soon entered with interest into the conversation, whereupon her neighbour dropped Mr. Evans precisely as she had dropped her knitting, and the two had it all to themselves. Mrs. Emsley knew Rome as well as an Oxford man knows the High-street. She had been in Paris, Viennahalf-over Europe, in fact-as travelling governess in Lord Cairngorm's family, though she did not think it necessary to say so. The conversation ranged from the cities to their galleries; from art to music and poetry; till little Marian at the card-table put Miss Pomfret sorely out by a revoke, in her wonder that there should be so many fine things to talk of, and her despair of ever learning half enough to please Mr. Madden. Both he and Mrs. Emsley talked well: the lady not too well. She possessed the great art of making her interlocutor thoroughly self-satisfied by deferring to his opinions on most subjects instead of propounding her own, and leading him to believe that she thought him "more wise, more learned, more everything" than herself. Can there be a more dangerous compliment than this from a really clever woman? No doubt it is wisely ordained that so very few of them should know how to pay it. That night, when he went to his room, Mr. Madden stood moodily over his fire, like a man with a headache after champagne; he could not forget the air with which Mrs. Emsley had scanned Marian; it just showed him what a poor bit of glass the world would count his jewel. Oh, shame upon him, that he should ever look through the world's eyes on a creature never made to bear so false a light; and Marian had been too forward with her good-night, he thought; the stranger must have guessed at the relation between him and Mrs. Deane's daughter. Mrs. Emsley guessed nothing of the sort; at that moment she was making a pleased little mow at her reflection in the glass, as she took off her ribbons, and saying to herself" Really a very pleasing man to meet, in such a stupid place. Well, I don't think I shall be so very dull here, after all." That first evening Mrs. Emsley had worn a brown silk, plain and high; the next she appeared to great advantage in what I believe the ladies call demi-toilette; a roll of scarlet and gold twisted into her dark hair, something scarlet and gold to match, floating over her black dress, and half displaying such fine arms, and such sloping shoulders, that Mary and Annette Evans, with shoulders somewhat square, and elbows of a make extremely useful to their owners in a crowd, found much relief in discussing with Miss Pomfret, the absurdity of such over-dress. But Mr. Madden, who had his full share of the vanity common to us all, felt flattered as the lady drew in her skirts to make room for him on the sofa. Why, everything about her, the bracelets on her arm, even the perfume of her handkerchief, said plainly enough that she had found some one worth dressing for, in the boarding-house. Mrs. Emsley was paying Mr. Madden, after her own fashion, the same com pliment Marian had unconsciously paid him, when, from the first, she could be a different Marian to him than to all the world beside. Let no one misjudge Captain Emsley's wife, nor impute her conduct to any motive but vanity prepense. It was just that, and nothing more. She wanted some amusement while she stayed, and found it in making herself particularly agreeable to Mr. Madden. She never talked to anybody else; and then, that was scandalous, Miss Pomfret said, the two mostly spoke French together. Miss Pomfret nearly split her ears, trying to catch a sentence here and there; and not being able, made up her mind that it was very wrong. She was mistaken; not a word passed in French which might not have been said before the whole room in plain English, even including that little bit of sentimentalism about elective affinities, which the lady contrived to edge in cleverly enough. There were many points of contact between her and Mr. Madden; but they differed in this: Mrs. Emsley never knew a better impulse; one of" our daily world's true worldlings," cold, heartless, vain, and, under the glitter of accomplishments and phrases learned by rote, as common-place and as common-minded as Mrs. Deane herself. Well, Captain and Mrs. Emsley left at the fortnight's end. Not at all was she sorry to go; she had begun to tire of Carbrook-street, in spite of that "harmless flirtation," as she would have phrased it. Yes, harmless enough! I wonder how much mischief is every day done in the world by things that have no harm at all in them. Perhaps-though I am by no means sure about it-even Mrs. Emsley's gratified vanity might not have smothered uncomfortable