YOUNG COLIN. AN EFFORT AT ORTHOGRAPHICAL CON- ) SISTENCT. Young Colin chants a mournful lay, While guiding of his plough, And not far off, beneath the hedge, j A damsel milks her cough. y Who's yonder ? cries the rustic swain, "Tis Molly, sure enough. ■I needn't from so sweet a girl Expect a rude reboogh." j Across the field be stoutly plods, Nor looks to left or right; Shy Molly flushes like the rose, And then her cheek grows wbighfc. « Dear lass," says he, in accents low, j "Among your othor beaux j you have not one as fond and true A a Colin, goodness kneaux So, though you t'other day refused j To heed a suitor's sigh, I ask once more-Wi.11 you be mine j The bride for whom I'd digh persistent wooing wins a maid— Her heart grew soft as dough; And soon a whispered H Yee" replaced Fair Molly's former "Nough." in
r: THROAT IBHITATION AND COUGH.—Soreness and Pryness, tickling and irritation, inducing cough and tree ting the voice. For these syinptons use .Kpps's Sjlyoerine Jujubes. In contact with the glands at the ;'toon»ent they are exoited by the act of sucking, the terine i n these agreeable confections becomes actively ,'bilin#. Sold only in boxes tins Is. lid., labelled fiiiMXS EPPS 4Co., HornoBopathic Chemists, London." aOr. George Moore, in his work on Nose and Throat diseases," says :—"The Glycerine Jujubes prepared by ^antes Eppa and Co., we ot undoubted service as a Jbtoative or palliative agent, while l>r. Gordon Holmes, Senior Physician to the Municipal Throat and liar ^Infirmary, writes t—" After an extended trial, I hare Joand your G lyocrine Jujubes of considerable benefit iu plmcst all forms of throat disease." L0511 $MANHOOD RESTOBED, REMEDY FREE.—A victim youthful imprudence, causing Permanent l)ecay, Nervous Debility, Lost Manhood, Ac., having tried iu Fain every known remedy, has discovered a simple Self-cure, which he will send FRKX to his fellow-sat rers.-Ad,treas W. Vox, 1, York-street, fconthwark don, 9.E. Lo478 jbnrttitigu cur<d fey CoLHAfc's r,castrated lltrSTiJiD. v\ SoV? fv 2:t*M *M a! C4?*U!
FROM DARKNESS iO DAWN. --0-- A STORY OF SOUTH WALES. By WM. BRETT PLUMMER. A UTIIOR OF The Vicars Son*' Boron a Coalmine, Another Man's Money," Jtoclcs Ahead," 4-c. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED BY THE AUTHOR.] CHAPTER VIII.-I,LA, I)YI-rjtyT. book in hand, determined, at toe iisii 01 nis I neck, to get a view of the breakers as they dash themselves frantically against the huge I boulders stretching out into the sea. It is a magnificent spot to witness the fury of a storm; it lies by the side of a headland oppo- site to Strumble Head, where the waters meet and lash themselves into a white, creamy foam, and where the wild fowl and I guns gather to make their homes in the thousand and one niches of the tall, black, sombre-looking rocks encircling the bay. Llandyffryn in itself is composed of a few small fishermen's huts and a little churob, huddled together on the pebbly yellow beach lying at the base of the cliffs. Running down from Cardigan into the valley there is a roughish bit of road, which finds an exit on the other side, and winds its way up the hill in the direction of St. David's, but in the winter time this is practi- I Don't, tell me," sail Nat, "Don't tell Mi thai My old friend, the Mayor, is no more" cally deserted, except for the weekly carrier's cart and the mounted postman, who find their way along it when the weather allows and the passage is not blocked with snow. But it is a dreamy place at all times, and but few visitors, comparatively (with the ex- ception of straggling artists), ever intrude into its picturesque wildness. High away up at the top of the cliff on the right of the valley stands a sort of farm-house surrounded bv a gloomy-looking patch of partly cultivated ground, in which every summer a thin crop of various serials may be seen straggling for existence on the ooarse, sandy soil. There are a few outhouses and farming implements scattered around, one or two pigs wander listlessly about, and a dozen fowls quarrel in the yard over the scarcity of the worms that fall to their lot. The whole place I is styled Monad-twr." The house itself is an old-fashioned tall, forbidding-looking building with white walls that appear to have bleached in the sun or washed colourless by the salineness of the rising ozone. It is a spot seldom intruded upon except by those whose business positively forces them to go there, and among the Welsh fishermen and their