in church and school. But in a few moments she heard instead the gentle twanging of violin-strings. The sound bore her back at once to the happy nights when she had sat in the theatre to see her mother, in a rich dress, walk grandly like a queen and have flowers thrown at her feet. In a moment, and only for a moment, she saw the bright theatre again, and her mother's handsome face, and heard the clapping of the people's hands, and smelt the sweet heavy smell of sandal-wood from the ladies' fans. Then they all vanished as suddenly as they had come, and she was alone in the dark in a strange country, and her mother was dead. Her heart swelled, and she felt as though some strong cold hand were grasping it tightly and hurting it, and pressing the tears up into her eyes, and then she threw her little arms about her pillow, as thoughpoor child!—that were some living breast which she could cling to for comfort; and laying her head on the soft inanimate thing, she sobbed bitterly, and felt sorrow and yet a kind of gladness that she could cry alone. On a sudden, when the violin was tuned, it began to sound sweetly with the same air which she had once listened to on the tower-' All through the night,'-so softly and gently! The notes brought to her mind, as clearly as though it were day-light, the face of Jesus in the picture over her bed, the ineffable love in it, and the kind hands touching the little children. The music made a stillness in her soul for itself to speak in. She felt as if she were in a church, and brought down her hands, which were clasping the pillow, and clasped them gently instead on her breast. Except for that, she did not move, but lay like one who fears to break a happy spell. The sobs would come still, now and then, but by degrees, more seldom. In a little time, however, the tune broke off abruptly, unfinished; the breaking off was a shock to Nella, as though something had snapped with it in herself. The men's voices broke in, and then there was a little more tuning of the strings, and after that the player began again. This time the music was very different from what it had been at first; louder and more gorgeous; it made Nella think of bright colours, and brought back to her the heat of an Italian day, and the purple of rich grapes, and the many-hued dresses of her peasant country-women, and then that sunset which she had seen from the tower, when the clouds had stood round the red flush, like folded wings of angels standing there ready to open the gates to the voyagers on the airy sea. Nella could not lie still now; she sat up in bed, and then she felt restless, and got up, and crept to the head of the stairs and listened. She even peeped down; but she saw Bill and another man sitting in a thick cloud of smoke, and a third, with the violin on his shoulder. He looked as dark and dirty as the rest, and Nella did not care to look again; he was not like the music. Besides, she fancied, as one always does, that those whom she could see could also see her, so she crept back a little and still listened. The music poured on as though it great fervency of devotion, that if St. Andrew would save Patrick Drummond, and bring about the two marriages, a most splendid monastery for educational purposes, such as the King so much wished to found, should be his reward! It should be in honour of St. Andrew ; and should be endowed with Esclairmonde's wealth, which would be quite ample enough, both for this and for a noble portion for Lily. Surely St. Andrew must accept such a vow, and spare Patrick! So Malcolm tried to pacify an anguish of suspense that would not be pacified. (To be continued.) CAMPANELLA. CHAPTER VIII. Not long after this, a great event happened to Campanella. In itself it seemed a trifle; but it was no trifle in its consequences to her. It was half-past eight in the evening; Nella was in bed, for she had learned the lessons set her by Miss Charteris, and then darkness had come on. It grew dark now before eight o'clock, and although there were plenty of candles hanging by their wicks on a nail in the cupboard, Nella had been so often warned by Mrs. Lester about the danger of setting the house on fire, that she was half afraid to light a candle lest some wandering spark should hide itself and burn up everything. When it was dark, she had raked up the ashes and smothered the fire with them, pouring a little water on the top, as Mrs. Lester had taught her to do, so that Bill, when he came home, might find some smouldering heat which he could stir into a blaze. And then she had gone to bed. She was almost asleep, when a loud noise below awoke her. Bill had come home, bringing companions with him. He had never done this before since Nella came, and now she was frightened by the boisterous way in which the men talked and laughed and