"Then you will not take me?" A great flood of red swept over his forehead. He leaned his head against the window-frame. "Go away, please, or I shall say yes, and be ashamed of myself afterwards.' "And-and it wouldn't be a sacrifice. It frightened me at first, it was so strange; and it seemed such a little time since-" Then she broke down. He laid her head against his shoulder, and stroked her hair, as he might have done to one in trouble, not so dear to him as she. "You cannot love me? That is so, is it not?" and a sigh moved Katey's cheek where it lay. "I don't know," she answered, hiding her face. who this girl could be?-aristocratic in appearance, picked up at a lonely farmhouse, with not so much as a hand-satchel for luggage, dressed in a pretty, but shockingly torn gown, with a gentleman attendant of whom she seemed strangely shyand her wonder checked the sentence upon her lips-a passing remark about the weather. Katey felt the glance without seeing it. She felt too, the slight drawing away of the neat black skirts. "O dear! she thought, "it must be that I do not look respectable!" and involuntarily she glanced down upon the poor despised gown, and the one glove, held fast from an instinct of propriety, the other having disappeared somewhere in her wanderings. Was Professor Dyce ashamed of her? She turned anxiously to the corner where he sat, only to meet the questioning glance of a pair of keen, gray eyes, and a smile which set her fears at rest. She could bear it if he did not care, and she shook out her drapery as though it had been rustling silk, and settled herself anew before closing her eyes and resigning herself to sleep. She was conscious occasionally of the rolling, "Entirely," and she laid her two hands rattling motion as they flew down the long in his as the door opened. CHAPTER XXV. A BEGGAR-MAID. IT was the mistress of the house who thrust her head in to say, 66 "The stage is coming down the hill." Very well, we are ready," replied the Professor. Our preparations for departure are tolerably simple," he added, taking up his hat. It was a heavy, old-fashioned coach which drew up before the door at sight of the waiting party, after an alarming swoop at the small house. The driver swung himself down from his place. There was but one passenger inside; an old lady of prim, genteel air, with soft curls of white hair upon each side of her delicate face, and a large black satin reticule in her lap. Katey was conscious of painful embarrassment as she took the seat beside her. The judgment of the world, the speech of people had become all at once matters of most vital interest. She felt the old lady's eyes fixed upon the rents in her gown, which would obtrude themselves in spite of her efforts at concealHer companion was wondering ment. rough hills, or climbed others slowly, swinging to and fro; of a pause once, and the sound of voices; then at last the jolting over pavements aroused her. They were descending again, but more deliberately, a wide river wound away below them; the street was crowded and noisy, and full of life; beyond the river another city spread itself as far as the eye could see. Katey rubbed her eyes, bewildered by the change. There was a heavy lurch, a smooth roll, a pause, the snort of steam, the sound of machinery. "Where are we?" she asked aloud, and sat upright. "We are crossing the ferry to A-," the Professor replied. "Where do you want to go?" asked the driver thrusting his head in at the window. "We will get out here, and walk up," and the Professor assisted Katey to alight. "Good bye," she said pleasantly to the little old lady in the corner. "O, Í am not at all dreadful; only I have spoiled my gown," she wanted to add, as the twinkling eyes stared in perplexity a moment, then the white curls bobbed graciously. They reached the other side, and, mingling with the crowd, pressed forward up the narrow, dirty streets, and out at last into an open space, edged by the water upon one side and by a thronged street upon the other. Here where the river bent and bore away, a bit of the shore had been reserved from commerce, squalor and dirt. Broad, white stones were under one's feet, all around were trees and flowers jealously guarded,poor, gaily-dressed prisoners behind iron bars, and scattered here and there seats, where the tired and foot-sore might rest. Away beyond all was the open bay, blue and twinkling under the bright sky, ploughed into snowy furrows by the steamers, or white with gleaming sails. "O, how beautiful!" cried Katey. The wind seized the little gray hat with its scarlet wing; it caught her frayed gray gown as she stood with her bare hands clasped, her face like a song. A party of handsomely dressed people turned to stare at the figure. One of the young men raised his eyeglass and scanned her with open, impertinent admiration. "I tell you, Guy, there's a study;" he said to his companion. Katey caught the words-met the stare. "O, please, let us go on," and she hurried forward, glad to be hidden again in the crowded