wives down below there is some sort of superstition prevailing with regard to the whole place. The postman, who may occasionally (say five or six times a year) find his way to Monad-twr," breathes a sigh of relief when bis task is ended, and whips up his rough Welsh cob with a smart lash for the home- ward journey, as much as to say, Well, I'm not sorry that's over, and I hope it will be a very long time before I have to come again." Now for the inmates. Monad-twr" was originally in the posses- sion of an eccentric old fellow who was popu- larly regarded by the local peasantry to have had illicit communications with the Evil One. For a matter of forty or fifty years after his decease the house, with its tall, forbidding tower, stood empty, the grounds became choked with weeds, the roads approaching from Cardigan Town covered with furze, and everything connected with the place fell into decay. Stories were rife concerning any number of ghostly visitors that were nightly seen on the craggs facing the sea, and men and women and children unanimously believed in them from Cardigan Town covered with furze, and everything connected with the place fell into decay. Stories were rife concerning any number of ghostly visitors that were nightly seen on the craggs facing the sea, and men and women and children unanimously believed in them and shunned the place. At length a man unknown in the district was daring enough to make his home there. No one knew where he came from. No one wanted to know anything about him. He looked like a rough farmer, and tilled the ground and sold his corn, reared a few sheep, said nothing to his neighbours^nd went on m this way for years. this way for years. He was supposed to be a married man, by th fV Toma'i wa" ",y seen llh him, and his wife, if wife she was, wa.% as uncommunicative as hft. fn the course of time the man died and his wife kept on the farm, that is to say, she lived there, but how she lived was a mystery,, for she troubled but little about the land, seldom went to Cardigan market, reared but little stook, and yet seemed to find soffieierrt for her wants. Eventually, from being m. mteriam she became even more in the mindi of the simple fishermen who lived in the valley, and the term, "gwrach," or witch, was fre- quently used when describing the mistress of I. Monad-twr." What little produce she raised evidently found a purchaser, or purchasers, in London, and her solitary farm labourer, a blear-eyed, sheepish-looking, red-headed man, used every three or four weeks to take it over to the town and despatch it thence by rail. Now, MiW-gfttet Wormtey knew the reputa- tion -she possessed, and, as a matter of fact, did not tnindit in the least; indeed, like her late husband, she preferred to live in seclu- sion, for the simple reason that the presumed farming was not and never had been genuine it was a blind, a delusion, and a cloak to hide the darker but more profitable side of her calling. This was the secret of it: her late husband, Patrick Wormley, was, as his name might imply, an Irishman, and, what was more, a patriot. From the commencement of the Home Rule agitation be had been closely connected with moat of the leading secret societies that had so proli- fically sprung up in both Ireland and America. He was a man of reserve, backed up by courage, and what be recognised or imagined (whichever the reader pleases) as the cause of his country he was ready to uphold to the best of his ability, even if the dangers he encountered might incur the risk of his life. He was, therefore, a useful m?mber of such an order or society as the National Social Federation, and from the moment of his taking the oath to be loyal and true to his country's liberation, he rapidly rose in the opinion of those of his associates who meant perhaps quite as well as he did but lacked the necessary determination to face the possible dangers. Now, at the time of which I write, by the co-operation of several Irish-American societies, the proposed arm ing of Irish Separa- tists and Loyalists was nearly brought to a bead, and to avoid detection small quantities of arms and ammunition were, when opportu- nity presented, sent to various head-quarters [along the- British coasts with a view to ulti- mately landing them at a secluded spot near Wicklow. So it came about that Patrick Wormley was deputed to visit the Welsh coast, and hearing that "Monad-twr'' was deserted and supposed to be haunted, with apparently