Nobelist.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVIII, Issue 2289, 12 March 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

Nobelist.

HARD TO WIN: THE STORY OF STRANGE LIVES BY GEOEGB MANVILLE FENN, Author op " Ship Ahoy," " Dutch the Diver," " The Foundry Belle," &c. The Story: IB6o.—Strange Lives. [All Eights Reserved.] CHAPTER XXI. "WHERE'S YOUR COLLAR?" That morning Monsieur Hector Launay was happy. He had been to Portland Place, acted as executioner to the mole upon her ladyship's chin, buried it beneath the court plaister, been paid his bill, and in going out squeezed Justine's hand, and—Ah, oui, mes amis—she had squeezed it again. 1 Yes, yes,' hu had cried, joyously, as he returned, with the recollection of Justine's bright eyes making his own sparkle, 'encore a little more of this isle of fogs and rhoums and spleen, encore a little more of the hard cash to be made here, encore a little too much more wait, and then cette chere Justine and la Francela France—Trall-la—Trail-la—Trall-la.'

From this it; will be seen that Monsieur Hector Launay was joyous. It was his nature to be joyous, but he suppressed it beneath a solemn mask as of wax. He was as immobile as a rule as his own gentleman ; that is to say, the wazen image of his craft which looked down Upper Gimp-street from the shop window —the gentlemen who was married to the handsome lady with the graceful turn to her neck, who always looked up Upper Gimpstreet from morning till night, saving at such times as Monsieur Hector Launay hung old copies of the Figaro or Petit Journal before them, lest the heat of the summer sun should visit their cheeks too roughly. In fact a neglect of this on one occasion had resulted in the wax "giving " a little, and the lady having a slight attack of mumps. These dwellers in a happy atmosphere Ibehind glass were the acme of perfection In the dressing of their hair, the lady's being the longest, and the gentleman's the shortest possible to conceive. So short was the latter's in fact, that it might have been used to brush that of the former ; and so occupied were they in gazing up and down the street that they might have been the spies who furnished Monsieur Hector Launay with the abundant information he possessed respecting the elite who lived in a wide circle round bis dwelling in that most strange of London regions — mysterious Marylebone.

He was a slim, genteel, sallow gentleman, polite in the extreme, always the perfection of cleanliness, and, as Lord Anthony said, smelling as if made of scented soap. His eyes were of the darkest, so was his hair, which was cut to the pattern in the window. He had a carefully-waxed and pointed moustache, but shaved the rest of his face as religi6usly as he did that of Lord Anthony, every morning, passing his hand over the skin and seeming to be always hunting for one particular bristle, which evaded Jiim. , . It has been said that he might be supposed to have gained his information about the various people around by means of his two wax figures, who afterwards communicated their knowledge to him in some ocult way, though the theory might hold water that the thoughts of people's brains radiated to the ends of their hairs which were cut off and remained in the possession of the barber for distillation, sale, or the fire. Monsieur Hector Launay, it must be owned, was, though a lover of his country, not patriotic from a Communist, Imperialist, Royalist, or Republican point of view. Friends and compatriots often -wanted hi:n to join in this or that conspiracy. # _ * No,' he would say, ' it is ignoble, nor is it pleasant to live here, and shave and cut and dress, but it is safe. 'Mai foi, no,' he would say, ' I should not like to foe* guillotined and find myself a head short some morning; neither should I like to be sent to New Caledonia, to be cooked by the cannibals of that happy land. . Certainly he had periodic longings sometimes, but they took the form of eau suoree or a little cup of coffee with Justine at Versailles, or the Bois do Boulogne, so he waited, stored up knowledge, sang chansons, and invented, wonderful gashes for the skin or hair. «Yes,' said Monsieur Hector, I know «,hat is immense. Ladies place themselves hi my hands, and would I betray their confidence? Never, never. A .coiffeur in a good district is the repository of the grandest secrets of life. I could ■write a book but, ma foi, no. I never be--trav. I am a man of trust.' John Huish came into his shop that .morning for a periodical cut and shampoo,

after sending Joby on his regular mission, and Monsieur Hector smiled softly to himself as he played with the young man's hair.