street. They were approaching the first of the many spires she had marked from the boat. It was upon an old church, left here by an odd chance, it would seem, in the midst of the whirl of business, like some grim old apostle planting its feet. firmly upon the pavement, though jostled and edged and pushed by men in their greed for gain. And the text swung out on its silvery chimes in summer's heat or winter's cold, when storms wrapped the belfry round, or the sunshine fell like a blessing upon the wild, restless heart of the city, was ever the same: Ye cannot serve God and Mammon! Ye cannot serve God and Mammon !" Upon one side was the church-yard. Ah! how heavy must be the slumber which all this tumult had no power to awaken! Upon the other, a little garden, full of flowers-gay verbenas, tall, gaudy dahlias, and close against the wall a tangle of sweet peas. Some street children, straying in through the tall iron gate, moved about the narrow paths, staring awe-struck and wondering at the blossoms. Religion, of which these waifs knew nothing, may seem more beautiful some day-who knows?-for the fragrance of the flowers growing under the shadow of the church walls. Katey paused to peer through the open gateway. The Professor pushed aside the gate, and went in like a man who has a purpose. She followed, but it was only when she stood in the deep-arched doorway and he looked back to her, with his hand upon the door, that she realized why they had come here. 66 Is it now?" she asked with a frightened voice, leaning against the stones. 66 Are you sorry? Do you repent? Wait-think a moment," and his hand fell from the door. "It is not yet too late." The noise of the street was in her ears; the voices of the children, the odor of the flowers, came to her. Afterwards, when she remembered this time, all these were more vividly present to her mind than any words. "You are not a child, that I should lead you against your will. Still, God knows, I have thought this best for you. And yet," he added, "if you should ever regret it! I could not bear that, Katey!" The children shouted at their play. Their shrill voices sounded above the roar of the city. All at once the tones of the organ rolled out, bearing the chanted prayer to her ears. She had not thought of a service at this hour, and upon a weekday, as it was. It came in a great wave, dying away in the lingering" A-men." Katey had listened breathlessly. She drew a long sigh at its close. "I am not sorry," she said softly. "It frightened me, that is all. It is so sudden. and strange. No, I do not repent, and I am ready now." He pushed open the inner door. The service was just concluded, the last strains of the organ floating off among the groined arches of the roof. A soft twilight enwrapped the clustered columns; the rays of sunlight through the rich stained windows fell aslant upon the floor in quivering rainbows. There was no congregation, save an old woman, who rose from kneeling in a pew behind one of the pillars to shuffle softly out, and a party of strangers -an elderly gentleman and a young girl who had been sitting near the door. They, too, rose now and began to walk about, pausing to examine the carved designs over the organ-loft. The clergyman, in his white gown, closed the book before him with a hasty movement, and disappeared through a little door behind the desk. He was a young man. Did he find the service a weariness so soon? Or was he impatient that the prayers had died away among the pillars without response? saying? A break in the service brought her back to herself. her wild impulse. They passed down the aisle in the dim, soft light, her hand tremThe silence, the hush of the place, the bling a little upon the Professor's arm. noise of the city, subdued to a great sob- And yet she was not afraid; she did not bing sigh, like that which comes from an repent, now that the time had come. The over-full heart, the faint chill which fell words of the exhortation passed like the upon her as she stepped in out of the sun- rustle of leaves in the wind upon her hearshine, brought a strange awe to Katey, sit-ing. What was this her own voice was ting in one corner of the great, dark pew by the door. The Professor had followed the minister. Left thus alone, she nevertheless did not consider deliberately and gravely the step she was about to take,the new life she was entering upon with so little preparation. In that last confused moment, before any great event in life, there is no sober reflection. Hopes and fears, recollections, and a sense of the commonest things around us, crowd close against the door about to be opened. They jostle and tread upon each other. "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man? A silence followed the words. No one had been provided. They were a strange, forlorn bridal party, without friends. "Jack ought to be here!" thought Katey, with a little, sobbing gasp. All in a moment, before she breathed again, a deep, pleasant voice behind her spoke: "Will you allow me?" The elderly gentleman