"But you must live," said the younger lady. "Do not be proud with me. Let me at least have the happiness of thinking I can make your hard lot a little less intolerable."

66

Everybody can live who will work," answered Laura.

"My dear, it is well for me I must work, or I should go mad! There are plenty of things I can do. I dare say I shouldn't have made at all a good mistress for your school! I taught music for a long time before I went to live with Emily Dennison. I have tried to give music lessons since I left my-my home. You would hardly believe how odd people are, how unkind, and how suspicious. Why had I discontinued the practice of tuition, and what had I been doing in the interval? Had I, might I, would, could, or should I ever go on the stage? No references? indeed! It was too much to expect they should entrust the education of their children, even in the matter of counting one, two, three, four, to a person (they didn't say a lady) of whose antecedents they were thus kept in ignorance. Even the few who were tempted by my playing, which was tolerably good, and my terms, which were ridiculously low, managed to make the whole thing as uncomfortable as possible. Some never kept their appointments, some did not pay for their lessons, two or three ladies objected to my " manner "—I suppose they were used to something very different-and one fat little man actually tried to make love to me! Still, I have managed to keep body and soul together, perhaps because I don't seem to care very much how soon they part company. It has only been since this last week I have found myself reduced to want. I have lost two pupils by scarlet fever, three more are gone into the country for good, and I have not one left. That is why I applied for the situation here. It's no use thinking about it now."

Annie's mind was wandering. She reflected on the unfortunate state of her purse, which usually returned empty from her visits amongst her poor. She knew the other's character well enough to be sure they would meet no more, and read pretty clearly Laura's intention of changing her residence again and again, if necessary, so as to cut off every link with her past life. It vexed her to think how powerless she was. "What can I do?" she asked, fingering a handsome locket at her throat, the only ornament she wore-not because it was Aunt Emily's gift, but that Horace Maxwell once found and returned it to her when it had been lost. "I am so sorry for you. I must do something."

After a lively discussion, during which the tallow candle nearly burned itself out, Laura consented to accept from Miss Dennison, whose good word as a female philanthropist already carried a certain weight, such a letter of recommendation, made out in an assumed name, as would induce any London physician to employ the bearer for a sick-nurse, that being an occupation to which Mrs. Laxton, as she

wished to be called, seriously inclined, and her qualifications for which Annie, no mean practitioner in the same line, was able to judge.

"I can live, dear," said Laura, " and keep out of everybody's way; that is all I require. Don't think me ungrateful, but you will give me your solemn promise to respect my secret, won't you? And Miss Dennison, Annie, dear Annie, we must never meet again."

"Not even by accident ?" pleaded Annie, whose soft eyes were full of tears.

"Not even by accident," repeated the other, "though, indeed, in such a town as this it would be by the merest accident. Since I came to London I have only met one person of my acquaintance, and that was Mr. Maxwell."

"I know it," said Annie, blushing. "I ought to have told you before. I saw you together."

Laura smiled. "It was our first meeting," said she, "and our last. I took care that it should be, and trusted his honour, as I now trust yours."

"Then you don't know he has gone abroad?" said Annie, still with heightened colour.

"Abroad? No," said the other placidly. "So much the better. There are only two people left whom I have to avoid."

"Kiss me, dear," said Miss Dennison; and at that moment the tallow candle went out, so the two ladies having embraced in the dark, groped their way downstairs and into the street, hand-in-hand.

Then they parted; one returned in a cab to the bright warmth and joyous welcome of the house in South Kensington, the other slunk stealthily away to her sad, silent, squalid home.

Women's eyes are very sharp. Mrs. Pike, with a mite of humanity swathed in a shawl, resting on her arm, scarcely glanced at Miss Dennison running upstairs before she exclaimed, "Goodness gracious, Annie! What has become of your locket?"

"I've left it somewhere in the City," answered Annie calmly. "Never mind, dear, I'll wear the one you gave me instead."

LONDON: PRINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STRIFT

AND CHARING CROSS.