eyes, and said to a lady sitting beside her, 'What a lovely face! What an exquisite expression! The child is a living poem. Monsieur Mallet told me quite a fairy-tale about her. Did you hear that note? There was quite a sob in it. Oh, I am so sorry it is over! I must see more of the little creature.'

It was a great thing for Campanella to have won the Duchess's admiration. Monsieur Mallet at least thought so, when, two days later, a note sealed with a coronet was brought to him.

The Duchess of Ventnor hopes that Monsieur Mallet will be able to attend her soirée musicale, on the 5th of June, bringing some of his own charming songs, and his delightful little Italian violinist. The Duchess will be glad to see the little girl to luncheon at one o'clock on Tuesday next, if she is not otherwise engaged.

So at one o'clock on Tuesday, a tall footman, all blue and salmoncolour, threw open a heavy door, and announced 'Mademoiselle Campanella.' Then through that door came a timid little figure, all alone; and the Duchess, who had forgotten all about violins, repeated "Campanella?' in a wondering voice. The child, though feeling very shy and strange, had a pleasant impression of a vista of great rooms, with a glass-house at the end full of flowers-of pale blue carpets, and seats of crimson velvet and gold, and pictures, and scent, and more flowers, and a delicate coolness, and strange ladies in pale lovely dresses, and strange gentlemen, and a soft murmur of refined voices; and then of the Duchess, always beautiful and gracious, rising from a sofa, and coming towards her. She took Nella's hand, and said, 'So you have come to see me, my tiny musician.' Then she led her to the sofa, where she herself sat down, and spoke to a lady sitting near, still holding Nella's hand in her white fingers, on which the jewels sparkled so bewilderingly.

'Lady Fielder, let me present to you the Queen of Fairy Fiddlers; she plays poems; one hears a soul in her music. But you will hear her at my Evening on the fifth; what I want now is to show her to you. Look at that face. What enthusiastic eyes the child has! Will it not be, in a few years time, the face of a Madonna by Coreggio?'

She said the last sentences more quickly and in a lower tone than the rest, so that Nella should not hear them. One sees from all this that the Duchess was very poetical. And so she was, or thought she was. She had written poems, and some people called her a poetess, and she fancied that poets ought to talk poetry.

It was not very comfortable for Nella to stand there, hearing pretty things said about herself; but by-and-by the Duchess began to ask her questions which she could answer, though only in the plainest simplest way-for Nella thought poems, and did not talk them. Lady Fielder too joined in, and the child was put through a little catechism about Italy and Brentholm, and music.

At last the Duchess grew tired of asking questions, and then, looking

admiringly at Nella for a few seconds with her fine languishing eyes, she said, beginning with a sort of sigh, Ah! if Coreggio were but here!— Miss Fox, I think Mademoiselle Campanella would like to look at some pictures.'

Miss Fox, who was Her Grace's companion, came forward at once, and carried off Nella to a stand with a portfolio on it, and showed her pictures until a great gong told that luncheon was ready. Then they all went into another room, and sat down to a table beautifully spread; while more blue and salmon-coloured footmen were there to hand the dishes, and Nella sat by Miss Fox, eating her meal without speaking a word. Afterwards there was more murmuring talk, and a little music, and a game of bagatelle in the pretty drawing-room; and then people began to go away.

Presently, the Duchess's carriage was announced; and when Nella got up timidly, because Madame Mallet had not yet sent for her, and yet she felt it was time to go, Her Grace said, 'We will take our little musician with us, Miss Fox, and leave her at Madame Mallet's.'

So in a few minutes, our poor little waif, to whom Black Bill the smuggler had given a home, found herself rolling along the London streets, now at their brightest, opposite one of the greatest ladies in all England. The little life was full of sudden changes and strange adventures. It was very pleasant to sit in that soft carriage, whirled easily and without any trouble through the pretty parks, where crowds of gay folks were moving about, and bowing and smiling as they passed. The warm May sun and the clear blue of the sky reminded Nella of her own Italy.