' That good dog, monsieur, will he find his way back.' 'What do you mean?' said Huish, sharply. ' Pardon, monsieur, a mere nothing ; but I should not trust a dog. They suspect yonder.' John Huish turned and gazed at him angrily. 'Yes,' said Monsieur Hector, 'it is a tender subject, but Igo so much that I come to know nearly all.' ' What the deuce do you mean ?' said Huish.

' Monsieur forgets that I dress Lady Denver's hair; that Mademoiselle Clare often goes to the opera with her beautiful fair tresses arranged in designs of my inventiou. But, Monsieur, they talk about the dog.'

Someting very like an imprecation came from"John Huish's lips, but he restrained it.

' Monsieur may trust me,' said the hairdresser. 'Mademoiselle Justine is a great friend of mine. Have you not remarked iicr likeness to my lady of wax. She is exact. It is she—encore.' 'Oh, indeed,' said Huish, drily. 'Yes, monsieur; some day we shall return to la France together to pass our days in simple happy joys.' ' Look here,'said Huish, bluntly. 'I am an Englishman, and always speak plaiuly. You know all about me—about the house in Portland Place ?' ' Everything, monsieur,' said the hairdresser, with a smile and a bow. ' Mademoiselle Justine is desol6e about the course that affairs have taken ;she speaks to me of Sir Wilters as the enemy. Pah! she say he is old bete, he is not at all a man. We discourse of you, monsieur— we lovers—and we talk of your love. We agree ourselves that it is foolish to trust a dog.'

' How the devil do you know that I was trusting a dog ?' said Huish furiously. 'Ma foi, monsieur is angry. Why so, with one who would serve him ? Justine loves you—l then love you. How do I know? —" a shrug here—"monsieur is indisoret. Justine could not fail to see.' ' Confusion !' ejaculated Hush. 'And yet it is so easy, monsieur—a note—a cake of soap—a packet of blom— a bottle of scent—it is wrapped up—for Mademoiselle Clare with my printed card outside —Voila ! who could suspect?' 'Look here,' said Huish, turning sharply round. ' Pardon, monsieur, I use the scissors ; there is a little fresh growth here.' ' What do you expect to be paid for this, if I trust you, and perhaps I shall not, for it is confoundedly dirty work.' 'Pardon, monsieur,'cried the Frenchman, laying his hand upon his breast, "I am a gentleman. Pay? Nothing. Have I not told you that Justine whom I have the honour to love, adores her young mistress. She adores Monsieur, and would serve him. I in my turn adore Mademoiselle Justine. lam her slave— I am yours.' ' Let's see—Justine ? That is her ladyship's maid ?' 'True, Monsier. But this morning she say to me—' Hector, mon enfant, I'm desolee on the subject of those two children. Help them, mon garcon, and I will be thy benefactor.' " 'It is good, I say to her, and I place myself at Monsieur's disposition. John Huish frowned, and Monsieur Hector went on with his shampooing' till the head between his hands was dried, polished, and finished, when the hairdresser took up a little ivory brush, and anointed it with some fragrant preparation to bo applied in its turn to the patient's beard, till the fair hairs glistened like gold, and Monsieur Hector fell back and looked at him in admiration.

' But Monsieur is fit now for the arms of a goddess,' he exclaimed. ' Does he accept my assistance ?' John Huish looked at him for a moment, as he paid the fee usual upon such occasions, and then said bluntly :—

