teacher of vocal music, the drawing-room | opera list for the winter, without consultitself was assigned. He was a prosperous ing Miss Vanhorn, who would, however, and smiling Italian, who had a habit of pay for it in the end, as she would also bringing pieces of pink cream candy with pay for the drawing and dancing lessons him, and arranging them in a row on the ordered by the same autocratic command. piano for his own refreshment after each For it was one of Tante's rules to cultisong. There was an atmosphere of per- vate every talent of the purely agreeable fume and mystery about Belzini. It was and decorative order which her pupils whispered that he knew the leading opera- possessed; she bathed them as the phosingers, even taking supper with them tographer bathes his shadowy plate, bringsometimes after the opera. The pupils ing out and "setting," as it were, as deepexhausted their imaginations in picturing ly as possible, their colors, whatever they to each other the probable poetry and ro- happened to be. Tante always attended mance of these occasions. the opera in person. Preceded by the usher, the old Frenchwoman glided down the awkward central aisle of the Academy of Music, with her inimitable step, clad in her narrow satin gown and all her laces, well aware that tongues in every direction were saying: "There is Madame Moreau at the head of her school, as usual. What a wonderful old lady she is!" While the pupils were filing into their places, Tante remained in the aisle fanning herself majestically, and surveying them with a benignant smile. When all were seated, with a graceful little bend she glided into her place at the end, the motion of sitting down and the bend fused into one in a manner known only to her

Belzini was a musical trick-master; but he was not ignorant. When Anne came to take her first lesson, he smiled effusively, as usual, took a piece of candy, and, while enjoying it, asked if she could read notes, and gave her the "Drinking Song" from Lucrezia Borgia as a trial. Anne sang it correctly without accompaniment, but slowly and solemnly as a dead march. It is probable that "Il Segreto" never heard itself so sung before or since. Belzini was walking up and down with his plump hands behind him.

"You have never heard it sung?" he said.

"No," replied Anne. "Sing something else, then. Some- self. thing you like yourself.”

After a moment's hesitation, Anne sang an island ballad in the voyageur patois. "May I ask who has taught you, mademoiselle?"

"My father," said the pupil, with a slight tremor in her voice.

"He must be a cultivated musician, although of the German school," said Belzini, seating himself at the piano and running his white fingers over the keys. "Try these scales."

It was soon understood that "the islander" could sing as well as study. Tolerance was therefore accorded to her. But not much more. It is only in "books for the young" that poorly clad girls are found leading whole schools by the mere power of intellectual or moral supremacy.

The emotional type of boardingschool, also, is seldom seen in cities; its home is amid the dead lethargy of a winter-bound country village.

The great event in the opening of Anne's school life was her first opera. Tante, not at all blinded by the country garb and silence of the new pupil, had written her name with her own hand upon the

VOL LXII.-No. 871.-46

Anne's strong idealism, shown in her vivid although mistaken conceptions of Shakspeare's women, was now turned into the channel of opera music. After hearing several operas, she threw herself into her Italian songs with so much fervor that Belzini sat aghast; this was not the manner in which demoiselles of private life should sing. Tante, passing one day (by the merest chance, of course) through the drawing-room while Anne was singing, paused a moment to listen. "Ma fille," she said, when the song was ended, tapping Anne's shoulder affably, "give no more expression to the Italian words you sing than to the syllables of your scales. Interpretations are not required." The old Frenchwoman always put down with iron hand what she called the predominant tendency toward too great freedom-sensationalism--in young girls. She spent her life in a constant struggle with the American "jeune fille."

During this time Rast wrote regularly; but his letters, not being authorized by Miss Vanhorn, Anne's guardian, passed first through the hands of one of the teachers, and the knowledge of this inspec

tion naturally dulled the youth's pen. But Anne's letters to him passed the same ordeal without change in word or in spirit. Miss Lois and Dr. Gaston wrote once a week; Père Michaux contented himself with postscripts added to the long, badly spelled, but elaborately worded epistles with which Mademoiselle Tita favored her elder sister. It was evident to Anne that Miss Lois was having a severe winter. The second event in Anne's school life was the gaining of a friend.

a delicately cut profile, and a remarkable length of hair; her peculiarities, the color of this hair, the color of her skin, and the narrowness of her eyes. The hue of her hair was called flaxen; but it was more than that. It was the color of bleached straw. There was not a trace of gold in it, nor did it ever shine, but hung, when unbound, a soft even mass straight down below the knee. It was very thick, but so fine that it was manageable; it was never rough, because there were no short | locks. The complexion which accompanied this hair was white, with an undertint of ivory. There are skins with under-tints of pink, of blue, and of brown; but this was different in that it shaded off into cream, without any indication of these hues. This soft ivory-color gave a shade of fuller richness to the slender straw-haired woman-an effect increased by the hue of the eyes, when visible under the long light lashes. For Helen's eyes were of a bright dark unexpected brown. The eyes were so long and narrow, however, that generally only a line of bright brown looked at you when you met their gaze. Small features, narrow cheeks,

