'You will be in Paris, then, by Sunday,' said he, pretty calmly; 'will you do two or three little commissions for me?'

She swept a choice porcelain vase filled with flowers, off the table at her elbow, as if by accident, but the gleam in her dark Italian eyes denoted the storm would break ere long.

'I shall only go through Paris from one station to the other. I long so to be back in my dear Italy.'

"Then I wont trouble you,' said Holyhead. 'You must have a great deal to do; I will order my horse and wish you adieu,' he added, moving towards the bell.

The Signora's hand shook visibly, and her deep bosom heaved under her somewhat untidy morning dress. This was not what she wanted at all. She had no more intention of going to Italy than she had of losing her theatrical engagement, but she wanted to be implored to stay, and that her acquiescence should be made a great favour of, and serve as a pretext for the indulgence of a thousand future whims, including a certain fairy carriage with creamcoloured ponies, on which she had set her heart. She took, moreover, a delight in tormenting Holyhead, which none but her own sex can understand. She was under countless obligations to him. He had stood her friend for years, and she liked him just well enough to enjoy vexing him. She snatched the bell-rope from his hand, and pointing to a chair in her noblest tragedy attitude, with stiffened arm and down-turned wrist,

'Sit down,' she screamed, we do not part like this. How dare you use me thus?

Then the storm burst, in French, in English, in Italian, in woman's universal language, of gasps, and sobs, and tears. She accused him of heartlessness, of injustice, of mistrust; in one breath, of neglecting her interests; in the next, of domineering over her actions. She would never have come to England but for him. He had never influenced her in the least in England or elsewhere, and never

should; but it was cruel, it was base, it was infamous, not to advise her now in her need, and assist her in her negotiations. Then she ingeniously put him in the wrong, vowing that it was his overrated opinion of her that made her break with her good friend the manager; that it was in accordance with what she believed to be his wishes, she had written to increase her demands; but how could she know what he liked if he never told her, if he never came near her, if he neglected her and left her to do everything for herself? What had she to amuse her? Whom did she ever see? What a life was hers, triste, stupefying, embêtante. Theatres, diamonds, carriages, picnics, what were they to her? It was all Holyhead's fault, and she never could forgive him, not if he was to go down on his knees then and there to beg her pardon, which was the very least he could do.

We need scarcely say that 'Nobs,' as his familiars called him, was a most unlikely person to assume that humiliating posture. He did nothing of the kind, but he gave in nevertheless. By dint of promises and assurances, and a little scolding, and a good deal of soothing, the Signora was induced for the present to postpone her departure for her native land, under the express stipulation, however, that she should not delay her flight an hour after her engagement was concluded. She longed so for Italy, dear Italy, the very day her theatre closed she should start. How fervently Holyhead hoped she would!

The fact is, he had endured rather too many of these scenes. If constant dropping will wear away a stone, it is no less true that the continual action of the element has, on the other hand, a petrifying tendency on the softer substances, and the fair sex are prone to forget that the most alarming demonstrations, when often repeated, must fail in their object of intimidation. Even the kettle-drum is powerless to rouse the mettle of the equine philo

1861.]

sopher on whose shoulders it is usually placed, and Holyhead's sentiments of late in a passage-ofarms with Bravoura had been simply suggestive of weariness while it lasted, and relief when it

was over.

Yet had he not strength of mind to free himself at once from the influence exerted by this overbearing and not very attractive lady. A thousand times he resolved nothing would be so easy as to break the imaginary bonds which held him; a thousand times, from mingled motives of good-nature, indolence, and a certain manly consideration of the Signora's amourpropre, he paused on the eve of a rupture. He knew he had but to say a word, and it was done; yet he hesitated, and every day the task became more difficult.

