with Mademoiselle Campanella, the Celebrated Child Violinist, would hold a concert in the Town Hall. So people paid their shillings, and Nella learned her pieces, and then stepped forward and played them before hundreds of people, who clapped and admired her, and spoke of her perhaps for a few days, and then forgot her, and never saw her again in this world. It is a sad strange thought, with some vastness in it, that 'never,' which so often comes in between us and a crowd of living beings, whose faces we look at once, whose souls we see a little way into, and then they go on their way and we on ours, and our only possible meeting-place afterwards is on the other side of the grave.

Nella had a great disappointment to bear at Christmas-time. Monsieur had promised that she should spend a week then at Holm with Mrs. Lester the girl had looked forward to the visit with something like thirst; but when the time drew near, two new engagements were formed for her, one for Christmas Eve, the other for Boxing Night, and so Nella could not go to Brentholm. Her passionate Italian blood flashed up, and she was very angry. There was something in the Frenchman which made her afraid of him, and kept her from doing more than looking angry in his presence; but to Madame she said that it was a shame, and cruel and wicked, and they were keeping her from all who loved her, for the sake of a little money. But the placid woman only listened, adding a few words now and then—that it was a pity, but who could help it? that Nella must not mind, and so on, until Nella felt ashamed of her violence, and the thought of Miss Charteris came to her, and how she would say the trial should be borne; and then she went to her own room, and poured out her trouble there in a better way than in speaking hot words. Afterwards she took her little Prayer-book, and with Madame's leave went out to a church, whose bells were ringing, not far away. There the girl grew calm again; and at last, 'by prayer and trying hard,' as her friend had said, she gained patience to bear the dull wretched Christmas Day, when the morning service, to which she went alone, was the only bright spot in the four-and-twenty hours. The afternoon was very hard to bear, when Monsieur and Madame both went to sleep, and the smell of dinner was strong in the one hired parlour, and there was no other place to go to, because the cold of a fireless room was intolerable to the little Italian. She sat and read a little, and watched the falling snow, and stroked a cat which made its way into the room, and tried with all her might to be patient, though the tears would fall when she thought of dear Mrs. Lester. She succeeded, however; she was patient, and so that long dull day brought her a better gift than pleasure.

A change was coming gradually over the child-her mind was growing. By such constant moving from place to place, by the many new things and people she saw, by her commonplace life-for nothing is so commonplace as money-getting and pleasure-seeking, and money-getting was what she was required to live for, and the strangers she saw were

pleasure-seekers-by her commonplace unthinking companions, she was helped to become a woman before her time. If she had stayed with Mrs. Lester, and so had someone to advise and love her, she might have remained a child for some years longer; but now she felt alone, and had to think for herself. For greedy, contented, cow-like Madame Mallet had no thought in her. So Nella began to reflect more, and to imagine less. She did not dream of angels now; she very seldom played pictures of her own, for she was busy with the writings of great musicians, whose pictures were far grander than hers.

She grew in body, too, as well as in mind, and had become quite tall by the time when spring returned; and as the country was growing fittest for enjoyment, pleasure-seekers (who generally play at blind man's buff, and seek in the wrong place) were going back to London.

Monsieur looked quite cross sometimes, when he noticed how tall she was, but his wife said, 'Don't trouble yourself. She's twice as goodlooking as she was; people will like her all the better.'

It seemed that she was right; for when, at Monsieur's concert, Nella appeared in her first long dress, with her pretty head modestly bending, and her dark hair put up in thick plaits, many persons congratulated him on the improvement in her appearance, and the great ladies—the Duchess first of all-engaged her for their Evenings, and some took personal notice of her. Their notice did not make her much the happier, however; she felt sick at heart, tired of hot dusty London, tired of all the people who came near her, for not one of them but Mr. Mansworth could be really called her friend. She tried hard day by day to grow, as Miss Charteris had said, more gentle and loving and teachable, and not to long for some end to her life besides that of pleasing strange men and women gathered in a concert-room. But at times, when she remembered how freshly the sea must be rippling beside those peaceful Brentholm graves, and how green the trees must be, and how sweet the lilacs round that happy little nest of a school, she felt as though her life were very hard to bear.