feeling, could she have ever known all the consequences of this " harmless flirtation." I have said nothing of her husband; he was too completely a lay figure to claim a place in my picture. A heavy middle-aged man, with a large white face and stony eyes, who seldom spoke, and was constantly falling asleep in his chair by the fire. Though Captain Emsley did not seem much of an invalid, his country doctor had sent him up to London for Dr. Watson's advice; and, a few days after leaving, Mrs. Emsley wrote to beg that a prescription, which had been forgotten on their dressing-table, might be forwarded. "What a beautiful hand she writes," remarked Miss Pomfret, as she looked over the note. "I wonder she isn't uneasy about the Captain. My father was a surgeon; and I've beard him say that always going to sleep is a very bad sign." 66 Captain Emsley will sleep sound enough before long," said Mrs. Deane, coarsely; "mark my words, his wife will be a widow before six months are out, and-" 66 Ay, and married again by the end of the next six months," interrupted Miss Pomfret. What was there in this idle gossip to make Mr. Madden start? He could not have told you himself, any more than Marian could have No. 2, Carbrook-street, W.C. Back into the room shrank Mr. Madden. That woman's daughter-a girl brought up to "do linen for the wash!" No, she was not; could never be the wife for him. Mrs. Deane had to get through her homely task by herself that morning. Some hours later, when she found time to bustle up stairs to Marian's room, she found her lying down, her eyes heavy, and her head aching. "Why, child," she said, as she sat down on the bed-side, "you got a chill at church yesterday; I declare I never felt the place so cold myself." told what strange instinct made her raise her | then Mrs. Deane's voice sounded from her eyes just then. They met his. Ah! how often perch on the pantry steps, crying to her daughsince has Arthur Madden recalled that mute ter, as she went upstairs, Here! Marian, if appeal-that look of terror, like the terror of you've finished your tea-making, come and help some dumb thing which can only find utterance to do the linen for the wash." through the eyes. The silent cry of the poor girl's heart went straight to his own, which smote him, as he saw for the first time that she was drooping, and through his neglect. A few bright days followed for Marian, and she thought the happy time was come again. But how quickly they faded! Her lover was fevered both in heart and brain, angry with himself, dissatisfied, more unjustly dissatisfied with her. He thought her hardly the same Marian. Nor was she; ill at ease and sorrowful, she had lost half her charm; the light grace of movement gone; all the pretty fancies which had once delighted him frozen, like birds that lie dead in a bitter frost. Poor child! every-arms round her mother, and tell her all; but one In her anguish Marian longed to throw her thing about her was so true, so spontaneous, that she could not find a single art to win back her recreant lover. Let me hasten over this part of my story. I cannot dwell on the thought of Marian through those dreary days when the people in the boarding-house came and went like shadows to her, and there was no eye to read that secret grief. I cannot paint the struggle which went on in the mind of this man-so cruel, because so weak. I cannot drag my pen through all the sophistry by which he persuaded himself at last that he should act the wisest, the kindest part towards Marian, by telling her that he had made a great mistake in seeking her affection; that they could not make each other happy; that, in short, they had better part at once. What share that speech of Mrs. Deane's had, in bringing him to this resolution, might tax a subtle anatomist of human nature to determine. Mr. Madden never knew, himself. All I can tell you is, that he came down to breakfast one chill December morning, his mind fully made up. He would break the determination-very gently, he thought, he would break it-to Marian that very day. No wonder he dared not look her in the face, or he must have seen how white and trembling she sat. Whiter still she grew, as he took up the paper, which he had done of late, to avoid anything like conversation. And now he was coming to it-that notice in the first column, which Mrs. Deane, with the preface, "I told you, Miss Pomfret, how it would be!" had read aloud at the breakfast-table. Marian's heart stood still. He had forgotten her very presence, when the next minute flinging down the Times, he cried out "Good God! She is free then!" The words might have called up a spectre, so