wasted all in days of bygone splendour. We sit, pinched and povertystricken, by our little light of fire and candle, remembering how the whole land was full of warmth and golden gladness, in our lavish prime. But our feelings change as the days grow clear, and keen, and long. This very year has yet to wear its crown of blossom. Its inheritance is to come, and all is fresh and wonderful. We would not ask the bygone summer for one day more, for we have the beauty of promise, instead of that beauty of long triumph, which is heavy and over-ripe; and with March at hand, we cannot desire September.

Percival's new life was cold and stern as the February weather, but it had its flitting gleams of grace and beauty, in brief words, or passing looks, exchanged with Judith Lisle. He was no lover, to pine for more than Fate vouchsafed. It seemed to him that the knowledge that he might see her was almost enough; and it was well it should be so, for he met her very seldom. She went regularly to Standon Square, and came home late and tired. She had one half-holiday in the week, but Miss Crawford had recommended her to a lady, whose eldest girl was dull and backward at her music, and she spent a great part of that afternoon in teaching Janie Barton. Bertie was indignant. "Why should you, who have an ear and a soul for music, be tortured by such an incapable as that? Let them find some one else to teach her."

"And some one else to take the money! Besides, Mrs. Barton is so kind

Bertie, who was lying on three chairs in front of the fire, sat up directly, and looked resigned. "That's it-now for it. No one is so good as Mrs. Barton, except Miss Crawford; and no one is anything like Miss Crawford, except Mrs. Barton. Oh, I know! And old Clifton is the first and best of men. And so you lavish your gratitude on them-Judith, why are all our benefactors such awful guys?while they ought to be thanking their stars they've got us!"

"Nonsense, Bertie."

""Tisn't nonsense. Aren't you better than I am? And old Clifton is very lucky to get such an organist. I think he is thankful, but I wish he wouldn't show it by asking me to tea again."

"Don't complain of Mr. Clifton," said Judith. fortunate, if you only knew it."

"You are very

"Am I? Then suppose you go to tea with him, if you are so fond of him. I rather think I shall have a severe cold coming on next Tuesday."

Judith said no more, being tolerably sure that, when Tuesday came, Bertie would go. But she was not quite happy about him. She lived as if she idolized the spoilt boy, but the blindness which makes idolatry joyful was denied to her. So that, though he was her first thought every day of her life, the thought was an anxious one. She was very grateful to Miss Crawford for having given him a chance, so young and untried as he was, but she could only hope that Bertie would not repay her kind

ness by some thoughtless neglect. At present all had gone well; there could be no question about his abilities, Miss Crawford was satisfied, and the young master got on capitally with his pupils. Neither was Judith happy when he was with Mr. Clifton. Bertie came home to mimic the clergyman with boyish recklessness, and she feared that the same kind of thing went on with some of the choir, behind Mr. Clifton's back. ("Behind his back?" Bertie said one day. "Under his nose, if you like; it would be all one to Clifton.") He frightened her with his carelessness in money matters, and his scarcely concealed contempt for the means by which he lived. "Thank heaven! this hasn't got to last for ever," he said once, when she remonstrated.

"Don't reckon on anything else," she pleaded. "I know what you are thinking of-oh, Bertie, I don't like you to count on that!"

He threw back his head, and laughed. "Well, if that fails, wait and see what I can do for myself."

"But,

He looked so bright and daring as he spoke, that she could hardly help sharing his confidence. Ah! the opera!" she said. Bertie, you must work."

"The opera-yes, of course I will work," Bertie answered. "Now you mention it, it strikes me I may as well have a pipe, and think about it a bit. No time like the present, is there?" So Bertie had his pipe, and a little quiet meditation. There was a lingering smile on his face as if something had amused him. He always felt particularly virtuous when he smoked his pipe, because it was so much more economical than the cigars of his prosperous days. "A penny saved is a penny gained.” Bertie felt as if be must be gradually making his fortune, as he leant back, and watched the smoke curl upwards.