Suddenly, while she was enjoying all this, the face of Bill Waters flashed upon her mind as plainly as if he had passed by; and then she remembered her dream upon the tower, and how the soul which had brought no fellow spirit fell back from the brightness into a chilling gloom. She shivered at the recollection, and a host of thoughts came upon her. It was very pleasant to be here, with no work to do but to practise her darling music, and no one to please but easy Madame Mallet, who was too lazy to scold, and exerted herself only to make or order dainty little dishes, with which she stuffed her friends as well as herself. But what had Miss Charteris said? Had she not told Nella there was a work for her to do? that she had been brought to England for a purpose, and that the purpose was perhaps that she might teach poor Bill Waters to love God? What would Miss Charteris say to all this idle enjoyment, and to Nella's running away from her work at Brentholm Meadow-sweet? Nella thought that Miss Charteris would say she was doing very wrong; and yet, how could she set about doing better? She longed with all her heart that she could see dear Miss Charteris, and hear from her lips what she ought to do. She troubled herself about these things until her face grew so grave, and her eyes so far-away and thoughtful, that the poetical Duchess lay back watching her with delight, as a beautiful picture.

At last the order was given for the coachman to turn into the dull row where the Mallets lived. Then the Duchess took from her chain, on which a heap of bright pretty trinkets was hanging, a tiny golden gridiron, with an emerald in the handle.

'Thank you for your company, my dear,' she said, leaning forward to Nella, with her kind gracious smile, and her high-bred voice, in which a sort of music underlay the words; 'I have been very glad to have you with me to-day. Will you keep this in remembrance of the pleasure you have given me?' She put the little gridiron into the child's hand. Then the party-coloured footman took a flying leap from the box, and gave a thundering rat-tat to Monsieur Mallet's knocker.

So ended Nella's visit to the Duchess; but its results did not end here. The 5th of June came, and Nella played at the soirée; and although she had two hundred guests to attend to, Her Grace was kind enough to speak a pleasant word to the little musician, and put into her hand a pasteboard horn full of French sweetmeats. Then Lady Fielder engaged her to play at a party of her own, and other great people did the like, following in the Duchess's lead; and so little Nella's fortune, or rather that of Monsieur Mallet, who had speculated on her, seemed to be made. Monsieur was not niggardly, however; he saved up for Nella what he took to be a very good share of her earnings, but the lion's part fell to him. Those who serve Fortune are paid in money; those who serve Art are paid in happiness: it would not be fair that the servants of Art should have all the poor little meagre payment of gold, as well as the splendid and abundant payment which comes to them naturally.

Nella did not cease to reproach herself for leaving her duty undone. First, that vivid dream of hers; and now, her lonely life among persons who only cared for her for the sake of what she might bring them, were opening and clearing her mind. When a girl begins to think much about Duty, she is not far from womanhood.

Yet Nella could not decide for herself what it would be right for her to do, and she longed for Miss Charteris to tell her. When lo! imagine her pleasure; for one night, at a concert, when the pianist was just ending his introduction, and she was lifting her bow to begin, she saw a sweet face straight before her-that of her dear friend. She forgot what she was going to play, and gave a low cry of delight. The good-natured pianist, seeing that Nella's mind was wandering from her music, gave her time by playing his part again. Meanwhile, Miss Charteris laid her finger on her lips, and Nella, blushing, recollected herself and her opening passage. When the piece was over, and she had got back to the little waiting-room, she was half wild with joy and impatience until there was an interval in the concert; and then Miss Charteris came, leaning on the arm of a tall, grand-looking, grey-haired gentleman, to seek her little friend. Nella clung to her, and cried for happiness. Monsieur Mallet handed Miss Charteris a seat, with a look

of affectionate interest in his little charge; the lady sat down, and drew Nella to her side.

'This is my father,' she said to the child; 'he has often heard of you. Is this Monsieur Mallet?' Monsieur bowed, and she spoke to him: 'I am very glad to see my little friend again; she is looking rather pale.' 'With her enthusiasm, Mademoiselle; her enthusiasm is immense,' replied the Frenchman.

'It is rather a wearing life, too, for such a little creature.'