'Monsieur Launay, I am obliged to you, and you mean well. Doubtless Mademoiselle Justine means well, and she has my thanks, but I cannot accept your assistance. Good morning—Ah, Joby, old fellow.' He drew back into the little room as the dog came hastily in, and placed his head againyt his master's leg. ' Why, Joby !' 6xclaimed Huish, in a low excited tone, ' where is your collar ? Blood, too! You have been fighting. Good heavens! what shall Ido ?—lf that note is found ! —Oh, my poor darling !' he muttered, and he hurried from the place. A minute later he returned to say sharply to the hairdresser, ' Monsieur Launay, what you have said is a profound secret between us. As a French gentleman, I trust to your honour.' ' And Monsieuraccepts Jie offer of my services ?' ' I cannot say yet—l will call again.' John Huish left the place aud went along the street, Monsieur Launay snatching a copy of Le Petit Journal from over the head of his gentleman, whose fixed eyes followed the young man as he went slowly along the pavement with Joby close at his heels. ' C'est fait,' exclaimed Monsieur Launay. 'Justine mon anjje, I shall obey you and save Monsieur Huish —Ma foi! what a name ! They will be happy and then I —Ah, la France —la bel-le,' he sang, 'at last I shall return to you a rich man. Oh, but it was quite plain : he had sent a note by the dogue, and the boule-dogue had lost it and his collar. But what it is to be ingenious—to have of the spirit! If I rase and cut hair, I starve myself, but if I make myself of great use to all around I grow rich. Live the secrets ! Justine, you will be mine at last. • Aha ! it is good,' he continued, ' I have another secret to keep. This is the bureau aux secrets. He had not remarked the likeness to my adorable. It is beautiful, and she was jalouse when I say I love my lady of wax Cctte cherie. But, ma foi! I must be busy over my other affairs ; there is the coiffure of the Grande chouette to prepare. Aha, Miladi Denver, you will call ma cherie bete stupide, and trouble her poor sweet soul. Now I shall have my revenge and bo on ze best of terms as you say all ze time. La—la —la—la—la—la. Par—tir pour la guer —re —la guer-re. Ces braves soldats."

He sang on in a low tone, and began to comb some of Lady Denver's falsities, and while he combed he smiled, and when Monsieur Hector smiled he was making plans. ' Vive les conspirateurs !' he cried ; and then prepared for his primitive repast. Being a bachelor at present, he cooked for himself behind a little screen over a gas stove ; sometimes it was food, sometimes strange cosm6tiques and chemical preparations for beautifying his clients. This day it was food preparation, and, manipulated by Monsieur Hector, one kidney became a wonderful dish, swimming in gravy. Tiny bits of meat reappeared brown and appetising ; and he was great upon soup, which he made with half a pint of water, some vegetables, and a disc cut off what seemed to be so much glue in a sausage skin. But he lived well upon a small income, and partook of grand salads, water souchees made of one herring, biftek aux pommes, cafe, eau sucree, and cigarette. One gas burner cooked, boiled, and stewed, and his cleanliness and saving

ways enabled him to afford his game at billiards; and to pass for a Parisian of the first water under a political cloud.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE VOICE IN WIMPOLE-

STREET.

' It's enough to drive a man to do anything,' exclaimed John Huish, as he dashed down the fashionable newspaper he had been reading, where, in a short paragraph he had found that which he told himself would make him wretched for life. The paragraph was as follows : — 'We understand that an alliance is on the tapis between Sir Grantley Wilters, of Morley Hall, Shropshire, and Eatonplace, and the Honourable Clare Hetley daughter of Lord Anthony Denver.' ' I seem to be crushed,' exclaimed the young man, rising and walking hastily up and down the room. ' Everything goes wrong with me, and I believe I am going mad. Perhaps it is fate,' he said, gloomily, 'and all to save that poor girl from wretchedness.