And yet, with it all, how could Judith complain? He was the very life of the house, as he ran up and downstairs, filling the dingy passages with melodious singing. He had a bright word for everyone. The grimy little maid-servant would have died for him at a moment's notice. Bertie was always sweet-tempered; in very truth, there was not a touch of bitterness in his nature. And he was so fond of Judith-so proud of her, so thoroughly convinced of her goodness, so sure that he should do great things for her some day-what could she say against him?

Percival, too, was fascinated. His room smelt of Bertie's tobacco, and was littered with blotted manuscripts. He went so regularly to hear Bertie play, that Mr. Clifton noticed the olive-skinned, foreign looking young man, and thought of asking him to join the Guild of St. Sylvester, and take a class in the Sunday-school. Yet Percival also had doubts about the young organist's future. He knew that letters came now and then from New York, which saddened Judith, and brightened Bertie. If Mr. Lisle prospered in America, and summoned his son to share his success, would he have strength to cling to poverty and honour in England? There were times when Percival doubted it. There were times, too, when he doubted whether the boy's musical promise would ever

ripen to worthy fruit, though he was angry with himself for his doubts. "If he triumphs, it will be her doing," he thought. Little as he saw of Judith, they were yet becoming friends. You may meet a man every day, and if you only talk to him about the weather, and the leading articles in the Times, you may die of old age before you reach friendship. But these two talked of more than the weather. Once, emboldened by her remembrance of old days, he spoke of his father. He hardly noticed at the time that Judith took keen note of something he said of the old squire's utter separation from his son. "I was more Percival than Thorne till I was twenty," said he.

said.

"And are you not more Percival than Thorne still?

He liked to hear her say "Percival," even thus. "Perhaps," he "But it is strange how I've learned to care about Brackenhill; or, rather, it wasn't learning, it came by instinct; and now no place on earth seems like home to me except that old house."

Judith, fair and clear-eyed, leaned against the window, and looked out into the twilight. After a pause, she spoke. "You are fortunate, Mr. Thorne. You can look back happily to your life with your father."

The intention of her speech was evident; so was a weariness which he had sometimes suspected in her voice. He answered her, "And you cannot?"

"No," she said. "I was wondering just now how many people had reason to hate the name of Lisle."

Percival was not unconscious of the humorous side of such a remark, when addressed to himself. But Judith looked at him, almost as if she would surprise his thought.

"Don't dwell on such things," he said. "Men in your father's position speculate, and perhaps hardly know how deeply they are involved, till nothing but a lucky chance will save them, and it seems impossible to do anything but go on. At last the end comes, and it is very terrible. But you can't mend it

"No," said Judith. "I can't!"

way

But it is hard to be so help

"Then don't take up a useless burden when you need all your strength. You were not to blame in any "No," she said again, "I hope not. less. I do not even know their names. be more gentle and more patient with be--"

I can only feel as if I ought to everyone, since anyone may

"Ah, Miss Lisle," said Percival, "you will pay some of the debts unawares, in something better than coin."

She shook her head, but when she looked up at him there was a half smile on her lips. As she moved away, Percival thought of Sissy's old talk about heroic women-"Jael, and Judith, and Charlotte Corday." He felt that this girl would have gone to her death with quiet dignity, had there been need. Godfrey Hammond had called her a plain likeness of her brother, but Percival had seen at the first glance that her face was

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worth infinitely more than Bertie's, even in his boyish promise; and an artist would have turned from the brother to the sister, justifying Percival.

It was well for Percival that Judith's friendly smile, and occasional greeting, made bright moments in his life, since he had no more of Lydia's attentions. Poor grimy little Emma waited on him wearily, and always neglected him if the Lisles wanted her. She had apparently laid in an immense stock of goods, for she never went shopping now, but stayed at home, and let his fire out, and was late and slovenly with his meals. There was no great dishonesty, but his tea-caddy was no longer guarded, and provisions ceased to be mysteriously preserved. Miss Bryant seldom met him on the stairs, and when she did, she flounced past him in lofty scorn. Her slighted love had turned to gall. She was bitter in her very desire to convince herself that she had never thought of Mr. Thorne. She neglected to send up his letters; she would not lift a finger to help in getting his dinner ready; and if Emma happened to be out of the way, she would let his bell ring, and take no notice. Yet she would have been very true to him, in her own fashion, if he would have had it so; she would have taken him for better, for worse; would have slaved for him, and fought for him, and never suffered anyone else to find fault with him in any way whatever. But he had not chosen that it should be so, and Lydia had reclaimed her heart, and her pocket edition of the Language of Flowers, and now watched Percival and Miss Lisle with spiteful curiosity.

