." 66 Oh, madam, do not mind me," I said, eagerly enough. "I assure you I am not used to be treated with so much ceremony." And I wondered very much at her; her manner was so kind. She removed my cloak and bonnet, and drew me nearer to the firelight, so that she could see me the more plainly. She seemed to like me the better after a short examination, in which there was nothing to offend. She stroked down my hair, and put her hand under my chin, and raised up my face, and looked wistfully in my eyes. "I am going to be so good to you," she said, "oh, so good, if you will let me." "Don't, dear madam," I said; "just wait a little, I beg you. Who knows how you may dislike me when you know me a little longer?" Do you think so ?" she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "I have so wanted a little love. I have so watched and prepared for you in the hope that you would care for me. If you love me I will be good to you in a way that you little think of." She embraced me then with a curious tenderness, and hurried away to her party through the cold winter night. The next day my new life begun. My chief duty seemed to be to submit to be caressed and amused by Mrs. Suther"I think not," she said, releasing me, land. She entertained herself a whole "but I do not doubt that you may be week showing me all the rooms in her wiser than I. In the mean time, I am neg-vast house; which was, indeed, such a lecting you. Are you cold? Are you hungry? Dinner will be served for you in your own apartments. May I bring you there at once before I go?" She led me through two or three rooms, the splendour of which dazzled me, and then up a mighty staircase, with paintings on the walls, and lamps burning softly in mid air. We travelled a long wide corridor, till I thought we had gone a mile, and on either side were pictures and statues, and cabinets of curiosities, screens and fantastic seats; and here and there little tables, with toys, and books, and gems. At last we came to my apartments, for it was a fact that I, who had been happy to possess a closet bedroom, had got a suite of apartments set aside for my own use. I had a charming sitting-room, with rose-silk hangings, and a carpet like the woodland moss. The walls seemed made of mirror, except where pictures filled a space. The daintiest ornaments were disposed through the room, and flowers had not been forgotten. The fire blazed merrily, and softly shaded lamps burned on their brackets. A round table was laid with service for dinner, adorned with glass and silver of the most exquisite workmanship. I was much startled and amused to see that all these things were for me. Abou Hassan was not more amazed at waking in the Caliph's chamber than was I by this reception which I met with at the Sycamores. My love of the beautiful was very strong indeed, and it was a passion which had been very little ministered to of late. place as I had never seen before. Every thing was a wonderment to me, and that delighted her greatly. She showed me her splendid jewels, and her strange things from India. There was a half-barbaric love of brilliancy and movement and pleasure about her, and she was nervous and timid, and could not bear being alone. But she was easily amused, and sometimes made me think of some happy savage child playing with the sunbeams and gay flowers of her native forest. The only thing that kept her quiet when in good-humour was a huge piece of tapestry, into which she stitched birds of showy plumage, and blossoms of vivid hues. She played for me mad fantastic music, which must have been created by herself, for I never heard the like of it, either before that time or since. She hated reading and thinking, and was subject to fits of melancholy. She discovered that I had the art of telling stories, and when her sad moods came upon her I could cure her by the practice of this simple art. When all the wonderful stories I had ever heard of were exhausted, I passed half my nights inventing fresh ones against her next hours of gloom. Mr. Sutherland was from home, and I heard nothing of him beyond the fact that it was uncertain when he would return. I noticed that the mention of Mr. Sutherland brought a look of trouble which was half fear into his wife's beautiful face. She did not know where he was; he was fond of going about. No letters were exchanged between them, and she seldom mentioned his name. He was almost until we became closer friends, and she always absent, but he was glad that she had grown more home-loving and conshould amuse herself. She had visitors. tented, that she showed me her inmost All the families around her came to her heart, in which the dead baby lived. It house, and she was fond of going to balls had been far more precious to her, that and dinner-parties, and other entertain- baby, than even my Fan had been to me. ments. After these excursions she used to I had had Ned to console me, but it seemed look worn and fatigued, and at times seemed that she had no one. She wept her very so ill that I begged she would give them heart out on my breast the first time she up. It was evident to me that her health spoke of it, but in time she could talk of it was very frail, but she could not bear to quietly, and one day she even took me to hear of this, and almost quarrelled with the tortoise-shell cabinet where lay, saved me for hinting it. I felt from the first a up in smooth order, the pretty cast-off lively wonder as to whether she would clothing of the little one. really come to love me, or would by-andbye get tired of me. After some weeks of companionship with her my own heart got interested in this question, for I really became fond of her, with her beauty and her tenderness, and her innocent love of pleasure. After a time this wonder became appeased to my satisfaction. Mimi, as she would have me call her, began to lose her taste for gaieties, and would enjoy herself more thoroughly at her fireside with me than dancing amongst flatterers many miles away from her home. "Ah!" she said, sadly, "if I had had a sister like you I should have been a different woman." I smiled, and asked her what she thought she should have been. "Useful and happy," she said. "As it is, I am nothing but an encumbrance in the world." "That is a foolish speech," I said. What would your husband say to it ?" "My husband?" she said, bitterly. "He would think I was right for once in my silly life." At that time I did not know as I knew afterwards that there was no love between this husband and wife. Bit by bit she unfolded to me the story of her marriage. Her husband had seemed to love her for a month or more, and she thought bitterly that she ought to have been grateful for so much; as on her part she had never cared for him at all. She had a lover who had loved her truly, and who had died; and after he was dead she had not cared what might become of her. Her guardians had urged her to accept Mr. Sutherland. He was of a fine old English family, and she was only a half-caste. She had thought that in wedding him she must at least be a prized and petted wife. But he had tired of her soon, and lived most of his time away from home. It was long before I knew that she had had a baby, and had lost it. It was not "I used to think I should go mad when I looked at them," she said, "and yet I could not keep my eyes off them, and used to wander about the house with this key in my hand. A good neighbour assured me that I ought to give them to the poor, and that that would help to take the sting out of my heart. I tried to do it, but I could not; and I feel ever since as if the poor were reproaching me for keeping them lying idle here." I suggested to her that she and I might spend the winter evenings pleasantly in making other clothes like these, of more useful materials, to be given to the poor babies whose nakedness so distressed her. She grasped at this idea, and soon we were very busy with calico and flannel. In the mean time, as we worked I told her stories of my Fan, and of other lost children. And from that date forth I believe she loved me indeed. One day at last she got a letter from her husband, saying he would be home on a certain day, and bidding her give a handsome ball to celebrate his arrival. Mr. Sutherland, it seemed, liked to keep up a delusion in the minds of his neighbours that he was obliged to live a good deal on the Continent for his health, but was glad to come back, when possible, to the country and his wife. But Mimi turned pale when she read his unwelcome letter. "You will be glad of a little gaiety," I said. "You have not had any for so long." And I kept my eyes away from her, lest she should be ashamed of the trepidation into which the prospect of her husband's coming had thrown her. "No," she said, "I have grown sick of all that, and have been so happy with only you. Gretchen, dear, you will be very careful to be friendly with Mr. Sutherland. He has some odd fancies, and-and-he does not even know that you are here. He has been so long away, and it was of no use telling him. I had a right to have you, |