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-----------FROM DARKNESS iO…





! THE GREAT mill-street ?…


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