'I was dreaming of that cursed mummy last night, and so sure as I do, something happens the next day. I wish I had never seen it. ' I really shall think I am going mad,' he exclaimed, after a few turns up and down the room, ' if I come to such absurd conclusions as this. Just as if the seeing of a wretched piece of embalming could influence a fellow's life. And yet it's very strange, he said with a peculiar smile. 'I do meet with some adventures just now. Captain Robsou out me dead yesterday. ' Well, that's easily explained. He's a great friend of Lady Denver. ' Frank Morrison asked me for the ten pounds I owed him, and I paid him without a word. That was another of my lapses of memory, I suppose. Heigho ! Joby, old fellow, I wish I could forget the unpleasant things, and then perhaps there would be some comfort in life. ' Wow, what's to be done ?' he cried, as his eyes fell again upon the newspaper. 'I cannot bear this. Here's a whole month since I have heard from or seen poor little Clare, for I haveu't the heart to try any more of those clandestine tricks.' He sat down and thought over the past month and its incidents, taking out and re-reading a note with Lady Denver's crest upon it, in which her ladyship very curtly requested that Mr John Huish would refrain from calling in Portland Place, for after what had occurred she could only look upon his visits as an insult. She wrote this at the request of Lord Anthony. ' This is a monstrous fib,' said John Huish, angrily,' for the amiable little old man was always most friendly. But what shall I do ? I must see her ; I must hear from her. They are forcing this on with the poor girl, and it is like blasting her young life. She'll be worse off than poor Ren6e, who is anything but happy I hear; for that young Morrison is being led into all sorts of wild games by Captain Garland. But there, I must think of my own troubles. What shall I do?' ' Tom !' he ejaculated, after a pause. 'No; he has not answered either of my last letters. There is something wrong there.' He sat thinking again. ' Confound it all ! It is so contemptible. I hate him, but what can I do ? I must send a note through that Frenchman. Pah ! how I hate this backstairs work, but what can Ido ? I am debarred the front stairs, which are open to that confounded roue, Wilters.' He stamped up and down the room again till there was a knock. ' Come in,' he cried, and a groom opened the door. ' Please, sir, master's compliments, and—and—l beg your pardon, sir, he'd be much obliged if you wouldn't stamp up and down the room so. He's got a bad headache, and you're just over him.' ' Was that the message your master sent ?' exclaimed Huish, for the groom was the servant of an acquaintance who had chambers on the floor below. ' Well, sir; no, sir ; not exactly, sir,' said the man, suppressing an inclination to smile. 'What did he say then !' ' Please sir, he said, go up and ask Mr Huish if he's going mad, and he shied one of his boots at me.' ' Tell him yes—raving mad," said Huish savagely, and the man went down. ' I must be,' exclaimed the young man, brightening up, 'or 1 should have thought of this sooner. Lord Robert ! Why of course ; and if he falls why there's the doctor. Hausr it, he might interfere and put in a certificate saying that it would be the death of the poor girl if she is forced into a wedding with that fellow. But Lcrd Robert first. He hastily threw off his lounging coat and got ready for going out, giving the dog his conge for a few hours. ' You can stay here, Joby,' he said, patting him, 'or go out for a bit. I'm not afraid of you being stolen." The dog gave the floor a few raps with his tail, and, looking bright and eager, John Huish started off upon his mission.

About a couple of hours earlier, Clare Hetley, looking palo and sad, was walking with her sister down Wimpole-street, the yellow and wan, for the two young girls to stop at last before the yellowest and most wan-looking of all the dreary houses in that most dreary street. It was a house before which no organ man ever stopped to play, no street vendor to shout his wares, nor passer-by to examine from top to bottom ; the yellow shutters were closed, and the appearance of the place said distinctly ' out of town.' The windows were very dirty, but that is rather a fashion in Winpole-street where the windows get very dirty in a month, very much dirtier in two months, and as dirty as possible in three. They of course never get any dirtier, for when once they have arrived at this pitch they may go years, the weather rather improving them, what with the rain's washing and the sun's bleaching. The paint of the front door was the worst part about the house, for the sun had raised it in little blisters, which street boys could not bear to see without cracking and picking off in flakes ; and the consequence was that the door looked as if it had had a bad attack of skin disease, and a new skin of a paler hue was growing beneath the old.