knocked the chairs about. She could not understand what they said, but their voices kept her awake. Presently there was a great poking of the fire, and afterwards a strong smell of spirits and tobacco came up through the trap-door to Nella's While the men were smoking they grew quieter, and by-and-bye the little girl distinctly heard Bill's voice, saying, 'Give us a tune, Dutchy.' What 'Dutchy' meant she did not know; but she had learned the word 'tune' from Miss Charteris, and heard it exemplified too, in a charming way, on the piano; so now she lay listening in expectation. Not expecting much pleasure, however. She did not think that very lovely music could be made by any friend of Bill Waters, whom, privately, she likened to everything rough and ugly which she had ever known. She awaited something like the harsh loud singing which hurt her so room. in church and school. But in a few moments she heard instead the gentle twanging of violin-strings. The sound bore her back at once to the happy nights when she had sat in the theatre to see her mother, in a rich dress, walk grandly like a queen and have flowers thrown at her feet. In a moment, and only for a moment, she saw the bright theatre again, and her mother's handsome face, and heard the clapping of the people's hands, and smelt the sweet heavy smell of sandal-wood from the ladies' fans. Then they all vanished as suddenly as they had come, and she was alone in the dark in a strange country, and her mother was dead. Her heart swelled, and she felt as though some strong cold hand were grasping it tightly and hurting it, and pressing the tears up into her eyes, and then she threw her little arms about her pillow, as though— poor child!—that were some living breast which she could cling to for comfort; and laying her head on the soft inanimate thing, she sobbed bitterly, and felt sorrow and yet a kind of gladness that she could cry alone. On a sudden, when the violin was tuned, it began to sound sweetly with the same air which she had once listened to on the tower—' All through the night,'-so softly and gently! The notes brought to her mind, as clearly as though it were day-light, the face of Jesus in the picture over her bed, the ineffable love in it, and the kind hands touching the little children. The music made a stillness in her soul for itself to speak in. She felt as if she were in a church, and brought down her hands, which were clasping the pillow, and clasped them gently instead on her breast. Except for that, she did not move, but lay like one who fears to break a happy spell. The sobs would come still, now and then, but by degrees, more seldom. In a little time, however, the tune broke off abruptly, unfinished; the breaking off was a shock to Nella, as though something had snapped with it in herself. The men's voices broke in, and then there was a little more tuning of the strings, and after that the player began again. This time the music was very different from what it had been at first; louder and more gorgeous; it made Nella think of bright colours, and brought back to her the heat of an Italian day, and the purple of rich grapes, and the many-hued dresses of her peasant country-women, and then that sunset which she had seen from the tower, when the clouds had stood round the red flush, like folded wings of angels standing there ready to open the gates to the voyagers on the airy sea. Nella could not lie still now; she sat up in bed, and then she felt restless, and got up, and crept to the head of the stairs and listened. She even peeped down; but she saw Bill and another man sitting in a thick cloud of smoke, and a third, with the violin on his shoulder. He looked as dark and dirty as the rest, and Nella did not care to look again; he was not like the music. Besides, she fancied, as one always does, that those whom she could see could also see her, so she crept back a little and still listened. The music poured on as though it great fervency of devotion, that if St. Andrew would save Patrick Drummond, and bring about the two marriages, a most splendid monastery for educational purposes, such as the King so much wished to found, should be his reward! It should be in honour of St. Andrew ; and should be endowed with Esclairmonde's wealth, which would be quite ample enough, both for this and for a noble portion for Lily. Surely St. Andrew must accept such a vow, and spare Patrick! So Malcolm tried to pacify an anguish of suspense that would not be pacified. (To be continued.) CAMPANELLA. CHAPTER VIII. Not long after this, a great event happened to Campanella. In itself it seemed a trifle; but it was no trifle in its consequences to her. It was half-past eight in the evening; Nella was in bed, for she had learned the lessons set her by Miss Charteris, and then darkness had come