no owner to claim it, and standing as it did quite adjacent to sundry well-concealed caves and disused quarries, and knowing also that it was but a comparatively short run across the bay to Wicklow Harbour, it naturally:struck a sharp man like Wormley that a better place could not possibly exist for his purpose. After inspecting it, both in daylight and at dark, be made some sort of inquiry for the owners, and finding that no one seemed to know anything at all about them, he put his broad shoulder to a door at the back of the yard, and, braving all ghostly visitants, took formal possession. Many a winter's night during the time he was alive (and many a [night sinoe) had one of the large rooms in "Monad-twr" been the scene of an orderly, deliberate, and well-planned meeting of j enthusiastic men who assembled because they had their nation's cause at heart. It was an excellently ohoaen spot for such'i a purpose, from the fact alone that very few out of Cardigan itself could speak a word of English. Consequently, there was no chance of curious inquiries, even had people been so disposed. But it is of Margaret Wormley that I have to deal now. There she is just coming out uf the old tumble-down stable with the light streaming upon her through the thatch. The chickens race round as she throws out the grain from her basket, and give us time to look at her. She is a bard- set-faced woman, of perhaps forty, with a clever, intelligent expression, and yet with something in her countenance that is for- bidding in the extreme. It is easy to see that she has at one time been certainly not devoid of good looks, and at the present moment even her features, though hardened, are regular and well chased. But it is her large black, deep-looking eyes and overhanging brows that make her appear almost a fiend, and as she looks at you she appears to pene- trate -your very soul. She is of medium height and well proportioned, dressed eare- lessly, with an old brown holland bonnet covering her slightly grey hair, a Scotch plaid shawl over her shoulders, which falls down in front of her somewhat dilapidated brown stuff dress. A huge black dog comes from the other side of the yard aud rubs his head in a friendly way against her. The action causes her to arouse from her reverie, and throwing down the basket she moves off in the direction of the house, which abuts on the cliff, followed by her canine com- panion, and, shading her eyes with her hand, gtares out across the bay. As she does so the clattering of hoofs on the hard stony road approaching the farm arrests her attention. The next instant the old gate creaks on its hinges, the youthful post- man dismounts, and muttering some incohe- rent expression in Welsh, almost tremblingly hands her a letter. Like a shot he is astride his cob, once more the gate has swung to with a clang, and the pony and its rider are rattling along the road in the distance. She laughs grimly and silently at the hastily retreating figure, and glances at the envelope. The colour in her face has gone her lips are white—her breast heaves with emotion. Tearing open the envelope she dashes one hand across her eyes, as if to clear her vision, and anxiously reads the contents. Her hand, with the letter grasped in it, falls helplessly by her side. II So, when he wants me to help him, he can come. Well, Nat Nicholson, we will see if you are as true to the promises of yonr youth as I have And placing the crumpled missive in her bosom, she walks, as if in a dream1 to the housei CHAPTES IX—In inn SjprDBii's Wuu. The cab oontaining- Miss Pentland: rolled aTong towards Kensington-, and finally draw: up in front of the Brunswick Hotel, which is In fashionable: West-end resort, patronised principally by retired half-pay officers (military a.nd aaval) and their familioe; A free and eaay air pervades the lower portion: of the house, inasmuch, as there is a smolie- room. a bar, and a billiard saloon; but in other respects the- hotel is almost ultra-aristo- cratic in its general bearing". Here Alice Pentland stopped, and engaged two private rooms. She was tired and sick at heart, wanting rest and solitude; and so, after a slight dinner, she retired to her bed- chamber, and in spite of her agony of mind, her tears, and her troubles, was soon calmly and peacefully enjoying a pure and refreshing rest. Her eyes were closed, and a sweet smile lighted up her fair face, around which her long hair nestled picturesquely. Now and then