YVimpolestreetis rather famous for the knockers upon, its doors. They are large and resounding. In fact a clever manipulator could raise a noise that would go rolling on a still night from nearly one end of the street to the other. For in their wisdom, our ancestors seized the idea of a knocker on that soundiug board —a front door, as a means to warn servants downStairs that some one was waiting, by a deafening noise that appealed to those in quite a different part of the place. But this was not allowed at the house with the blistered front door, for a great staple had been placed over one side of the knocker for years, and when you had passed the two great iron extinguishers that were never used for links, and under the fantastic ironwork that had never held a lamp since the street had been lit with gas, and ascending throe steps stood at the door, you could only givo quite a diminutive kind of knock, such as was given upon that occasion by Ecneo, for Clare was carryiug a largo bouquet [of flowers.

The knock was hard enough to bring a littlo bleached sparrow of a man, dressed

iu black, to the door, and his colourless face, made whiter-looking' by a little black silk cap ho wore, brightened as ho held his head first on one side, then on the other, his triangular nose adding to his sparrow-like appearance, and giving a stranger the idea that ho would never kiss anyone, but would pock. ' How is his lordship this morning, Vidler ?' said Clare.

' Capital, said the little man, holding wide the door for the Indies to enter, and closing it quickly lest, apparently, too much light should enter at the same time.

For the place was very gloomy and subdued within, fvom the groat porter's chair to the umbrella stand, andtho pictures all looked sombre and black. Even the two classical figures holding lamps that had not been lighted for a quarter of a century at least, were black, and a stranger would have gone stuuiblinsr and feeling his way along ; but not so Vidler, Lord Robert Denver's body servant: he was as much at hone in the gloom as an owl, and in a quick lively manner that was almost spasmodic ho lod the way upstairs, but only to stop on the first landing. '' If I might make so bold, Miss Clare.' he said, holding his he.id. on one side. ' I don't often sniff a flower now,' Clare hold up the bouquet, and the little man, taking a long sniff with a nose as if taking a pinch of snuff, said, 'Thank you, Miss,' and went on np to the back drawing room door, which was a little lighter than the staircase, for the top of the shutters of one of the three tall narrow windows was open.

A glance round the room shewed that it was scrupulously clean. Time had blackened the paint and ceilings, but everything that could be cleaned or polished was in the highest state of perfection. For - Valentine Vidler and his wife Salome, being 1 very religious and conscientious, people, told themselves and one another nearly every day that as the master never supervised anything it was the more their duty to keep everything in the best of order. For instinct-, Vidler Would say. 'I dou'b think 1 chall clean all that plate over this weelc, Salome. It's as clean as it can be.' When to him, Salome: ' Valentine, there's one above who knows all, and though your master may not know that you have not cleaned the plate, He will.' ' That's very true, Salome,' the little man would say with a sigh, and then set to work in a green biize apron, soon to be rouged up to the eyes as he polished away. Another day perhaps it would be Salome's turn ; for the temptation, as she called it, would attack her. The weather would be hot perhaps, and a certain languid feeling, the result of a want of change, would come over her. ' Valentine,' she would say, perhaps, • I think the big looking-glass ia the' drawing-room will do this week ; it's as clean as clean.' ' Hah !' would say Valentine, with a sigh, ' Satan has got tight hold of you again, my dear little woman. It is your temptation that you ought to resist. Do you think the Lord cannot see those throe fly specks at the bottom corner. Resist the temptation, little woman, resist it.' Then little Salome, who was a fine plump little woman, who somehow reminded you of a thick potato shoot that had grown in the dark, would sigh, put on an apron that covered her all over except her face, climb on a-pair of steps and polish the groat mirror till it was as clear as hands could make it. She was a pleasant-faced little body, and very neatly dressed. There was a little fair sausage made up of rolled-up hair on each side of her face, two very shiny smooth surfaces of hair over her forehead, and a neat little garden walk up the centre, the whole being surmounted by one of those quaint highcrovvned caps which project over to the front. In fact there was, in spite of the p0r.,1 to shoot allusion, a good deal of resemblance in little Mrs Vidler to a plump charity child, especially as she wore an apron with a bib, a white muslin kerchief crossed over her bosom, and a pair of muslin sleeves up to her elbows.