pale a shadow rose before him, so toneless the whisper "Yes, Mr. Madden, and you too-you are free." There was the little blue ring lying on the table, and he felt rather than heard the door open and close. Obeying his first impulse, he sprang to it to call her back; but just glance into the hard sharp face took away her "And, only The last piece of intelligence might have been spared her listener; she knew it but too well. Lying there, her sense of hearing sharpened by agony to the acuteness of a savage, Marian had listened to the footsteps pacing to and fro in the room under her little attic: she knew the moment when they ceased, and her doom was finally sealed. She had heard every trunk packed and locked, the cab drive to the door, then his step on the stairs-the step for which, a few short weeks since-yet oh, how long it seemed ago!-she had listened with such joy. And then the hall door shut-shut him out, away from her-shut her into this dreadful solitude, this dull, deadly sorrow! If ever you pass a winter Sunday at No. 2, Carbrook-street, Mrs. Deane will certainly ask if you found the church cold, and then tell her story of the dear child she had, struck with a chill at church, and "never held up her head afterwards." Poor Marian! this love of hers had taken such deep hold on her life, that at one blow both were shattered. All through that spring and summer she failed fast, and one week in autumn there was just a unit added to the registrar-general's report, and all was over. She left no message, she gave no sign; her death was as silent as her love. All the house regretted Marian, and Mrs. Deane mourned so sincerely that she hardly knew how comfortable that prospect of five hundred pounds to add to her savings was, in the midst of her affliction. Meantime, how had it fared with Mr. Madden? On leaving Carbrook-street he had fully intended to write; after all, a letter would be less painful to both than an interview. But he found this letter neither pleasant nor easy to write, and put it off from day to day till he came to think Marian would forget him more easily if he never wrote at all. Then came his cousin's death; and in the hurry of business and excitement which followed, it was by no means difficult to forget her altogether. And no sooner was he fairly installed into the property than he left England for Geneva, where Mrs. Emsley was spending her first months of widowhood, to whom, after a decent interval, the new Mr. Carysford offered his hand and fortune. Mr. Madden, of the boarding-house, would have been summarily refused; but Mr. Madden Carysford, of Carysford Park, a different person altogether -a very good match-quite as good a match as she could expect to make, though the poor dear captain had left her so handsomely provided for-decided the lady, as she folded up the letter which asked the question. Still, from the very day on which she had donned her weeds, Julia Emsley had determined not to be in too great a hurry about her second marriage. This was an excellent offer, but a better party than even Mr. Carysford might present himself. How admirably the widow played her part in that touching interview with her admirer! She sighed—the sigh melancholy-over her black dress, as she said her mourning was too recent at present for her to entertain Mr. Carysford's proposals; but, if he would consider himself her friend till the first year had passed, why then&c., &c., and &c.—into no better English can I render the blush and the sigh-this time the sigh tender-with which the conversation ended. A very clever woman indeed was Julia Emsley, and she proved it by keeping her admirer in a fool's paradise for months; indeed, until a rival appeared, in the person of a wealthy baronet, whom she accepted without the slightest hesitation. Then Mr. Carysford found out for the first time that he had not a single promise, written or verbal, he could bring forward against her. Nobody likes to be jilted; and I think the older we grow, the less we like it. Mr. Carysford, like other men on such an occasion, found some unpleasant things to say in his wrathworldly! cruel! false! such words he had for Mrs. Emsley. "Worldly! cruel! false!" No wonder his conscience echoed them back to him! By the wrong from which he was suffering he learnt to measure that he had dealt to another, till the sense of his own broken faith haunted him day and night; and then he dwelt, with a softened fancy, on Marian's love, with its simple earnestness, its entire devotion, and wondered that ever he could have been false to her. And so Mr. Carysford gave himself up to the reaction which, under the circumstances, was