these lodgings. Your good Mrs. Devlin (I am quite charmed with her, Margare) promised to take charge of it. She is gone to be companion to a lady, who shows her sense of the duties of the contract by refusing to allow the girl to have the only companion she has left." The old lady spoke with lively indignation. "Mrs. Devlin had forgotten to take the bird downstairs, and came to me with many apologies about it this morning; but I told her to leave it here in the sunshine. I will take care of it as long as I stay. I shall not hear its song too early in the morning in my bedroom; and here it is only a pleasant addition to the noises in the street. What are you thinking of, Margaret? where are your wits gone to?" 66 · Gone as companion to a lady!" I muttered incoherently; and then Aunt Anne's laugh roused me, and I told her that I had seen this young girl, and how beautiful, refined, and elegant she was. "I cannot fancy her in the position of a dependant, Aunt Anne," I said. "I wish you could have seen her. Mrs. Devlin told me she was going away, or of course I could not have taken the lodgings; but somehow I had an idea she said something about her going to France to her friends." “Ah, well- I know nothing about it," said Aunt Anne, as if she thought I was making too much of a matter of no great moment. "I only know that I shall take care of her bird, and I hope the lady will take care of her; but I doubt it. How the creature sings, fit to crack its throat, to say nothing of its voice! Just lower the cage, Margaret, and throw this anti-macassar over it, or we shall not be able to hear ourselves speak." I did so, and the song ceased. "And now, my dear," said the old lady affectionately, "tell me all about herself, all, I mean, that Mrs. Devlin has not told me already (she is a delightful gossip; so friendly, and so respectful too), and all about James and the children. We are going to chat together till two, and then I have ordered dinner; at half-past three we will go for a drive (Mrs. Devlin knows where I can get a capital brougham and a steady man; she sent for him this morning), and we will call at the office for James." I need say no more of Aunt Anne's first day in town than that her pleasant programme was carried out in every particular; that Mrs. Devlin assured me, in a few confidential words, that Mrs. Carter was the pleasantest old lady she had ever had to deal with; and that she and Joan were like Aunt Anne's visit to London proved decidedly successful; and I do not know whether she or I derived from it greater enjoyment. I learned to know and love her better; and as I did so, I became more and more convinced that James but little understood her. Her character had many noble traits, and I was by no means sure that a deep and abiding power of sentiment was not amongst their number. I often found myself wondering whether she had ever known much sorrow and her large benigant tolerance of disposition made me feel sure she had - and under its severe but salutary teaching had learned the lesson of wide compassion and ready sympathy. She called herself an oddity, and perhaps she was one; but at least her singularity was of a good and genial kind, and did not bar me from the pleasantest companionship with her. We were very much together in those beautiful days of summer, and we made many an expedition to the Exhibition, which she persisted in calling the Barn." On these occasions she did not go out again in the evening, and I frequently remained with her until James came for me at ten o'clock. Sometimes, but not often, Aunt Anne dined with us; at other times, when James and I had evening engagements, she would tell me not to disquiet myself on her account, for that she and Joan were as comfortable in their London lodgings as in their large countryhouse- - thanks to the care and attention of "my" Mrs. Devlin, whom the old lady frequently invited to pass an hour or two with her in the dusk, and of whom she found something new to say in praise and approbation every day. Jamie and Alice also grew in favour with their great aunt THIRD SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXXII. the more surely and rapidly, I think that she did not see too much of them. They were disposed to take liberties with Corporal Trim, which a dog of his sedate and settled habits could hardly be expected to approve; and when he had been induced to go once through the performance of shouldering and presenting arms (the musket being represented by a short ruler), I usually adjourned the sitting, and sent the children home under convoy of nurse. together things were going on most happily and prosperously, when Aunt Anne caught cold one day from sitting in the Horticultural Gardens listening to the band, after a 1493. Al slight shiver had warned her that she was doing an imprudent thing. It was not a severe cold, but sufficient to confine her to the house. Under these circumstances Mrs. Devlin proved herself invaluable. When Aunt Anne had been ailing for about three days, it chanced that James told me one morning that he had to go out of town on a little business after officehours, and if I wished to pass the evening with Mrs. Carter, he would call for me on his return and take me home. This suited me nicely; and I reached Knightsbridge a little after six o'clock. I found the old lady much better, and in excellent spirits. We had our tea, and were discussing an excursion to Brighton to visit some old acquaintances who were so unfashionable as to remain at the se side in June, when