'You are right, it is wearing; yet we make it as easy as possible for her, my wife and I. It is our constant care to secure her welfare. Speak, my dear; you have not a very hard time of it with us, have you?'

'You are very kind, Monsieur, and Madame too,' answered Nella, with a tact which few English children would have shewn.

Monsieur patted her head. 'We are a happy family,' he observed. 'I hope you can spare this little girl to my daughter for a day while we are in London,' said Mr. Charteris.

'If not easily for a whole day, at least for a part of one,' assented Monsieur.

'We have only three days in town,' said Miss Charteris, and to-morrow I am engaged. May I have her on the day after?'

'Undoubtedly, Mademoiselle.-Campanella, my love, what are your engagements on the day after to-morrow? Mr. Mansworth in the morning; your usual practice, (which must not positively be neglected— as you will feel, Mademoiselle ;) Mrs. Davison's at eight. You had better, on this occasion, divide your practice, and give the more time to it just before going to Mrs. Davison's. Could Mademoiselle receive our interesting little friend between the hours of two and five?'

'Is that all the time you can spare me?' asked Miss Charteris; but Monsieur, with a delightful French smile and shrug, assured her no more time could be spared; and so the fiddles began to tune up for the second part, and Miss Charteris went away with the promise that Nella should see her again on the day after the morrow.

She came at two o'clock in a closed carriage to fetch Nella for a drive. The carriage was like a little room, where the doors were shut, and no one could intrude-a happy little room for Nella! She nestled timidly against her friend; and when Miss Charteris put her arm round the child, pressing her to her side, and so let her lie, I doubt if anything in the whole world could have made Nella happier. There were a hundred things to tell of her new life; and when these were told, she began shyly and brokenly to unfold the thoughts which had lately troubled her. She told them in a childish simple way, but they were womanly thoughts.

'The face of the Lord in my picture seems to look gravely at me,' she said: 'I am not proving that I love Him, am I? But what can I do? Ought I to run away from here, Signora, and go back to Brentholm ?'

Miss Charteris smiled. 'My teaching was very poor and cloudy, Nella, if it made you fancy it could be right to run away. It seems as if I had been mistaken in the kind of work you are called to do; it was very likely that I was wrong, but God is never mistaken. He has brought you here, and He knows why, though you and I are too ignorant to see the reason clearly. You need not think that you are forced to be useless here, nor that you need make any great struggle to find work to do for God. He always lays it close to our hand.'

'But I cannot help Monsieur and Madame as you said I could help Bill Waters.'

'It is not necessary that you should, love. It is very seldom, indeed, that little girls can or ought to set themselves to the work of helping their elders in that way-in the way of making them better, I mean. Perhaps, even now, you may be able to return some day to poor Bill Waters; perhaps God saw that you were not quite fit for the work yet, and has brought you away that you may make yourself fit. But it is bold to say what God may or may not mean to do with us-He alone knows. At any rate, you can do one thing for Him, and that a great thing. You can school yourself, and make yourself more gentle and loving and teachable, so that when He does show you a thing to do for someone else, you may be an able little servant to obey His bidding. Do you see? You are to do it all for Him; for His sake; not merely for your own good; not even only for your own soul's good; but all for Him Who loves you.'

Nella's eyes were wet, and she pressed closer to her friend. 'How can I make myself gentle and loving?' she asked presently, in a low voice.

'By praying always, and by trying hard, feeling that God helps you.'

CHAPTER XIII.

Ir will be best to tell the story of Nella's life for the next twelve months very shortly; it would be tiring to read of otherwise. Her musiclessons, her practising, her evening engagements, her improvement, went on continually. At last the busy London season came to an end; the rich folks rolled away in their carriages, and soon after Monsieur and Madame and Nella drove away too in a dingy cab to a station, and thence the train took them into the country. Not into the real sweet English country, however, where brooks dance on under rich enticing mysterious depths of green, and quiet cattle look up surprised from their munching as you brush the daisies near them. Only health and contentment grow with those daisies; Monsieur Mallet went rather to the pavement soil where money grows. There were few great towns in England where, sometime during that winter and the following spring, placards did not sprout on the walls, announcing that Monsieur Mallet,