"I shall be late at Standon Square this evening-Miss Crawford wants me," said Judith, one morning, to her brother.

"I'll come and meet you," was his prompt reply. Don't let that old woman work you into an early grave."

"What time?

"There's no fear of that. I'm strong, and it won't hurt me. Suppose you come at half-past nine-you must have your tea by yourself

I'm afraid."

"That's all right," he answered cheerfully.

"That's all right! What do you mean by that, sir?"

"I mean that I don't at all mind when you don't come back to tea. I think I rather prefer it! There, Miss Lisle !"

ears.

"You rude boy!" She felt herself quite justified in boxing his

"Oh, I say! Hold hard-mind my violets!" he exclaimed. "Your violets? Oh, how sweet they are!" And bending forward, Judith smelt them daintily. "Where did you get them, Bertie ?"

well.

"Ah-where?" And Bertie stood before the glass and surveyed himself. The cheap lodging-house mirror cast a greenish shade over his features, but the little bouquet in his button-hole came out very "Where did I get them? I didn't buy them, if you mean that. were given to me."

"Who gave them to you?"

They

"And then women say it isn't fair to call them curious!" Bertie put his head on one side, dropped his eyelids, looked out of the corners of his eyes, and smiled, fingering an imaginary curl.

"Not that nasty Miss Bryant! She didn't!"

"She did, though!"

"The wretch ! Then you shan't wear them one moment more!" Bertie eluded her attack, and stood, laughing, on the other side of the table. "Oh Bertie!" suddenly growing very plaintive, "why did you let me smell the nasty things?"

"They are very nice," said Lisle, looking down at the poor little violets. "Oh, we are great friends, Lydia and I. I shall have buttered toast for tea to-night."

"Buttered toast-what do you mean?"

Why-it's a curious thing-but Emma-isn't her name Emma ?— always has to work like a slave when you go out. I don't know why there should be so much more to do-you don't help her to clean the kettles, or the steps, in the general way, do you? It's a mystery. Anyhow, Lydia has to see after my tea, and then I have buttered toast, or muffins, and rashers of bacon. Lydia's attentions are just a trifle greasy, perhaps, now I come to think of it. But she toasts muffins very well, does that young woman, and makes very good tea too."

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"Bertie! I thought you made tea for yourself when I was away." Oh, did you? Not I-why should I? I had some of Mrs. Bryant's raspberry jam one night-that wasn't bad, for a change. And once I had some prawns."

"Oh, Bertie! How could you ?"

"Bless you, my child," said Bertie, "how serious you look! Where's the harm? Do you think I shall make myself ill? By the way, I wonder if Lydia ever made buttered toast for Thorne? I suspect she did, and that he turned up his nose at it. She always holds her head so uncommonly high if his name is mentioned."

"Do throw those violets on the fire," said Judith.

"Indeed I shall do nothing of the kind. I'm coming to Standon Square to give my lessons this morning-with my violets. See if I don't."

The name of Standon Square time. "I must be off," she said. oh, Bertie, don't be foolish !"

startled Judith into looking at the "Don't be late for the lessons, and

"All right," he answered gaily. Judith ran downstairs. At the door she encountered Lydia, and eyed her with lofty disapproval. It did not seem to trouble Miss Bryant much. She knew Miss Lisle disliked her, and took it as an inevitable fact, if not an indirect compliment to her conquering charms. So she smiled, and wished Judith good morning. But she had a sweeter smile for Bertie, when a little later, carefully dressed, radiant, handsome, with her violets in his coat, he too went on his way to Standon Square,