her hands would move convulsively and interlock, almost as if in prayer, and then she would turn slightly on her side and give a heart-drawn sigh; but the shadow would each time pass away, and the smile would again lighten up her face. Finally, wearied out, she sank into a heavy, lethargic slumber, and her regular breathing soon told the tale that she was at rest and oblivious of all the world. Tired and jaded though she was on her arrival, Alice had written a letter before she even partook of her dinner. To her it meant life and comfort; to her it was a ray of hope in the dark wilderness of her life to be able to pen a few lines to one whom she knew and trusted as a friend, if not even as something more. When her father's regiment was stationed at Madras Alice Pentland had met on various occasions at civilian balls, soirees, and garden parties a gentleman by the name of Blanchard. He was only a very young man, being, in fact, a year younger than she was; but he was manly and straightforward, and before long a firm attachment had sprung up between them. This attachment took root and grew, and Tom Blanchard and Alice Pentland had plighted their troth in spite of the stringent opposition of the major, who, from selfish motives alone, scarcely relished the idea of losing his only girl. Alice, who in all things was obedient to her father's slightest wish, had not the faintest intention of opposing him, and Tom Blanchard, though he loved Alice dearly, was also averse to possessing her hand unless the major was pleased to give it him. And the major wasn't soft-hearted or soft-headed enough to give way to either. It happened, therefore, that the two embryo lovers continued their innocent courtship, happy if only in one another's society, with- out the slightest or faintest hope of ever being able, singly or collectively, to break down the major's oast-iron ultimatum. It may appear absurd to many of my readers, but still the fact remains. Tom Blanchard was a gentleman, acd that word in in its true sense expresses more than any pen can ever convey. He loved, and was honour- able in his love, and was consequently happy, if only fate did not step in to separate him entirely from the object of his ohoice. A word about this Tom Blanchard will not I be out or place nere. He was the son of an Englishman who had, early in life, settled in Madras, and realised in a comparatively few years a hand- some and almost princely fortune. At his death he owned about a sixth of the principal buildings in the township, besides many miles of landaround. He traded profitably between England, America, and the British Colonies, and when he died Tom Blanchard, his only son, suoceeded to his enormous fortune, and was popularly styled the merchant prince." So when Major Pentland intimated his in- tention of ending his life in his mother country, Tom Blanchard intimated his inten- tion to Alice of following them by the suc- ceeding mail, and gave her a postal address in London that would find him. Alice promised to write him on her arrival, and, now that she was friendless and alone in the world (except for her brother, of whose whereabouts she was utterly ignorant), she was glad enough to keep her word and seek t the assistance of one whom she knew loved her as devotedly as she loved him, This letter was written and plaoed ready on her dressing table to be posted with a number of other missives relating to her business affairs with her lste father's solicitors and bankers. t < < < I Ah, good evening I'll take a glass of sherry—dry. Thank you. By the bye, have you a lady staying here by the name of Miss Pentland?" The inquirer was a florid-faced, good- humoured looking gentleman, with slight side whiskers, a polished silk hat, high military collar, a rather loudly-patterned check suit, yellow kid gloves, and a short silver-mounted cane. The clerk at the bar looked down the list; following each arrival carefully with his fore- finger. Miss Pentland, air "Eh? Yes, that's the name." Yet, air; she arrived about three hoars ago." By Jove, I thought so. I was sure I wasn't mistaken. The likeness—egad—the likeness is surprising. What a most remark- able coincidence to be sure." Would you like to see the lady, sir See her ? See her ? I should think so. See her? 1 intend seeing her—considering— ah but never mind. There—give me a sheet of notepaper, will you f" And the gentleman excitedly puffed away at a cigar he held between his teeth, at the same time