My little playfellow informs me that if you choose to be at the trouble of taking bold Chanticleer from roost in his first sleep, and will bring the astonished bird into a lighted room, you may amuse yourself with the following experiment. Place his beak upon the table, and from that beak draw a line with chalk in any direction you please, the infatuated fowl will not move his head from the spot until the chalk be rubbed out. Doubtless he believes firmly that he is made fast by the nose. My little playfellow cites this instance as an example of the want of wisdom in the gallinaceous tribe, but when my little playfellow gets older he may possibly see parallel cases of helplessness in the unfeathered biped. I think I know of more than one old cock, young cock, or cock of the game, whose tether is imaginary and yet restrictive as the line of white chalkwho lays his foolish beak down in some inconvenient spot, and though everyone else knows him to be as free as air, will not believe he can move an inch from it to save his life. Samson snapped the strongest fetters of the Philistine like withy bands, and yet I have little doubt but that Dalilah could have held and bound the champion fast with a thread of her golden hair. Habit

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and indolence combined, will sometimes weave a tie enduring as the very handcuff of necessity herself.

Holyhead was a widower; like many another such, the failure of his first venture,' to use Mr. Weller's appropriate expression, had rather stimulated than damped his hopes of a happier future. In his position, manly, good-looking, with a large fortune, a peeress' coronet at his disposal, he need have had little trouble in selecting some fair girl from any London ball-room, who would have been willing to share these advantages; but it is almost as difficult to choose from too many as too few. Like the man who looks for a straight stick in the wood, his lordship found himself reaching the boundary of his quest without spying exactly what he wanted, and whilst one was too forward, another too shy, a third somewhat romantic, and a fourth a little affected, he had gradually accustomed himself to the society of Bravoura and her set, till his male friends opined in their discrimination that 'Nobs would never marry at all.'

He had his own ideal, nevertheless, as most men have. Holyhead's was an artless, unaffected, goodhumoured girl, more comely than handsome, more frank than maniérée; young, fresh, untutored, and altogether a fitter mistress for the old place in Yorkshire, than the town house he let by the season in Grosvenor-square.

Of the same species and the same sex, there could scarcely have been found two individuals so different as the Signora Bravoura, of all the principal theatres in Europe, and Miss Isabella Jones, Verbena Villa, Regent's Park. I do not affirm that Lord Holyhead traced the slightest resemblance between them as he rode slowly away down the long perspective of Portland-place.

Bella goes home rather fluttered and pleased with her morning walk; rather more impatient than usual of the narrowing circumstances which she foresees must ere long shut her completely out from those brilliant circles of which she has

had an occasional glimpse. She is the last young woman on earth to plead guilty to nerves, yet the parrot's screams appear more discordant than usual, and she muffles him, so to speak, with a shawl, covering his cage, much to his disgust, and leaving him with a crust and a lump of sugar, in total darkness, at eleven o'clock in the day. She has but little time, however, to consult her own comforts or inclinations. The Alderman's breakfast must be prepared, and she must herself preside at that meal, supplying his wants with her own hands, and lending a patient ear to his details concerning his gout and other infirmities, glad at any sacrifice to keep him off the distressing subject that is nearest both their hearts. Podagra is not an amusing topic for a girl of twenty, nor is it advisable for a patient of threescore to dwell upon the various symptoms of his malady; but when there is a skeleton in the house, even the proprietors are fain to cover it up with whatever rags come most readily to hand; and the nearest relatives had better drivel on in the emptiest of conversation, acting their several parts with studious forbearance, than advert to a topic on which they are sure to disagree. After breakfast, she takes him out for a walk in the brightest part of the day. The Alderman, like most energetic men, is an extremely wilful and obstinate patient, one of those who resolutely decline the pill unless it be sufficiently gilded; and although his doctor tells him walking exercise is indispensable (indis-pensable, observes the sage, as if he were propounding some new and startling discovery in the theory that air and movement are necessary to the well-being of man), without Bella's arm and Bella's company he could scarcely be induced to step over the threshold. So the good daughter walks out with him day after day, postponing all her own little occupations and amusements to the convenience of papa.