whom she had noticed when they entered the church stepped forward and took her hand, and the service went on, the Professor removing a ring from his own finger to put upon hers. In the moment of confusion, at its close, Katey found herself receiving congratulations from the gentleman who had offered his services so opportunely. "I shall feel an interest in your future, Madam," he said, "since I have had a hand in its disposal." He beckoned to his daughter, who came up timidly. She was a sweet-faced young girl; and when she hesitated and then held inwardly. It was not an utterly forlorn wedding-party, after all; it was something to have had good wishes, even from strangers. They came down the aisle together; but as they neared the door, Katey hung back, and their new acquaintances politely bade them adieu. Shivering in her corner, partly from nervousness and partly from the chill of the place, Katey watched the rays of light falling at her feet from the painted window above her, and remembered the tinkling pendants to the candelabra in the old house on Poplar street which she and Jack had placed in the sunlight many a time, evoking rainbows more wonderful than these. Dear old Jack! Would he be angry with her for this? And Delphine, what would she say? A sudden misgiving and fear seized her-a desire to push open the folding door behind her and run away from her promise; out into the crowd-up her lips, Katey brightened and warmed ed streets, somewhere, anywhere. He would not pursue her; he would never try to bring her back. And then there was a little stir in the distance, the closing of a door; and just as it comes to us all sometimes, when we are tempted to do the wildest, most unconventional deeds, a spirit of mischief or recklessness having entered in and taken possession of us, suddenly the lights are turned on, the bell rings, the curtain rises, we shake out our draperies, draw on our gloves, and step out before the audience which greets us each and all daily, without a thought, even, of the moment before and its temptation. So, as Katey bent forward, half-rising, her hand upon the back of the seat before her, her head turned to the door, all at once there was a movement in the further corner. The clergyman, in his robes, appeared again; the Professor was coming towards her. She rose, to be sure, but she had already forgotten the door, the streets, and 66 They are stopping at a hotel close by," said the Professor, who had exchanged cards and some words, which Katey did not hear, with the old gentleman, as the two followed the young lady and herself down through the church. "I wish I had taken you there. It is not too late now. I must leave you somewhere for an hour. Our train will not start until late,-I think about nine. I will inquire and telegraph to Professor Paine." "Must I go there,-to the hotel?" and Katey still hung back. "I'm afraidand then she hesitated. She laughed, blushing a little over the confession. "I don't believe I could bear the eyes of the women. They would stare SO at my gown." The Professor glanced hastily from the scarlet wing in her hat to the tip of the slender, dusty boot. "I confess my ignorance as to such matters," he said, "but I thought your costume very picturesque and becoming. I am sure more than one turned to look after you as we came up the street." "And no wonder," laughed Katey; "to kilt one's gown like this, especially on such a bright, clear day, would attract attention almost anywhere. The Professor knit his brows in thought. "Suppose you let it down ?" "But it is so torn." And she spread out the folds. "I have lost my gloves, too. A great many sins might be forgiven a woman, but not bare hands in the street," she added; "and I'm afraid altogether that I do not look respectable. At least, I have not that inner consciousness of being well-dressed which makes one equal to any occasion. I-I-I can't go. Don't think I mind it," she said quickly, "only," she added truthfully, "I believe I do." At which womanly way of stating the difficulty the Professor laughed. They had moved on slowly to the porch. Doubtless no bride had ever before stood here devising her trousseau ! "Could you not go out and buy some of these things? We have time enough." If time were only truly money! She tried to hide her embarrassment with a sweeping courtesy, spreading out the folds of the torn gown. "King Cophetua, I look very like a beggar-maid, do I not?" she said, with another little laugh. 66 "You look" began the Professor, but an old, gray-headed sexton shambled out from the church at that moment and stood in the doorway, and the sentence never was finished. That can easily be remedied," the Professor said quickly, "if we only have time. I will leave you here, then. I shall not be gone more than an hour. You will not close the church at present, I suppose?" he said to the sexton. "Eh?" and the old man turned his face towards them. The Professor repeated the question. 