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lius. His natural tact and good sense told him plainly that Mrs. Farnaby was asking too much.

'Don't be angry with me, ma'am,' he said; 'I must remind you that you are going to tell me your secrets without any wish to intrude on them, on my part-'

She interrupted him there. 'What does that matter?' she asked sharply.

Amelius was obstinate; he went on with what he had to say. 'I should like to know,' he proceeded, that I am doing no wrong to anybody, before I give you my promise?'

'You will be doing a kindness to a miserable creature,' she answered, as quietly as usual; and you will be doing no wrong to yourself or to anybody else, if you promise. That is all I can say. Your cigar is out. Take a light."

Amelius took a light, with the doglike docility of a man in a state of blank amazement. She waited, watching him composedly until his cigar was in working order again.

'Well?' she asked.

promise now?'

Will you

Amelius gave her his promise. 'On your sacred word of honour?' she persisted.

'I

Amelius repeated the formula. She reclined in her chair once more. want to speak to you as if I was speaking to an old friend,' she explained. I suppose I may call you Amelius?'

'Certainly.'

Well, Amelius, I must tell you first that I committed a sin, many long years ago. I have suffered the punishment; I am suffering it still. Ever since I was a young woman, I have had a heavy burden of misery on my heart. I am not reconciled to it, I cannot submit to it, yet. I never shall be reconciled to it, I never shall submit to it, if I live to be a hundred. Do you wish me to enter into particulars? or will you have mercy on me, and be satisfied with what I have told you so far?'

It was not said entreatingly, or tenderly, or humbly: she spoke with a savage self-contained resignation in her manner and in her voice. Amelius forgot his cigar again—and again she reminded him of it. He answered her as his own generous impulsive temperament urged him; he said, 'Tell me nothing that causes you a moment's pain; tell me only how I can help you.' She handed him the box of matches; she said, 'Your cigar is out again.'

He laid down his cigar. In his brief span of life he had seen no human misery that expressed itself in this 'Excuse me,' he answered; 'I won't smoke just now.'

way.

She laid her cigar aside like Amelius, and crossed her arms over her bosom, and looked at him, with the first softening gleam of tenderness that he had seen in her face. My friend,' she said, 'yours will be a sad life-I pity you. The world will wound that sensitive heart of yours; the world will trample on that generous nature. One of these days, perhaps, you will be a wretch like me. No more of that. Get up; I have something to show you.'

Rising herself, she led the way to the large oaken press, and took her bunch of keys out of her pocket again.

'About this old sorrow of mine,' she resumed. 'Do me justice, Amelius, at the outset. I haven't treated it as some women treat their sorrowsI haven't nursed it and petted it and made the most of it to myself and to others. No! I have tried every means of relief, every possible pursuit that could occupy my mind. One example of what I say will do as well as a hundred. See it for yourself.'

She put the key in the lock. It resisted her first efforts to open it. With a contempuous burst of impatience and a sudden exertion of her rare strength, she tore open the two doors of the press. Behind the door on the left appeared a row of open shelves. The opposite compartment, behind the

door on the right, was filled by drawers with brass handles, She shut the left door; angrily banging it to, as if the opening of it had disclosed something which she did not wish to be

seen.

By the merest chance, Amelius had looked that way first. In the one instant in which it was possible to see anything, he had noticed, carefully laid out on one of the shelves, a baby's long linen frock and cap, turned yellow by the lapse of time.

The half-told story of the past was more than half told now. The treasured relics of the infant threw their little glimmer of light on the motive which had chosen the subjects of the prints on the wall. A child deserted

and lost! A child who, by bare possibility, might be living still!

She turned towards Amelius suddenly. 'There is nothing to interest you on that side,' she said. 'Look at the drawers here; open them for yourself.' She drew back as she spoke, and pointed to the uppermost of the row of drawers. A narrow slip of paper was pasted on it, bearing this written inscription :- Dead Consola tions.'

Amelius opened the drawer: it was full of books. 'Look at them,' she said: Amelius obeying her, discovered dictionaries, grammars, exercises, poems, novels, and histories-all in the German language.

'A foreign language tried as a relief,' said Mrs. Farnaby, speaking quietly behind him. 'Month after month of hard study-all forgotten now. The old sorrow came back in spite of it. A dead consolation! Open the next drawer.'

The next drawer revealed watercolours and drawing-materials huddled together in a corner, and a heap of poor little conventional landscapes filling up the rest of the space. As works of art, they were wretched in the last degree; monuments of industry and application miserably and completely thrown away.

'I had no talent for that pursuit, as

you see,' said Mrs. Farnaby. 'But I persevered with it, week after week, month after month. I thought to myself, "I hate it so, it costs me such dreadful trouble, it so worries and persecutes and humiliates me, that this surely must keep my mind occupied and my thoughts away from myself!" No: the old sorrow stared me in the face again on the paper that I was spoiling, through the colours that I couldn't learn to use. consolation, Amelius!

Another dead Shut it up.'