The little woman was in tho drawingroom armed with a duster us Valentine showed up the young ladies, and she faced round and made two little bobs, quite in the charity school child fashion, as taught by those who so carefully make it the first" duty of such children to obey their pastors and mashers, and order themselves lowly and reverently, and make bobs and hows to —all their betters.

' Why, my dears, I am glad to see yon,' she exclaimed, 'Miss Rente—there, I beg your pardon—Mrs Morrison what an age it is since I saw you. And only to think, you a married lady now, when only the other day you two were little things, and I used to bring you one in each hand looking quite frightened, in-to-his room, when your dear uncle— 'Ah yes, Salome, times are changed,' said Renoe, sadly. ' How is uncle ? ' Very well, my dear,' said the little woman, holding her head on one side to listen in the same bird-like way adopted by her husband. ' He's not in his room yet. But what beautiful flowers !' She inhaled the scout precisely as her husband had done, before fetchiug a china bowl from a choffonier, and carefully wiping it inside and out, though it was" already the perfection of cleanliness. 'A jug of clean water, if yon please, Vidler,' she said, softly. 'Yes, my dear,' said the little man, smiling at the sisters, and giving his hands a rub together, before going for the water.

' I w;is bo sorry, Miss Reuee. There, I must call you so, my dear ; it so natural. I was so sorry that I did not see you when you came. Only to think of my being oat for a whole month nursing my poor sister. I hadn't been away from the place before for twenty years, and poor Vidler was so upset without me. And I don't think,' she added, nodding, ' that his lordship liked it.' ' I'm sure he would not,' said Clare ; and then, the little man coming in very quietly and closing: the door after him, water was poured in the china bowl, the flowers duly deposited therein and placed upon a small mahogany brackot in front of a panel in the centre of the room. ' There, my dears, I'll go now. I dare say he will not be long.' The little woman smiled at the sisters, and the little man smiled at them in a satisfied way as if he thought them very pleasant to look upon. Then, taking his wife's hand they toddled together out of the room, closing the door very softly after them. Such a quaint, subdued old room, so comfortless. Upon a wet day, when a London fog hunt over the streets, and filled the back yards, no female could have sat in it for an hour without moistening her handkerchief with tears. For it was, in its dim twilight, liko a drawing-room of the past, full of sad old memories of the dead and gone, who haunted it and clung to its furniture and chairs. It was impossible to sit there long without peopling the chairs with those who occupied thorn—without seeing soft, sad faces reflected in the mirrors, or hearing fancied footsteps on the faded carpet. And it was so now, as the sisters sat thinking in silence, Renee with her head resting upon Jut hand, Clare with her eyes closed half dreaming of what must have been. For Clare's thoughts ran back to a miniature in Lord Anthony's desk, of a

handsome, sun-browced young man in uniform, bright-eyed, keen and animated ; and she thought of what she had heard of his history, how ho had loved some fair young girl before his regiment was ordered away to Canada, and how he had come back to find that she had become another'a, and then that some terrible struggle had occurred between him and his rival, and the young officer had been maimed for life—turned in one minute from the strong vigorous man to a misanthrope, who dragged himself about with difficulty, half paralysed in his lower limbs, but bruised more painfully in his heart; for broken iu spirit as iu body, he has shut himself up, after his long illness, never seeing a soul since, never going out of the closely shuttered rooms that he had chosen for himself in his lonely faded house.

Vidler had been a drummer in his regiment, she had heard, and he had devoted himself to his master who had fetched him in when lying wounded under firo; and in due time Vidler had married and brought his little wife to the house, the couple never leaving it except on somo emergency, but growing to liko the darkness in which they dwelt, and sternly doing their duty by him they served.

' Poor uncle !' sighed Clare, as she thought of his desolate life, and her own sad position. ' I wonder who it was he loved.' • As the though passed her mind, there was a slight noise in the next room, like the tupping of a stick upon the floor, and Claru laid her hand upon her sister's arm. Then the noise ceased, and the little panel, about a foot square, before which the flowers had been placed was drawn aside, seeming to run into a groove. The sisters did not move, but waited, knowing from old experience that at a word or movement on their part, the panel would be clapped impatiently to, and that their visit would be a fruitless one.