muttering, See her ? Damme, 1 should think I would." Would you like to write the note in the coffee-room, sir, and I will send it up ?" in- quired the clerk. "Eh f Um-ah-yes. All right. God bless mv soul. Wonders will never cease, to be sure. Yes. Send the—a—waiter in with it, and -a (draining his glass) I'll take another glass of pale sherry, dry-mind- dry," and Nat Nicholson, for it was he, strutted in approved military fashion, with well- squared shoulders, to the room in question. lie seated himself at a small table, and, with his head perched sideways, penned the following lines :— My Dear ikliss Pent a really marvellous coincidence I have discovered you are etaying at this hotel. I am overjoyed, and should much like to see yoti-for I knew you as a child-alld have some news of the major, whom I trust is in town. it is years since we met, and he will, I know, b@ delighted to renew my acquaintance.—I have the honour to be, A LIFK-LOKG FRIKNQ OF YOUR FATHEH'S. There," said Nat, take that upstairs and tell Miss Pentland I shall not detain her Jong." The waiter returned in a short time with the request that the gentleman would walk upstairs. The orphan girl was seated faoing the door in an armchair at the farthest side of the fireplaoe, as Nat, with bis hat under his arm, entered effusively. She ro se and Nat. seizing her hand, shook it cordially, at the same time exolainiing, Pardon Miss Pentlaniw,-Alicep. as I used to oall 1T onoa:-but the eery sight of you brings ft9* suck old recollections.. Why, blfcss mt, Y.00 are in mourning.. Don't tell me—— Alice, bursting into tears, sank back in ohair with- her- handkerchief covering b* f'aae;. Dbn?b tell iiiL-il," said Nat; feigning th deepest anxiety, "dbn't tell me that my olj friend; the Major- Yes, sir,sobbed the girl in an agoni#^ voice)." my father is no mere; He died the niglit before last." Bear;, dear; God bless my soul ej lated the wily 5iat,. in well-assumed surpri^ you don't say so and to tftink tllat 1 ahouW be- just too late to see himi And youl brother, that I remember as st. batty. witeo ia he u Alive, I trust; but where I know not. do "Ther, tltere-calm yourself, my bill In this deep trouble you need a friend aJJ4 guardian. I am thankful that chance ha' sø mercifully directed my steps this way. lot the sake of your poor father I respected ? well I feel it my duty to stand by you in tbif moment of grief—this time of mourning^ and rest assured I shall do so." Alice was too distracted to take moo) notice of Nat's personal appearance ;ø4 bloated-looking countenance. She felt it relief to have found someone who would help her, and, murmuring her thanks, asked bito to be seated. II Now, my dear child, just let me tell yof who I am and how I came across you in this"" this providential way," Nat went on with 80 occasional tremor in his voice that was meallt to convey his deep emotion. My name ? I"ercival Ilugh J. Percival, an old captalo of the 24th. No doubt you have heard yr father speak of me. I knew him in Ind* years ago, and have held you in ull arms as a little one more than once, so yoø can feel free from any restraint in presence; for, though I am rough and an Bohemian, my heart, child, inwardly bleed? for you—yes, bleeds for you, Alice, and* shall try and fill your father's place now, as' know too well he would wish and expect IUO to do." Nat gave a slight choke and continued" Sinoe I came to England I have never Ille my poor friend, the Major, although Many letters have naturally passed between us; and, etrange to say, it was only yesterday saw in the Times of India, which paper if taken in regularly at my—at my-club, notice of the Major's intended departure fot the old country. Well, of course, 1 knew b6 would look me up immediately on his arrival but judge of my surprise last night wheo passing this hotel I saw your lugg arrive with the name of Pentland on I$. Wonders will never cease, I thought, and SO made inquiries, found I was right in my cow jeotures, and here I am ready and willing be of any service I may to one I respect shall cherish as the daughter of my dear, dead friend." And Nat, having delivered himself of hil well-directed lie, blew his nose violently, vigorously applied his handkerchief to bíØ eyes. While Alice Pentland felt that, rough as N* was in appearance, inwardly he was gentis as a woman, and that Providence had ia itO goodness directed him to her, to be a rook lean on in this hour of her affliction, (To be continued.)