She herself opened a third and fourth drawer. In one there appeared a copy of Euclid, and a slate with the problems still traced on it: the other contained a microscope and the treatises relating to its use. 'Always the same effort,' she said, shutting the door of the press as she spoke; and always the same result. You have had enough of it; and so have I.' She turned and pointed to the lathe in the corner, and to the clubs and dumb bells over the mantelpiece. I can look at them patiently,' she went on; they give me bodily relief. I work at the lathe till my back aches; I swing the clubs till I'm ready to drop. with fatigue. And then I lie down on the rug there, and sleep it off, and forget myself for an hour or two. Come back to the fire again. have seen my dead consolations; you must hear of my living consolation next. In justice to Mr. Farnaby-ah, how I hate him!'

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She spoke those last vehement words to herself, but with such intense bitterness of contempt that the tones were quite loud enough to be heard. Amelius looked furtively towards the door. Was there no hope that Regina and her friend might return and interrupt them? After what he had seen and heard, could he hope to console Mrs. Farnaby? He could only wonder what object she could possibly have in view in taking him into her confidence. 'Am I always to be in a mess with women?' he thought to himself. 'First poor Mellicent, and

now this one. What next?' He lit his cigar again. The brotherhood of smokers, and they alone, will understand what a refuge it was to him at that moment.

'Give me a light,' said Mrs. Farnaby, recalled to the remembrance of her own cigar. I want to know one thing before I go on. Amelius, I watched those bright eyes of yours at luncheon-time. Did they tell me the truth? You're not in love with my niece, are you?'

Amelius took his cigar out of his mouth, and looked at her.

'Out with it boldly!' she said.

Amelius let it out, to a certain extent. 'I admire her very much,' he answered.

Ah,' Mrs. Farnaby remarked, 'you don't know her as well as I do.'

The disdainful indifference of her tone irritated Amelius. He was still young enough to believe in the existence of gratitude; and Mrs. Farnaby had spoken ungratefully. Besides, he was fond enough of Regina already to feel offended when she was referred to slightingly.

I am surprised to hear what you say of her,' he burst out. She is quite devoted to you.'

'O, yes,' said Mrs. Farnaby carelessly. She is devoted to me, of course-she is the living consolation I told you of just now. That was Mr.

Farnaby's notion in adopting her. Mr. Farnaby thought to himself, "Here's a ready-made daughter for my wifethat's all this tiresome woman wants to comfort her: now we shall do." Do you know what I call that? I call it reasoning like an idiot.

A man may be very clever at his business-and may be a contemptible fool in other respects. Another woman's child a consolation to Me! Pah! it makes one sick to think of it. I have one merit, Amelius; I don't cant. It's my duty to take care of my sister's child; and I do my duty willingly. Regina's a good sort of creature-I don't dispute it. But she's like all those tall darkish

women; there's no backbone in her, no dash; a kind feeble goody-goody sugarish disposition; and a deal of quiet obstinacy at the bottom of it, I can tell you. O, yes, I do her justice; I don't deny that she's devoted to me, as you say. But I am making a clean breast of it now. And you ought to know, and you shall know, that Mr. Farnaby's living consolation is no more a consolation to me than the things you have seen in those drawers. There! now we've done with Regina. No: there's one thing more to be cleared up. When you say you admire her, what do you mean? Do you mean to marry her?'

For once in his life Amelius stood on his dignity. 'I have too much respect for the young lady to answer your question,' he said loftily.

Because, if you do,' Mrs. Farnaby proceeded, I mean to put every possible obstacle in your way. In short, I mean to prevent it.'

This plain declaration staggered Amelius. He confessed the truth by implication, in one word.

'Why?' he asked sharply. "Wait a little, and recover your temper,' she answered.

There was a pause. They sat, on either side of the fireplace, and eyed each other attentively.

'Now are you ready?' Mrs. Farnaby resumed. 'Here is my reason. If you marry Regina, or marry anybody, you will settle down somewhere, and lead a dull life.'

'Well,' said Amelius; 'and why not, if I like it?'

'Because I want you to remain a roving bachelor; here to-day and gone to-morrow travelling all over the world, and seeing everything and everybody."

'What good will that do to you, Mrs. Farnaby?'

She rose from her own side of the fireplace; crossed to the side on which Amelius was sitting; and, standing before him, placed her hands heavily on his shoulders. Her eyes grew radiant with a sudden interest and anima

tion as they looked down on him, riveted on his face.

'Because I am still waiting for the one living consolation that may yet come to me,' she said. 'And, hear this, Amelius! After all the years that have passed, You may be the man who brings it to me.'

In the momentary silence that followed, they heard a double knock at the house door.

'Regina!' said Mrs. Farnaby.

As the name passed her lips, she sprang to the door of the room, and turned the key in the lock.

(To be continued.)

QUEEN VICTORIA IN ITALY.

ONE of the most talked of things

in Italy just now is the visit of Queen Victoria; and next to it, as a subject of interest, the magnificent residence offered to her by Mr. Henfrey.