66 Close 'e church? Lord! no. We don't never close her. Cept for an hour or two at midnight. And that's all the thanks we get; just a-prayin' here and a-prayin', and the choir a-chantin', and my nevew aspendin' his strength a-blowin' at the belluses, and all for nothin'; folks don't care enough about their perishin' souls to come in and say amen." And still muttering to himself, he wandered back into the church again. "Then you had better stay here," said the Professor to Katey. (To be continued.) "SEALED ORDERS." WHEN ship with "orders sealed" sails out to sea, And prayers and tears are given, and the days A LOST ART. FOUR years ago, in the month of February, I entered the square in Pisa, which contains the Leaning Tower, the Cathedral, the Baptistery and the Campo Santo. From the street by which I approached, the Cathedral is viewed from the side, and an obliquity of the cornice which runs above its first story (marked 2 in Fig. III) immediately struck me as being scarcely less curious than the inclination of the Tower. There is a corresponding obliquity in the cornice of the transept, both falling toward the point of meeting at the junction of the latter with the main building. The hypothesis of sinking is inconsistent with the fact that the pilasters of the wall below are built in corresponding graduated height, and that the plinth and substructure are perfectly level and intact. Puzzling over this obliquity, I turned for a walk beyond the city wall, in order to get the view from the road near the railway to Lucca-a view which may well leave the visitor in doubt if any building in the world has greater claims to fame than the Pisa Cathedral. It was in returning from this round, and not far outside the gate a few streets east of the Cathedral, that a singular freak in the roof cornice of a small chapel induced me to enter, although its exterior was so unattractive that on one side not even a window broke the monotony of its walls. Within was found the key to the results set down in this paper. I wish first to draw attention to proof of design in the leaning western front of the Pisa Cathedral; second, to evidence of perspective intention in the oblique cornice; third, to proof of intention in a curve; fourth, to evidence that the whole building is constructed on principles of subtle architectural illusion. That the Cathedral façade leans towards the Baptistery is not generally known, although Mr. Ruskin has remarked it in his "Seven Lamps." He says (Lamp of Life): "The whole west front literally overhangs, (I have not plumbed it, but the inclination may be seen by the eye by bringing it into visual contact with the upright pilasters of the Campo Santo), and a most extraordinary distortion in the masonry of the southern wall shows that the inclination had begun when the first story was built. The cornice above the first arcade touches the tops of eleven out of its fifteen arches, but it suddenly leaves the tops of the four western-most, the arches nodding westward and sinking into the ground, while the cornice rises (or seems to rise,) leaving, at any rate, whether by the rise of the one or the fall of the other, an interval of more than two feet between it and the top of the western arch, filled by added courses of masonry." Figures II and III (pp. 434-5), present this distortion, together with still another, which proves that the inclination is not to be explained by sinking. It will be seen that the dark stripes of the wall (white and dark green marble) although broken abruptly downwards at the fifth arch from the western front, still enter its corner pillar at right angles; thus their change of direction will at once mark and measure its inclination, the deviation from the horizontal, which these obtuse angles indicate, being an index of the deviation of the pillar from the perpendicular. The architects began their corner pillars with a wedge-shaped base (Fig. II. G). The succession of dark stripes entering the pillar at right-angles to its rising line marks the fact that they continued it with rectangular blocks. The resulting inclination was, therefore, intended. Measurement in detail of the masonry below the first dark stripe, between the point of deflection and the façade, proves that the downward deflection of the stripes is produced by the cutting away of the blocks a, b, c, and d. From the height of the façade, (according to Kugler, 104 ft. 2 in.) the lean may be approximately calculated without plumbing, by the divergence of the fourth pilaster from the fifth, the former being parallel with the corner pillar and the latter approximately perpendicular. The second stripe, F, is two centimeters longer between these two pilasters, than the first, E, the distance between the stripes (F & E) being seventy centimeters. This gives a lean of one in thirtyfive or about three feet for the inclination of the façade. The measurements of the drawing are from the southern wall, the same downward bend of the stripes occurs on the northern side, the base at the northwestern pillar is wedged three centimeters; the variation (between five and a |