Miss Charteris did not mean to visit London this summer, but a letter came from her now and then: in one she said, 'I sometimes fear you must be very lonely, and that if you were ill or in trouble, Madame Mallet would hardly be quite such a friend as you would like to have near you. So you must remember, that if ever you really need a friend to be with you, you have only to send me word, and I will help you as well as I am able.' This message was very comforting to Nella; and she had to use Miss Charteris's kindness sooner than she expected.

For on a sudden the whole of Nella's life underwent a change; her busy monotonous London career faded away from her as a picture fades in a show of dissolving views, and the sweet country became her home again, so much dearer to her now than it had been at first!

This was how the change came to pass. Nella had been engaged to give lessons on the violin to a young lord, whose mother thought he had a

turn for music, and she used to go to his house twice a week. On the way was a dreadful crossing, where carriages, carts, coaches, wheel-barrows, were always passing in an unending bustle. Nella regularly stood and trembled at this place, and then ran across at last in mortal terroralways in safety, until the 25th of June, when, a slight rain having fallen, the road was greasy and slippery. She stood on the pavement watching the constant whirl of vehicles; she made an effort, ran a little way-ran back-waited again-then, finally, went boldly across. In her fright she ran in the way of a carriage recklessly driven. Ah! what had happened! For a second she wondered why she was on the ground; then came a horrible noise in her ears, a horrible entanglement of horses' legs about her, something frightfully heavy, a terrible pain, a crushing and tearing of her flesh. Then she fainted away. When she opened her eyes, there was a crowd around her; a butcher, with his tray on his shoulder, was the first object she saw; her head was on a woman's knee; other women, motherly creatures with big baskets, were watching her, and saying, 'Poor dear!' A policeman was hovering about, ordering somebody to do something.

Suddenly a voice was heard: 'Make way, good people;' and a gentleman came through the crowd, and kneeling down by Nella, looked at her, and presently passed his hand lightly down her right side and leg. She gave a low cry. 'I thought so,' he said.

Here a footman came up and spoke. 'My mistress wishes to know if the young lady is hurt.'

'Of course she is hurt; her leg is broken. Get a cab, will you?' so said the gentleman.

The servant called a cab; the kind stranger, with the policeman's help, lifted poor Nella into it. A dreadful agony seemed to spread over all her body, and made her sick and giddy; but she was very still and patient, and even tried to say 'Thank you' to those who were hurting her so in their efforts for her good.

'Can you tell me where you live?' asked the gentleman. She was just able to give Monsieur Mallet's address, then she fainted again from excessive pain.

The footman returned, and spoke to the stranger, who was getting into the cab beside Nella. 'My mistress sends her card; she is very sorry that her carriage has injured the young lady. My mistress would be glad to know where she lives, and how she gets on.'

'I will tell the lady's friends,' said the gentleman, and so the cab drove away. When Nella could hear him, he said, 'I am a surgeon; I will set you all right when I get you home; don't be afraid, we shall make a good job of it yet.'

By-and-by, after a ride which seemed to poor Nella to have no end, the cab stopped in the quiet row. When Madame heard strange noises in the passage, she came out and opened her calm eyes wide; then she wrung her fat soft hands. 'Oh dear, dear, dear!' she cried. 'Is that

you, Nella?

What is the matter? what must we do? Oh dear! to think anything should happen, and only me at home!' Here great slow tears began to run down her cheeks, and all the while she was stopping up the passage with her vast person.

'The young lady has been run over,' the surgeon explained. 'Do not be alarmed; I hope we can set matters right by-and-by; but she must be carried into a room at once, please.'

At last Madame stood aside, and let Nella be carried into the little parlour. All the time the good lady was murmuring and moaning, and clucking, 'Tut, tut, tut!' with her tongue against the roof of her mouth. She sat down as soon as she could, and helplessly watched the surgeon making his arrangements. A sudden mishap overset all her ideas, and drove her into a sort of helpless insanity. Luckily, the maid had her wits about her, and so in a short time the leg-bone was set. Nella hardly groaned, though her mouth was tightly closed, and her face looked old with pain.