I think the old seldom sufficiently appreciate the forbearance and attentions of the young. Filial duty

apart, I think I ought to feel under considerable obligations to my junior when he puts off his pleasures or his excitements to sit and listen to my platitudes, when he consents to sacrifice the poetry of his young life to my unquestionable prose. His society is to me like some reviving cordial, a sip of the cup that was once so strong and sparkling, that I drained so greedily, with such a noble thirst. Mine to him must, I fear, be at best but an anodyne, a draught that affects him as would 'the drowsy syrups of the East.' He is a willing listener; alas! I fear I ride him on occasion much too hard. I marvel he does not yawn at that story I have told him so often about Brummel and the Brighton coach. I wonder whether he really believes in my short-tailed grey horse, or the retriever that was drowned the day we heard of Waterloo, or my famous 'innings' at St. Alban's off Catapult's bowling, when the last of the Cæsar's was a boy? Does he consider me a deliberate and circumstantial liar, or only a fond foolish old man, whose memory runs away with him? At least he is patient under the infliction, kind, gentle, and considerate; at least I owe him thanks for riveting one of those links which are parting so fast between myself and the world that is passing away from

me.

When he goes back to his horse, or his cricket, or his sweetheart, he will not, I think, be the less lighthearted, or the less successful, that he has smoothed a few yards of the old man's downhill path towards his grave.

Rusticus expectat dum defluit amnis. The crossing of Oxfordstreet, when they extend their walk so far, is always to Bella a subject of grave and nervous responsibility. The Alderman's infirmity, and his obstinacy in ignoring it, render him a likely object to become the victim of reckless driving; and his daughter, like the Roman rustic who pauses till the river shall have flowed by, that he may cross over dry-shod, is fain to wait many a weary minute ere she dare venture her charge in the stream of carriages,

omnibuses, and cabs, which seem to roll on in a continuous and eternal tide. One of the latter passes close to father and daughter as they stand on the footway. Its inmate stops the driver with unusual vehemence, but he has shaken both father and daughter by the hand, and greeted them in the kindly voice they have never forgotten, ere either recognises in that worn, haggard face, with its bronzed skin and large beard, the features of their dandy friend, Gilbert Orme. He is indeed much altered; he has acquired that restless, anxious look which so soon stamps age on the countenance; and had it not been for the full sweet tones, pleasing and musical as ever, even Bella would have failed to recognise him.

She blushed, however, as she did so; Bella's blushes were easily forthcoming when she was interested; and, rather to her own surprise, she asked him news of John Gordon, in the very first sentence. I have my own opinion that while she did so, Miss Jones found out something she had never suspected before.

'He came to town with me this morning,' answered Gilbert, and has only gone to his own lodgings to dress in decent clothes. He will be at the Villa before you can get back.'

There was something in his tone that struck both his listeners, although each was naturally preoccupied with the intelligence it conveyed. Bella's heart beat fast as she thought she was so soon to see John Gordon, yet was she a little surprised it did not beat faster; and I question if she looked forward to the interview with half the anxiety of her father.

Nevertheless, the first thought of the kind-hearted old man was for his young friend

"You look ill, Orme,' said he, anxiously, very ill. Have you kept clear of these fevers? Is there anything the matter?

Gilbert laughed, but it struck even Bella there was something very forced and hollow in his laugh. "Never was better!' he answered,

VOL. LXIV. NO. CCCLXXX.

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I

in a loud voice that arrested the attention of the passers-by. need not ask after you, or Gertrude, or my mother, I suppose they are all well, I suppose I shall see them by and bye.'

Are you not going there now? said Bella, more than ever struck with his strange look, and wondering the while whether John Gordon had reached the Villa, and would wait till they returned from their walk.

'No,' he answered, speaking through his set teeth, like a man in pain; 'I have something to do first. I cannot stay. I am glad to have seen you. I must not wait any longer, good-bye. Drive on,' he added, to the cabman, and make haste, there's a good fellow ;' muttering as he sank back into the cab, 'You will get there soon enough; you will get there soon enough. What have I done to deserve this punishment?