certain to come upon a temperament like his. He hated himself for the months of suffering he had caused her. He pictured her going through them with a sweet and patient silence, waiting, hoping still that he might come back, and always ready to forgive him. Ay, and at once he would claim her forgiveness; all his future life should be an atonement for his fault; she should have wealth, happiness, everything his love could give. Full of these thoughts and hopes, Mr. Carysford was hurrying back to England, when, in a Paris café, the parade of inexpressible grief" and "sufferings borne with Christian fortitude," which Mrs. Deane had inserted in the Times, caught his eye. Very slowly the reader spelt it over as if he could not get at the meaning of the words, though every one of them seemed to be burning itself into his brain. He sat there long, the voices and bustle round coming to him as sounds come to a man buried in a well, the paper still before him, till others grew impatient for it, and a garçon took it out of his hand. Ah, in all the slow despair which had sapped that young life there was no agony like the remorse which threw him on a sick bed, which hastened on the calamity which he had dreaded! The party at No. 2, Carbrook-street, remains The Evanses are still very nearly the same. there; they have not yet got over the difficulty of finding a house in London. Mr. Madden's old sofa corner is more than filled by a stout German, who plays what he calls " de robber" every evening with Miss Pomfret. Last night, when they had finished their game, by some chance the conversation turned on its former occupant. Mrs. Deane looked up her sixpences, she had been a winner. "Ah!" she said, "I wonder we never hear anything of Mr. Madden - Mr. Carysford I mean. Let me see, he left two years back, just when my poor girl caught that cold. I should like to see Mr. Carysford again, and wish him Bless me, what luck joy of his fine estates. some folks have in the world!" And so let us leave our acquaintances in Carbrook-street to discuss the good fortune of the man who, blind, restless, and solitary, wanders through Europe only that he may keep the sea between himself and that grave. C. W. THE WORK TABLE. DESIGN FOR A CROCHET COUNTERPANE. (INTENDED TO BE THROWN OVER AN EIDER-DOWN QUILT.) MATERIALS: The Boar's Head Crochet Cotton, No. 4, 6, or 8, of Messrs. Walter Evans and Co., of It is made in squares, of which each is joined to those already done, in working the last round. 8 ch. Close into a round. 1st. x 6 ch, sc under ch, x 4 times. The directions are to be worked four times for every round. 2nd. 6 ch, 4 s c under chain. 3rd. 6 ch, 7 sc (4 under ch, 3 on first 3 of 4, inserting the hook always under both sides of the stitch). In future rounds, the first 4 s c are always to be under the ch. 4th. 6 chain, 9 s c. 5th. 6 ch, 12 sc. 6th. 6 ch, 15 8 c. 7th. 6 ch, 18 sc. 8th. 6 ch, 21 s c. 9th. 5 ch, 1 sc under chain of 6, picot, 6 ch, 20 s c over 21. 10th. 5 ch, 1 sc under loop, picot, 5 ch, 1 s c under next loop, picot, 6 ch, 18 s c on 20. 11th, 12th, 13th, and 14th rounds the same style, there being in each one loop of 5 chains more than in the preceding, and 2 s c stitches less, so that there are 10 only in the last. 15th. 6 ch, 1 sc under a loop, picot; x 5 ch, sc under loop, picot, x 6 times; 6 ch, 6 s c over 10, omitting the first 1 and the last 3. 16th. 6 ch, 1 sc under loop, picot, x 5 ch, sc under loop, picot; x 7 times. 3 s con 6, omitting first and two last stiches. 17th. 6 ch, 1 sc under loop, picot; x 5 ch, sc under loop, picot; x 8 times; 1 s con centre of 3. This finishes one square. The second is to be joined to the first by the first four loops of the first quarter, and the last four loops of the fourth; the third piece, being united to the first at another side in the same way, and the fourth to the second and third, the loops by which they tre. Successive squares to be joined to correare not joined will form a diamond in the censpond. This pattern would be pretty also for an antimacassar; but, being very light, would be improved by a bead border, finished with fringe. It would also look well in wool, or in crochet twine, for a cushion. AIGUILLETTE. MATERIALS: Messrs. Walter Evans and Co.'s Boar's Head Crochet Cotton, No, 4; a coarse crochethook, a steel netting-needle, and flat mesh 4-inch wide. This pretty and useful little article is an improvement-as far as ornament is concerned | holding the sponge. It is to be suspended, on a very strong nail, above the wash-stand. The on some used in Germany and Switzerland, for foundation is round, in crochet, the size of a |