Mrs. Devlin knocked at the door, and on Aunt Anne's invitation entered. She had inquired how Mrs. Carter felt, and was about taking her leave, when I said, "Pray sit down, Mrs. Devlin: don't go away. Mrs. Carter has just been speaking of your kindness and attention; and I am glad to have an opportunity of thanking you. Do sit with us a kittle while." It was a deliciously-warm tranquil evening. The front-windows were closed; but the large square casement in the back-room was open, and the masses of almost motionless foliage in the Park were plainly visible. The light had hardly declined, but the beauty of evening had set in, and momentarily increased. I was sitting in one of the front-windows, my hands resting idly on my lap as I gazed at the stirless trees in the distance. Suddenly a recollection crossed me of the beautiful girl I had seen in the room we were now sitting in; and I asked Mrs. Devlin whether she had heard anything of her late lodger since she went away, and if she knew whither she had gone. "Yes, ma'am," said Mrs. Devlin. have heard from her twice; such pretty letters too, poor dear soul! She thinks far too much of the little I could do for her, and says she always remembers this house as home. She is living with a lady near Leamington. Very grand people they are, I am sure; but I don't think they are over kind" 66 test against being disturbed. "I think when I die I shall leave you to Mrs. Devlin's care. You would take care of him, Margaret, I know; but then, you see, he does not like children.. Ab, poor girl, they might have let her have her bird ! "Does she tell you she is unhappy, Mrs. Devlin ?" I asked. "Oh no, ma'am, she does not do that; she is a proud young lady, and I am sure she would not complain. She was very friendly with me, but she never told me much; and though I know she had very little money left after her papa's funeral was paid for, she wanted to go on paying for the bedroom, though she did not use it, because she said I could not let a single room; though, indeed, if I could I would never have thought of letting a stranger into the house with her, poor dear." "And when did her papa die, Mrs. Devlin?" asked Aunt Anne. "Just a month before you came, maʼam,” was the answer. There! it had come out, of course - the very thing I did not wish Mrs. Carter to know; and it was of no use to cast admonitory glances at Mrs. Devlin, for she was not looking at me, and besides, it was too late now. Mrs. Carter did not appear to be at all disconcerted; but asked me rather carelessly if I had not seen this young lady. - "Oh yes, Aunt," I said; " and I told you how very beautiful I thought her - an elegant creature indeed. I shall never forget her as she stood just where your sofa is, in her black dress, she looked so young and so mournful, and yet there was something strong and brave in her look; and I think she might be bright too, if she were but happy." "You are right, ma'am," said Mrs. Devlin. "She was bright enough when she first came here for she had no notion then that the Captain's illness was anything se"Irious; and she was as gay as a lark, and for ever singing-sometimes long beautiful songs to the piano that she learned at school, she told me and sometimes she mocking the bird, and the bird mocking her, just like two playfellows. And I never heard such a reader: she would read to her papa for hours and hours, and never a roughness or weakness in her voice. And laugh! It would do you good to hear her laugh: it did s good down there in the workroom, I can tell you. And while the poor Captain was able to go on with his painting, she would be playing or writing music all day, and keeping him company. Latterly, since he was so bad, she did not go out at all, except Indeed I'm sure they are not," said Aunt Anne from the sofa. "The woman's conduct about the bird is proof enough of that. Come here, Corporal Trim," she called to the shaggy terrier sleeping peacefully upon the hearth-rug, who at her call went up to her, wagging an indolent pro for half an hour to morning-service at St. Paul's over yonder. She used to say it did her good to say her prayers there, because she had been there when she was a little child, and had spent her holidays with her aunt, who lived in Wilton Place, while her papa was in India! How precious the poor Captain was of her, to be sure! how he did watch and think and trouble about her! It makes me tremble now to think of it. As long as he could get up he used to watch her crossing the street and going down Wilton Place and into the church-porch; and after he was no longer able, he asked me to do so, and I did; and then I used to tap at his room-door, and say 'She's gone in, sir;' and then he would be quite content If the day were wet, I sent Hannah with an umbrella to fetch her home; and I always tried to prevent his knowing that it rained. Many and many's the time I've thought, when I've seen him so anxious and restless, and watching her, how sore and terrible the thought of what was to become of her after he was gone must have been to him. I don't know whether she ever thought of it; but she was so sensible, I am sure she must: anyhow, she never said anything like doubt or anxiety to him. I am sure. The very day the doctor told her the truth, though she was as white as marble, and her sweet voice was so changed I hardly knew it when she came and asked me to stay with her father a little, until she had recovered herself, she was quite calm and cheerful, and I heard her talking to him just as usual. I don't think he ever had