on. It grew dark now before eight o'clock, and although there were plenty of candles hanging by their wicks on a nail in the cupboard, Nella had been so often warned by Mrs. Lester about the danger of setting the house on fire, that she was half afraid to light a candle lest some wandering spark should hide itself and burn up everything. When it was dark, she had raked up the ashes and smothered the fire with them, pouring a little water on the top, as Mrs. Lester had taught her to do, so that Bill, when he came home, might find some smouldering heat which he could stir into a blaze. And then she had gone to bed. She was almost asleep, when a loud noise below awoke her. Bill had come home, bringing companions with him. He had never done this before since Nella came, and now she was frightened by the boisterous way in which the men talked and laughed and knocked the chairs about. She could not understand what they said, but their voices kept her awake. Presently there was a great poking of the fire, and afterwards a strong smell of spirits and tobacco came up through the trap-door to Nella's While the men were smoking they grew quieter, and by-and-bye the little girl distinctly heard Bill's voice, saying, 'Give us a tune, Dutchy.' What 'Dutchy' meant she did not know; but she had learned the word 'tune' from Miss Charteris, and heard it exemplified too, in a charming way, on the piano; so now she lay listening in expectation. Not expecting much pleasure, however. She did not think that very lovely music could be made by any friend of Bill Waters, whom, privately, she likened to everything rough and ugly which she had ever known. She awaited something like the harsh loud singing which hurt her so room. in church and school. But in a few moments she heard instead the gentle twanging of violin-strings. The sound bore her back at once to the happy nights when she had sat in the theatre to see her mother, in a rich dress, walk grandly like a queen and have flowers thrown at her feet. In a moment, and only for a moment, she saw the bright theatre again, and her mother's handsome face, and heard the clapping of the people's hands, and smelt the sweet heavy smell of sandal-wood from the ladies' fans. Then they all vanished as suddenly as they had come, and she was alone in the dark in a strange country, and her mother was dead. Her heart swelled, and she felt as though some strong cold hand were grasping it tightly and hurting it, and pressing the tears up into her eyes, and then she threw her little arms about her pillow, as thoughpoor child!—that were some living breast which she could cling to for comfort; and laying her head on the soft inanimate thing, she sobbed bitterly, and felt sorrow and yet a kind of gladness that she could cry alone. On a sudden, when the violin was tuned, it began to sound sweetly with the same air which she had once listened to on the tower-' All through the night,'-so softly and gently! The notes brought to her mind, as clearly as though it were day-light, the face of Jesus in the picture over her bed, the ineffable love in it, and the kind hands touching the little children. The music made a stillness in her soul for itself to speak in. She felt as if she were in a church, and brought down her hands, which were clasping the pillow, and clasped them gently instead on her breast. Except for that, she did not move, but lay like one who fears to break a happy spell. The sobs would come still, now and then, but by degrees, more seldom. In a little time, however, the tune broke off abruptly, unfinished; the breaking off was a shock to Nella, as though something had snapped with it in herself. The men's voices broke in, and then there was a little more tuning of the strings, and after that the player began again." This time the music was very different from what it had been at first; louder and more gorgeous; it made Nella think of bright colours, and brought back to her the heat of an Italian day, and the purple of rich grapes, and the many-hued dresses of her peasant country-women, and then that sunset which she had seen from the tower, when the clouds had stood round the red flush, like folded wings of angels standing there ready to open the gates to the voyagers on the airy sea. Nella could not lie still now; she sat up in bed, and then she felt restless, and got up, and crept to the head of the stairs and listened. She even peeped down; but she saw Bill and another man sitting in a thick cloud of smoke, and a third, with the violin on his shoulder. He looked as dark and dirty as the rest, and Nella did not care to look again; he was not like the music. Besides, she fancied, as one always does, that those whom she could see could also see her, so she crept back a little and still listened. The music poured on as though it |