Mr. Henfrey may consider himself 'twice blessed;' first, to be the possessor of such an unparalleled gem of architecture, and second, to have it graced by the presence of his sovereign.

The castle of Mr. Henfrey, so chivalously offered by him to Her Majesty, is indeed well worth a description, and cannot fail to interest all those that can appreciate the beautiful of the present day.

It is situated on the shore of one of the most enchanting of the lakes of Italy, Lago Maggiore, and rises majestically, and with all the aspect of a truly regal residence, on the declivity of a hill overlooking the lake. The style is what is called in England, Old English. Four pointed towers adorn the building on its four sides, and a fifth, higher than the others and acuminatissima, looks loftily towards the mountain, cutting its elegant form upon the deep blue of the sky. It has two main storeys, with a smaller third

one, under the traditional mansardes, looking towards the lake. On both sides of the building and also lakeward, run three loggie, from which the happy occupant may, sheltered from sun and wind and rain, contemplate in delightful retirement, the incomparable spectacle of art and nature before him. The panorama that is seen from the middle loggie, especially, is something to be remembered forever: it beggars all word-description. Like so many pictures set in azure and sunlight, lie before you the picturesque villages of Sona, Baveno, Pallanza, Stresa; the historical, the delicious little islands Borromes: Bella, Madre, and Superiore, sweet green nests in a sparkling lake; in short, the whole shore as far as Arona, and in the distance, as a last eye-delight, lofty mountains, silver crowned with snow.

The castle is entirely built of that pretty rose-coloured brick, so common in Italian buildings, and of the white stone of Baveno. The roof is of zinc and slate, and the floors are laid out in the most finished Venetian style. It has access on two sides, by magnificent flights of steps leading to a platform, adorned with bronze statue-fountains,

recognized master pieces of modern art, From this platform, two marble entrances, gothic in design, lead to the loggie and to the interior of the castle, namely, to the main hall, an immense quadrangle richly decorated with paintings. At the end of this hall, superb Carrara marble stairs of elaborate architectural design and beauty take the visitor to the upper storey.

The richest and handsomest rooms are on the first floor. Three of these, ten metres square, display unparalleled luxury and wealth. These are the banquet-hall, the drawing-room, the reception-room and music hall. Words fail to give an idea of the magnificence of their furniture and hangings; silk stuffs of white ground worked with gold; mosaic floors; Chinese and Indian tapestries; chairs and sofas surpassing in unique elegance all that princely taste has heretofore invented; rare Japan vases; Sèvres porcelains ; mammoth mirrors of the most dazzling polish; chandeliers; statues of bronze and marble, pictures of masters; works of art of every style and country; pianos, in short all that wealth and taste can accumulate to make such a residence worthy of such a guest, is here brought together.

On the upper storey are the private apartments of the Queen and her ladies of honour. The bed-room of Her Majesty is a miracle of elegance. The walls are covered with a rich silk brocade, of a light gray shade, dotted over with lustreless gold designs. The furniture accords with the richness of the hangings, but among all these splendid appointments, one thing, for its strange contrast with the rest, challenges the attention by its very simplicity it is the Queen's bed, of plain walnut; scarcely comfortable. But it is her own. She brought it with her from London.

It is scarcely possible, midst such a mass of beautiful things, to note anything particularly. However, to satisfy the curiosity of the reader, we will mention a few that strike the eye at

a first sight; viz., a magnificent statue of Egeria, of Carrara marble; and a Madonna, by Luina. In the large hall on the first floor hang a number of fine pictures, all by Masters; among these a celebrated 'Susanna in the Bath'; in the upper storey one of the finest landscapes of Azeglio; in the dining-room, a valuable painting of the English School, representing the Piazza Navona on market-days.'

The castle stands in the middle of an immense garden, magnificently laid out; full of exotic plants, statues, fountains, etc., and extends into a a delicious grove, the shadiest of re

treats.

The principal entrance to this superb property is on the Baveno side, on the right. A porter's lodge stands by the gate, built in the châlet style, and handsome enough to serve as a dwelling for a lord. From this, a path to the left leads to the castle. Close by the latter, and on slightly rising ground, stands its rival in architectural workmanship, an elegant chapel. This is a triumph in its way. It is an octagon temple, in the Pisan style, all delicate columns and arches. The exterior in basso-relievo, is of Baveno stone fluted and carved, a piece of most elaborate workmanship, and the interior, all marble, gold and mosaic, is made to imitate the interior of the church of St. Mark in Venice. The crystal windows, enchased within dainty marble colonettes, are beautifully stained and represent sacred subjects. The altar and pulpit are plain and in the Protestant fashion; the organ is made in two pieces so as not to conceal one of the windows of the octagon, where it is placed. In the centre, from the vault of the cupola, hangs a rich chandelier of Arabic design.

The prie-dieu of the Queen is par ticularly worthy of notice for the ingenious richness of its composition. The exterior is of the purest Carrara marble, inlaid with mosaics of gold and valuable stones: the inner part is covered with crimson velvet.

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