TO BE BEAUTIFUL FOR EVER. An Authoress's Method for Attaining This Object, People who are old enough to remember LM Madame Rachel who found her way into LIIØ dock at the Old Bailoy by trying to ago fashionable la-dies" beautiful for over" will bI likely to recognise, in a book just published by foreign professional beauty, the trick which history has of repeating itself. It is quite t that tha methods ndopted by the authoress altogether different from those of the artist Bond-street, who had to pay so severe a penalty for making Mrs. Borrodaile "beautiful for over. » but the end sought to be attained-tliat of makit1 plain faces look divine—is precisely the 881118.. The Rachel rigiml was to achieve the object bf I cosmetics. The new method is to apply a I cutlet to eitlier cbeok." 1ber6 ore a"t I who may think the end would hardly justify l,'t ? foregoing means in their search after beauty, bu | tha veal cutlet cure is what the foreign society | beauty recommends, and those who choose va*J try it at their leisure. But what will MadaO1 t Patti say when she comes to read in the volU!JJ8 | just published by one of her own countrvworne I that" it is a mistake to suppose one can ianpro^ one's appearance by dyeing the hair ?
BOY MURDERERS. Four Beardless Youths Tried at Paris Assizes. ,r' On Tuesday morning four more youthful Paris^ criminals were brought up for trial before W1 assize judges. They were Joantroux, IMbot, and Gnlher, -who a few months ago an old woman named Kuehn, who was courier# in a block of buildings in the Rue Bogapaffij Jeantroux, a beardless boy of savanteeo, stabW* the victim in the throat while Ribot held WJ down and Pillet kept watch. Grilher, a f«U°* of 21, was accused of enabling the to get rid of the plunder which they after the perpetration of their deed. "P* ruffians had, however, tnimd the booty wide they had expected—the amount of the reD collected and kept in the house by Kvebn, No'" of the accused manifested any compunctioll fet the giiilt which had been brought home to tbetØt and they one and all demeaned themselves at tO bar with that cynical carelessness peculiar "J the irredeemable class of society to which th*/ belonged.
NEWEST DRESS BODICE. The newest dress bodice is fastened with but' tons on the left shoulder and dowc the seam undst lie left arm. The front is plain, except tor a fa* folds at the waist, and the back is seamless. TJJ" stuff is made the bins way in many of ihese. T&J sleeves are in velvet, and the left one button* down upon a lining round the inner side of tiO arm, the bodice falling over this fastening ,,11 concealing it. It will give riso to as much conj ture as the question of how the apple got into dumpling raised in King George'e mind. Peop will wonder how the wearer got inside the bodie* just as they did when the Princess of Wales firll appeared, now many years ago, in an "eelskio jersey.
THE MATRIMONIAL MARKET. A Buffalo Young Lady's Amusing Hoag, A piquant and original young lady of Buffa^J N.Y., has mdulgsd in a practical joke upon the young men of that city. The maiden caused ttlif personal to be inserted in a local paper:— ERSONA L. -Wanted, immediately, by yonng 0 JL of culture, refinement, and wealth a gentiolu who will marry her within a week from Cause—she is obliged to go West on businjjjj matters, and, owing to circumstances which she vvio explain (family affairs), feels she cannot under her own name wishes it understood ttatf j purely a business matter will marry gentleman noon, and take three o'olock train from town; will never see her again, and at end of year divorce on ground of desertion; fair compensation. « gentleman for use of name at end of year; none gentleman and those considering this entirely abusing transaction Lieed apply.-Address, Real Estate, office, Citv..<A It was" all a hoax, of course, although that not retard t!ie rush of business gentlemen wi £ ing to rent their name for a stated sum per annUflj It gave the local papers a topic for a week, the replies received, kindly furnished to the pTt* by the maiden, made interesting reading.