any fret about money I think he was spared that, from something Miss Winifred told me after his funeral-but I am sure all his trouble was that his child had no friends. I could not understand that, such nice people as they were; but as I told you, Mrs. Pennifold, no one but the doctor and the attorney ever came here, until the undertaker came. When Miss Winifred took this situation, she gave the doctor and the attorney for references; and said she to me, with such a sad smile, You'll give me a good character, if any one asks you, Mrs. Devlin - you'll say I am sober, honest, and quiet, and can make myself generally useful?' and she laughed then just for half a minute, and gave me a kiss. This, I am sure, troubled the Captain very sorely. Once he wrote a letter while Miss Winifred was at her dinner and I was sitting with him; but he tore it up, and gave me the pieces to burn in the kitchen-fire; and when he lay down again he whispered to himself, and said, 'No-no,' and something like 'forgotten now,' and 'no right to ask her, of all people; ' and then gradually fell off asleep with a great sigh. Just before he died I think his mind got easier. But whether he had any reason for being more easy I can't say, for of course he knew she would have a welcome here always; but that was nothing for a young lady like her, from a humble person like me; so the comfort could not have come from that. Anyhow some comfort did come to him from somewhere, and it never went away again; and he died quite peaceful one evening just at sunset, after a sleep, as a person might settle themselves to sleep a little longer." We had listened attentively to Mrs. Devlin's story, and she had told it with an interest, an intensity of feeling which completely engrossed her. Now she said, "I beg your pardon, ladies; I forgot you do not know Miss Winifred." "Oh, pray go on, Mrs. Devlin," I said. "I have seen her, you know; and am sure Mrs. Carter is interested in her also. Are you not, Aunt Anne?" "Indeed I am, Margaret," said the old lady. "You said she mentioned having lived with an aunt for a time in her childhood, Mrs. Devlin. Did she not tell you what had become of this relative?" "Yes, ma'am; she told me she was dead. After the funeral, the lawyer wrote to Miss Winifred that he would come to see her; and he did, and was a long time with her. When he was gone, she looked very ill and downcast, as I notice most people do when they have been talking to lawyers." Here Mrs. Devlin became slightly embarrassed; but I reassured her, and declared that I did not believe even James's clients were improved in their spirits by his acquaintance. "Well, ma'am, you're very kind to say so," she continued; "but I beg your par don all the same. However, she did look ill, and like one loaded with a fresh grief; and then she told me that when the lawyer had examined into the poor Captain's affairs, he found he had been heartlessly robbed by persons in England, to whom he had trusted all his money-made out there among the blacks, where he was; and that they had gone on paying him the interest, and he never suspecting that the capital was all gone; and now nothing could be done, for they were men of straw,' the lawyer said, and had just failed; and poor Miss Winifred could recover nothing. What a blessing dear pap did not know it!' said Miss Winifred. · He fretted so much, I know he did, at the idea of -- and much improved in its general aspects by four handsome water-colour drawings suspended upon the walls. Their subjects were various. One represented a scene in Egypt, with the Pyramids, and the Sphinx; and had the rich golden warmth of the afterglow upon it. The second was a hillscene in India, with the lance-like, snowcrowned mountain-tops, the precipitous winding roads, and the groups of picturesque travellers, familiar to us all. The third- and to my mind the most beautiful -was a scene at sea. The gorgeous hues of sunset rested upon the water, still and smooth as a lake. A long low coast-line defined the distance, and on the calm waves lay a deserted drifting boat. To my mind a wonderful expression of rest was in this picture; of rest won after long and fierce struggle. The calm was there indeed, but the storm had raged before it fell in its deep peace: the lonely broken boat told its story. Where was the noble ship, whose rent fragments had even been swallowed by the great deep? The fourth picture was of an English home, of which the drawing gave a side-view. It was a large house with bay-windows jutting out on smooth my being so lonely, that I do not know how he could have borne the knowledge that I must be poor too. So you see there's good in everything, Mrs. Devlin; and if papa had been left longer with me, it would have been much harder for him to die.' The next day she went to the lawyer's office Mr. Newman is his name, Henrietta Street - and I sent Hannah with her; and when she came back, she told me the lawyer had written out an advertisement for her, and he and the doctor were to be her references. If I could stay with you,' she said, 'I would be very happy; but dear, dear, these are quite fashionable lodgings, and I am too young to go out to teach, and no one would send pupils to me, or buy my drawings or my rubbishing pieces of music,- though I thought them very sweet, and sad, and pretty, and I can't write novels, and no one would publish them if I could; and I would be no use in the workroom, even if I understood the use of the sewing-machine. And so I am going to be companion to a lady, and to do