At first it was but a musical companion. Helen Lorrington lived not far from the school; she was one of Tante's old scholars, and this Napoleon of teachers especially liked this pupil, who was modelled after her own heart. Helen held what may be called a woman's most untrammelled position in life, namely, that of a young widow, protected but not controlled, rich, beautiful, and without children. She was also heir to the estate of an eccentric grandfather, who detested her, yet would not allow his money to go to any collateral branch. He detested her because her father was a Spaniard, whose dark eyes had so reprehensibly fascinated his little Dutch daughter that she had un-delicate lips, and little milk-white teeth, expectedly plucked up courage to marry like a child's, completed this face which in spite of the paternal prohibition, and never had a red tint, even the lips being not only that, but to be very happy also but faintly colored. There were many during the short portion of life allotted to men who, seeing Helen Lorrington for her afterward. The young Spanish hus- the first time, thought her exquisitely band, with an unaccountable indifference beautiful; there were others who, seeing to the wealth for which he was supposed her for the first time, thought her singuto have plotted so perseveringly, was pu- larly ugly. The second time, there was sillanimous enough to die soon afterward, never a question. Her grandfather called leaving only one little pale-faced child, a her an albino; but he was nearly blind, puny girl, to inherit the money. The and could only see the color of her hair. baby Helen had never possessed the dim- He could not see the strong brown light ples and rose tints that make the beauty of her eyes, or the soft ivory complexion, of childhood; the girl Helen had not the which never changed in the wind, the rounded curves and peach-like bloom that heat, or the cold. make the beauty of youth. At seventeen she was what she was now; therefore at seventeen she was old. At twenty-seven she was what she was then; therefore at twenty-seven she was young.

woman;

She was tall, and extremely, marvellously slender; yet her bones were so small that there were no angles visible in all her graceful length. She was a long her arms were long, her throat was long, her eyes and face were long. Her form, slight enough for a spirit, was as natural as the swaying grasses on a hillside. She was as flexible as a ribbon. Her beauties were a regally poised little head,

Mrs. Lorrington was always dressed richly, but after a fashion of her own. Instead of disguising the slenderness of her form, she intensified it; instead of contrasting hues, she often wore amber tints like her hair. Amid all her silks, jewels, and laces, there was always supreme her own personality, which reduced her costumes to what, after all, costumes should be, merely the subordinate coverings of a beautiful woman.

Helen had a clear, flute-like voice, with few low notes, and a remarkably high range. She continued her lessons with Belzini whenever she was in the city,

Anne,

more in order that he might transpose | been any lasting co-operation.
her songs for her than for any instruc-
tion he could now bestow. She was an
old pupil of his, and the sentimental Ital-
ian adored her; this adoration, however,
did not prevent him from being very
comfortable at home with his portly wife.
One morning Helen, coming in for a mo-
ment to leave a new song, found Anne at
the piano taking her lesson. Belzini, al-
ways anxious to please his fair-haired di-
vinity, motioned to her to stay and listen.
Anne's rich voice pleased her ears; but
she had heard rich voices before. What
held her attention now was the girl her-
self.

however, cheerfully sang whatever Bel-
zini put before her, remained admiringly
silent while Helen executed the rapid
runs and trills with which she always
decorated her part, and then, when the
mezzo was needed again, gave her full
voice willingly, supporting the other as
the notes of an organ meet and support
a flute after its solo.

For although Helen was a marvel of self-belief, although she made her own peculiar beauty an object of worship, and was so saturated with knowledge of herself that she could not take an attitude which did not become her, she yet possessed a comprehension of other types of beauty, and had, if not an admiration for, at least a curiosity about, them. In Anne she recognized at once what Tante had also recognized-unfolding beauty of an unfamiliar type, the curves of a nobly shaped form hidden under an ugly gown, above the round white throat a beautiful head, and a singularly young face shadowed by a thoughtfulness which was very grave and impersonal when compared with the usual light, self-centred expressions of young girls' faces. At once Helen's artistic eye had Anne before her, robed in fit attire; in imagination she dressed her slowly from head to foot as the song went on, and was considering the question of jewels when the music ceased, and Belzini was turning toward her.

Such was the beginning.

Belzini was in ecstasies; he sat up all night to copy music for them. He said, anxiously, to Helen: "And the young girl? You like her, do you not? Such a voice for you!"

"But I can not exactly buy young girls, can I?" said Mrs. Lorrington, smiling.