A stranger would have thought of rats, and the action of one of those rodents in what took place ; for now that the panel had been slid back, ; all remained perfectly still, and if tho mover were listening and watching. Then at last a thin very white hand appeared, lifted the flowers out of the bowl, and they disappeared through, the panel. There was not even a rustling noise heard for a few minutes, during which tho sisters sat patiently waiting. At last there was a faint sigh ; and a cold —so to speak colourless — voice said: — ' Is Clare there ?' ' Yes, dear unole,' said the young girl, eagerly. ' Anyone else ?' 'I am here too, dear uncle,' said Reuee. ' Hah ! I am glad t3 hear you, my children, glad to hear you. How is my brother ?' ' Papa is not very well, uncle,' said Clare. Poor dear, his gout is very troublesome.' ' Poor Anthony !' said the voice, in the same cold monotonous way that was almost repulsive in its chilling tone. ' Toll him, when he is well enough, he can come and talk to me for half-an-hour. I cannot bear more.' 'Yes, dear uncle,' I will tell him,' said Reneo. Then there was another pause, and at last tho thin white hand stolo cautiously forth, half covered with a lace frill, and the cold voice said— 'R,en6e.' The young wife lef her seat, -went forward, took the hand in her ungloved fingers, and kissed it. Then she returned to her place and the voice said— < Clare !' The young girl went through the same performance, and as she loosed it, the hand was passed gently over both her cheeks, and then withdraw, when Clare returned to her seat, and there was again silence. 'You are not happy, Hence,' said tho voice at last in its cold measured accents ; ' there was a tear on n:y hand.' lleuee sighed, but made no reply. ' Clare, child ; I like duty towards parents, but I think a child goes too far when, at wish, she marries a man she does not love.

' Oh, uncle dear,' cried Ciare, hysterically, ' pray, pray do not talk like this.' She made a brave effort to keep back, and partially succeeded, for Pv,enee softly knelt down by her side and drew her head close to her breast.

' Poor children said the voice again. ' I am sorry, but I cannot help you, you must help yourselves. There was a nervous, querulous tone in the voice now, and if the suppressed sobs that faintly rose troubled the speaker, but it had passed away when it was heard once more in a quiet way more like an appeal than a command.

'Sing to me.' The sisters rose and went to a very old-fashioned grand piano, opened it, and Clare's fingers swept the wiry jangling chords which sounded quite in keeping with the room, then, subduing the music as much as possible so that their fresh young voices dominated, rising and falling in a. rich harmony that floated through the room, they sang the old duet—' Flow on, thou shining river.' Every note seemed to have in it the sadness of age, the mournful blending to have by-gone when hope was fresh and disappointment and care had not crushed with a load of misery a heart once ) ouug as those of the

singers. A deep sigh came from the little panel, unhcard'though by the two girls, and the hand appeared once more for the thin white fingers to tap the wood gently in unsion with the music, which was in expressibly sweet though sad. For how is it that those melodies of the past, even though major, seem to acquire a mournful richness that is not minor, but has all its sad sweetness. Take what pathetic air you will of a generation or two back, and see if it has not acquired within your knowledge a power of drawing tears that it had not in the days of old.

From the simple duet, first one and then tho other glided to the old-fashioned ditties popular thirty or forty years ago. ' Those Evening Bells'—• Waters of Ello ' —and the like, till, without thinking, Clare began ' Love not,' her sweet young voice sounding intensely pathetic as she went on, gradually gathering inspiration from the words, till in the midst of the sweotest, most appealing strain, she uttered a cry of misery, and threw herself sobbing into her sister's arms'. ' Oh, Clare, Clare, my darling why did you sing that ?' whispered RentSe trying to soothe her, as her own tears fell fast, but in vain for a few minutes, when by a bravo effort, Clare got the better of her hysterical feelings, and hastily wiping her eves, glanced towards tho panel where the bowl of water stood upon the bracket, but the opening was closed.

('To be continual.)