He waa a little confused by her appearance and by Mrs, Fogg's severe stolidity of manner, and. having uttered his speech very rapidly, ha escaped once more into some inner room, leaving Jess to his landlady's mercies. It had occurred to him that the girl's hair would not show to advantage if she were in her common clothes, and that she was not very likely to know how to arrange the artistic garb that he had dreamed of for her and it was real kindness and delicacy of feel- ing that had prompted him to provide her with a tirewoman and protectress, "Another time she will know how to manage," he said to himself, as he stood before his easel, touch- ing in an outline with a piece of charcoal, II but to-day she will need help." A nd as he said the words to himself the door opened, and Jess came in. But a changed, transfigured Jess; not the untidy, ragged flower-girl, but a golden-haired girl in white, whose face was as pure and sweet as that of a pictured saint. For the drapery with which she had been invested was admir- ably suited to her slender figure and colour- leas, delicate face. With any large square of material, a few pins and a little skill, it is possible, in the space of about three minutes, to drape a figure in what looks like an exact reproduction of a Greek woman's graceful dress. Mrs. Fogg had been trained by George Eastwood, and formerly by George's mother, who had a passion for theatricals and tableaux vivants, and knew to a nicety how to arrange colours and folds to the best possible effect. With some difficulty she had persuaded Jess to take off her gown, and draped her from neck to ankle in the soft white stuff that had been provided for the purpose. Then she let down the mass of golden red hair, and was herself astonished at its length and Oneness and softness. And it was in this guise that Jess came into George Eastwood's studio, and took the place shown her by Mrs. Fogg upon the little platform meant for the artist's Irving models. e. Eastwood looked he could not speak. There was something in the pale pure profile of this half-starved, uneducated girl of the people that seemed to go to his heart. What it was exactly that charmed him he could not make out. It waa not beauty, in the strict sense of the word. It seemed to him as if there was a hint—a suggestion—of 80mething nobler and sweeter than mere beauty in Jess's downcast face. The slightly- parted lips, with their downward curve, the lowered white eyelids, the slender throat half turned aside, suggested a refinement and deli- cacy of breeding which, most assuredly, poor Jeaa waa not likely to possess. The rippli ng hair gieamed in the strong north light more brilliantly even than it bad gleamed beneath the gas-lamps in Baldwin's Market, and East- wood aoted that it was, not only lovely in colour, but that it grew prettily--springing away from her forehead and behind the eara ia a hundred little golden tendrils aud oareiising curls, which flung into strong relief the clear pallor of her face and the heavier Whiteness of her dress. George Eastwood was suddenly conscious of a mad desire to take this pale creature in his arms and kits some colour into her lips and cheeks, to crush the golden masses of hair in his hands, and wind its tendrils round his fingers. There wae something that charmed him irresistibly in this child of the street&-t" daughter of the people. Aad yet he waa a man with soaie sort of a heart and CODSOienoe-with tiee that bound him to another, and with a keen intelleotual realisation of the fact that this golden-haired girl could never be in any way a fit mate or compaction to him. He turned back to his easel and tried to set to work. To his annoyance he found that his heart was beating violently and his hand shaking so that he could hardly wield the brush. After a few ineffectual attempts he threw himself into a chair and remained for a few 1 momeuts gazing idly at Jess, who stood motionless as a statue, scarcely daring even to breathe, and glancing now and then at Mrs. Fogg, who sat austerely with her knitting in one corner of the room. At last he got up and spoke abruptly. "J can't do anything to-day," be said. Will you come to-morrow, Jess ? The light. isn't good to-day. To-morrow at the same time. That's right. Mrs. Fogg will help you to take off that dress. And—oh here it the money I promised you." He remembered, with a sudden Rhooli of Surprise, that he had never before felt a difficulty in offering money to the model who had sat for him. Why should be feel it, then, with im ? The girl hardly said a word in reply either to him or to Mrs. Fogg. She put on her old gown and her battered black hat onoe more, ( aod passed silently out of the studio into the < road. Some one was waiting for her at the next ] Earning—a young man with wild black eyes Sid lowering brows. Mr. Helmont had said Eaetwood that his name was Stephen Eyre, (To be continued.) II II us—i