More and more, however, each day she liked "the young girl" for herself alone. She was an original, of course; almost an aboriginal; for she told the truth exactly upon all occasions, appropriate or inappropriate, and she had convictions. She was not aware, apparently, of the old-fashioned and cumbrous appearance of these lastnamed articles of mental furniture. But the real secret of Helen's liking lay in the fact that Anne admired her, and was at the same time neither envious nor jealous, and from her youth she had been troubled by the sure development of these two feelings, sooner or later, in all her girl companions. In truth, Helen's lot was enviable; and also, whether consciously or unconsciously, she had a skill in provoking jealousy. She was the spoiled child of fortune. It was no wonder, therefore, that those of her own sex and age seldom enjoyed being with her: the contrast was too great. Helen was, besides, the very queen of Whim.

For

I hope I may become better acquaint- The queen of Whim! By nature; which ed with this rich voice," she said, coming means that she had a highly developed back gracefully to the present. May I imagination. By the life she had led, havintroduce myself? I should like to trying never, save for the six short months of a duet with you, if you will allow me, her husband's adoring rule, been under the Miss-" control, or even advice, of any man. "Douglas," said Belzini; "and this, whim can be thoroughly developed only mademoiselle, is Mrs. Lorrington." in feminine households: it is essentially feminine. And Helen had been brought up by a maiden aunt, who lived alone. Aman, however mild, demands in a home at least a pretense of fixed hours and regularity; only a household of women is capable of no regularity at all, of changing the serious dinner hour capriciously, and even giving up dinner altogether. Only a household of women has sudden inspirations as to journeys and departures within

In addition to Helen's fancy for Anne's fair grave face, the young girl's voice proved a firmer support for her high soprano than it had ever obtained. Her own circle in society and the music classes had been searched in vain more than once. For she needed a soprano, not a contralto. And as soprani are particularly human and jealous, there had never

the hour; brings forth sudden ideas as to changes of route while actually on the way, and a going southward instead of westward, with a total indifference to supper. Helen's present whim was Anne.

"I want you to spend part of the holidays with me," she said, a few days before Christmas. "Come on Monday, and stay over New-Year's Day."

"Oh, I can not," said Anne, startled. "Why not? Tante will consent if I ask her; she always does. Do you love this crowded house so much that you can not leave it?"

But-"

"It is not that. "But you are shy. But Miss Vanhorn might not like it. You do not know Aunt Margaretta. You have no silk gown. Now let me talk. I will write to Miss Vanhorn. Aunt Margaretta is as gentle as a dove. I am bold enough for two. | And the silk dress shall come from me." "I could not take that, Mrs. Lorrington."

"Because you are proud?"

"No; but because I would rather not. It would be too great an obligation."

I do

"You repay me by your voice a thousandfold, Anne. I have never had the right voice for mine until now; and therefore the obligation is on my side. not speak of the pleasure your visit will give me, because I hope to make that mutual. But say no more. I intend to have my way."

And she had her way. "I have always detested Miss Vanhorn, with her caraway seeds, and her malice," she explained to Tante. "Much as I like Anne for herself alone, it will be delicious also to annoy the old dragon by bringing into notice this unknown niece whom she is hiding here so carefully. Now confess, Tante, that it will be delicious."

"Miss Vanhorn presents her compliments to Mrs. Lorrington, with thanks for her note, which, however, was an unnecessary attention, Miss Vanhorn claiming no authority over the movements of Anne Douglas (whose relationship to her is remote), beyond a due respect for the rules of the institution where she has been placed. Miss Vanhorn is gratified to learn that Miss Douglas's voice is already of practical use to her, and has the honor of remaining Mrs. Lorrington's obliged and humble servant.

"MADISON SQUARE, Tuesday."

"You are right," said Anne, seriously. "It is strange how little confidence I feel."

Helen, looking at her as she stood there in her island gown, coarse shoes, and oldfashioned collar, did not think it strange Tante shook her head reprovingly. at all, but wondered, as she had wondered But she herself was in her heart by no a hundred times before, why it was that means fond of Miss Vanhorn; she had this girl did not think of herself and her had more than one battle royal with that own appearance. "And you must let me venerable Knickerbocker, which had test-have my way, too, about something for ed even her celebrated suavity. Helen's note was as follows:

"DEAR MISS VANHORN,-I very much wish to persuade your charming niece, Miss Douglas, to spend a portion of the holidays with me. Her voice is marvellously sweet, and Aunt Margaretta is most anxious to hear it; while I am desirous to have her in my own home, even

you to wear," she added.

"It shall be as you wish, Helen. It can not be otherwise, I suppose, if I go to you. But I hope the time will come when I can do something for you."

"Never fear; it will. I feel it instinctively. You will either save my life or take it-one or the other; but I am not sure which."

Monday came; and after her lonely