Bella and her father hastened homewards to the Regent's-park ; on their way they encountered Lord Holyhead once again; and Bella's dark eyes brightened considerably as she smiled her acknowledgments of his lordship's very marked and deferential salute. She tripped on with a lighter step than usual after that courtesy, chatting gaily with her father; and her coming interview with the returning traveller seemed to grow less and less formidable every minute. A year ago she could not have faced John Gordon half so coolly after an absence of eightand-forty hours. Do not blame her therefore. We cannot all be mirrors of constancy and fidelity. In a world of change like ours, it is surely better to be less immutable than impressionable, to be more alive to the influence of the present than the past. It may be heresy in love, but it is sound common sense nevertheless in common life. Shall everything around you change? the trees, the climate, the surface of the country? Shall you yourself, as your doctor tells you, lose your own corporeal identity by the process of waste and supply once in every seven years,

M

and shall your sentiments and affections, madam, undergo no corresponding mutations? Forbid it all the prescriptive rights and privileges of womanhood! Remember his Seneschal's sage advice to the noble Moringer

Seven twelvemonths, did I say?
I'll pledge me for no lady's faith

Beyond the seventh fair day!

In a Hansom cab, rattling and bounding at a gallop towards the Edgeware-road, is one who had better have changed like the veriest dog-vane, veering at every breath to every point, than sit as he does now, with closed jaw, and fixed eye, and cold clenched hands, nerving himself like one who is about to meet his fate, and muttering below his breath, 'You will get there soon enough! You will get there soon enough!'

CHAPTER XXXIII.

'NEVER AGAIN.'

For a certain space of time, how long or how short they never afterwards distinctly remembered, neither spoke more than a few commonplace words of courteous greeting, It needed no explanation to tell Gilbert that Mrs. Latimer knew all; that sad wistful face was more eloquent than the wildest exclamations; the resigned hopelessness of her bearing showed more of suffering than would a thousand complaints. She had expected him all day. Well she knew that he would hurry to her the very instant he arrived in London; and her unselfish heart ached more painfully for his misery than her own. She had desired that he might be admitted; she had resolved to grant him this one interview, to use her gentle influence as far as possible in softening the blow that was inevitable; and then, never to see him again. It was almost a relief to perceive by the expression of his face that he must have made the same discovery as herself it lightened her task ever such a little. How different from the meeting she had anticipated

twenty-four hours ago! when she was to have given him up voluntarily with such ready generosity. Was it easier to give him up now, when the impassable gulf yawned between them? Was the treasure less valuable because she must never so much as think of it again?

She was the first to speak. Her heart was sore to see his altered

looks, his pale worn face, on which grief and anxiety had set the marks as of physical pain. She remembered him so well in the prime of health and happiness and manly vigour. What a contrast now! She could scarce keep back her tears.

6

You are ill?' she said, and her voice shook; while from an impulse she could not resist, she took his hand. You look wretchedly. You are completely broken down. Oh! Gilbert, Gilbert, for my sake do not give way like this!'

It was too much. His heart was full; and even a man's pride was insufficient to control his weakness as he bent over the dear hand he had hoped to make his own. She had to find courage and strength for both. Who can tell what it cost her? Who can calculate the struggle that tore that fond true heart? It is set down in a book ruled with no earthly lines, and some day an angel will add it up, and place the score exulting on the credit side.

She broke from him, and unlocked her writing-desk. Taking out her husband's letter, she put it in Gilbert's hand without a word, nor once took her eyes off his face till he had read it through, refolded it, and returned it to her with the same silent gravity. There was neither astonishment, nor anger, nor reproach on his countenance, nothing but the sad hopeless sorrow that cut her to the soul. She wished he would blame her, argue with her, quarrel with her, anything rather than this dumb, piteous resignation. Once more, and, as it were, to break the spell, she forced herself to speak.

'You know all now,' she said. 'We have been the victims of a cruel deception; and yet perhaps