'I never saw anyone so patient,' said the surgeon. 'But what is this?' He noticed that her left hand was torn and bleeding; he lifted it up, the thumb and fore-finger dropped down loosely. More mischief here, I am afraid,' he said. Madame gave another 'Oh dear!' Indeed, it was found that both finger and thumb were broken. They were bound up too. 'You have been very very brave,' said the surgeon to Nella. 'I need not hurt you any more just now. You will have more pain, however; but if you bear it as patiently as you have borne this, I hope you will be well soon. Is there anything I can do for you? Is there anyone you would like to be with you?' For he thought that Madame Mallet, fat, helpless, and groaning, did not look a very cheerful companion for a sick room.

'Can I not go up-stairs to my own room?' asked Nella feebly. 'Would not this do if it were made comfortable for you?'

'I should so like to go up-stairs.'

'Then you shall go. Is there anything else?'

'If Miss Charteris would come to me'

'Miss Charteris?' He glanced at Madame, but she showed no sign of intelligence. The maid was quick enough, however.

'It's the young lady she's so fond of,' she said. 'She lives away in the country. I'll see to it, my dear; I'll write to Miss Charteris, never fear.'

Then the servant and the doctor carried Nella up-stairs; and when she was laid on her own little bed, with the dear picture over it, and her fiddle by her side, she felt more at rest. When he had done all he could for her, the surgeon took leave. On the stairs he met Monsieur, looking very cross.

'What is all this?' he asked. 'Are there any bones broken?'

'I am sorry to say a leg-bone is broken, and the thumb and finger of one hand.'

"Which hand?'

'The left. She had her violin by her side, poor girl! I fear all that is over for her.'

Here Monsieur said something very ugly in French, and grew very red in the face. 'But it must not be over, Sir; it shall not be over. Do you know, that if she gives up fiddling I lose a fortune? You must make her well.' 'If you

'I cannot manage impossibilities,' answered the surgeon. mean to trust her to me, I shall do all I can for her; but it is most unlikely that she will be able to use her hand freely again.'

'She must, I tell you, Sir. There must be no nonsense about sparing pain, and so forth; if anything can be done to set all this mischief right, it must be done.'

'I shall do what I can,' said the doctor again; 'and above all, she must be kept quite quiet.'

'How can she be kept quiet in this house? Don't you know I am a professional musician? I can't put off my pupils, and I have a quartett practice to-night.'

The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. 'It will be at a great risk to her if you do not put these things off.'

'I tell you I cannot. Why didn't you take her to St. George's Hospital at once? she would have been quiet enough there.'

'I fancied she might have friends at home,' replied the other, quite disgusted. 'Here is the card of the lady whose carriage did the mischief. She is very sorry for it, and begs to know where the young lady lives, and how she is. Good-morning to you.' So they parted very coolly. Monsieur worked off his vexation at first on his wife, then he went to Nella's room; and when he saw her lying so still and pale, some feeling came to him, and at last he was more sorry for her than for himself.

'Dear, dear! this is a sad mess!' he said. 'You should have kept out of the way of the carriages. To think you were not to be trusted at a crossing!' Then he went away, much to Nella's relief.

When she had recovered from her first shock, Madame Mallet was really very anxious to be of use; she came and pottered about in the room for some time, crying over Nella, calling her her 'poor darling,' and asking what she could do for her. It tired Nella to think whether there was anything she wanted done for her, and Madame's ponderous pity tired her too; so she was glad when the kind-hearted helpless woman made room for Jane, the servant. She was a good soul, 'with all her wits about her,' as people say, and knew what to do and what to leave undone in a sick room.

When the six o'clock dinner was scenting the house, she came and told Nella: 'Mr. Mansworth's been. My! wasn't he took aback when he heard about you! He all but cried.' And later, when a ring at the door-bell had called her away, Jane appeared again with a basket filled