my best to make myself useful and agreeable.' She was a brave young lady, but a big tear began to gather over each of her brown eyes, and after a minute she let them gath-grass and gay flower-beds, with a belt of er and fall, and she cried, as they say it does young people good to cry; but, for my part, I don't believe that. The lawyer soon got an answer to the advertisement; and she agreed to every thing they asked her. I could hardly bear to part with her, but she promised I should hear from her, and that in any difficulty or trouble she would come to me; and she left her little schooltrunk, and a box of her papa's books, in my charge. She took his paintings with her; but I am to have them too, she tells me, for she will not be allowed to hang them up where she is; and she says she knows I will let them hang in my little sitting-room until she has a home for them and Ally fine trees on one side, and a stone terrace on the other, where the inevitable peacocks of all water-colour drawings displayed their splendid plumage. The execution of this drawing was very beautiful; the finish of its details was perfect; and yet it was hardly grand enough to be an ideal country-mansion. The artist, if he drew merely from his fancy, might easily have made the house far more imposing, the pleasure-ground more extensive and artistically arranged, and the trees finer; and he might have thrown in many an accessory of wealth and display with that minute gorgeousness which water-colour loves. But there had evidently been a stricter guide than fancy here - memory had inspired the pencil, and truth had handled it. Mis. Devlin came to me, as I stood before this picture examining it closely. "I beg your pardon," she said. "I could not come up sooner. Mrs. Carter's cold is rather heavier. I persuaded her to remain in her room she is quieter up there — and I got the pictures hung, as she desired me. They are pretty, are they not, Mrs. Pennifold? How fond the poor Captain was of them, to be sure! These are all he did since he left India; but there are a great number to be sent home yet, Miss Winifred told me. They are to go to the lawyer's to be sold; but she said she would never part "They are a great improvement to the drawing-room, Mrs. Devlin, I am sure my aunt will be quite pleased when she sees them," I said; and then I went up to Aunt Anne's room. those drawings, I am sure they would please you greatly. You cannot see them from the sofa, of course.' "No," she said; "my old eyes are weak: wait till to-morrow." No more was said just then; but when with the evening and her release from business Mrs. Devlin came up to sit with us, our talk turned once more on her handsome young lodger. Mrs. Carter had just been saying how pleasant it must have been to her to have had such agreeable lodgers for so long, anl how much she must feel the difference in the characters of persons with whom sh had been brought in contact. Mrs. Devlin answered in her own cheery, way: "Well, ma'am, of course I do; but then you see, if I don't care for the people, I see nothing of them. Hannah has all the management of them in that case, and I keep to my shop. I have been very fortunate indeed, though I cannot say I ever had lodgers like the Captain and Miss Winifred, or you, ma'am, and Joan, and the Corporal." Mrs. Carter did not leave her room for nearly a week after the pictures were hung in the drawing-room. For two or three days during that period I feared that she also might die in the large upper-chamber where Winifred's father had breathed his last. But she rallied and recovered, and great indeed was the joy of myself, Mrs. Devlin, and the lugubrious, faithful, foreboding Joan, when she once more made her appearance in the drawing-room. Our family-physician had attended her during the severity of the illness, and we expected a farewell-visit from him on this occasion; The Corporal made a gruff acknowledg indeed the old lady had but been installed upon her sofa when his carriage rolled up to the door. Dr. Elliott came in with his accustomed jaunty, trust-inspiring manner; and after the usual questions, he looked round and said, ment of this allusion to him, and Aunt Anne said: "You must have met some strange people though, and come to know some strange stories." 66 Well, ma'am, I have, but not so many as they who keep lodgings in other neighbourhoods such as the Strand, or down Pimlico way. We don't have poor or struggling people about here, and our lodgers are always respectable; and I think when people are not poor, and you know exactly who they are and all about them, they are not very interesting, at least not like the interesting people in books. Not but they are happy or sorrowful or amiable or unamiable, but they are not remarkable; very dreadful things, or very joyful things, don't happen to them. They change so often too in the season; sometimes I hardly get to know their faces when they are gone." Then turning to me, she continued, You remember, ma'am, when I was forewoman here, in Mrs. Jackson's time before you and Miss Hester were married. I used to be very curious about the lodgers in those days, especially when we had foreign ladies staying here, and I liked to get the maids to show me their beautiful dresses. We had many ladies here in the year of the Great Exhibition. That was a gay time, to be sure, when the Queen and the Prince were the life and soul of every thing. It is all very big and grand and important now; but somehow I don't seem to care for it. To be sure, I am eleven years older 66 |