CHAP. I.

"It is all over with me! My brain is a veritable sucked sponge; there is not an Idea in it. I tell you what, George Burford, I'll go no more to the opera. Instead of original melodies, such as I was wont to write, there comes to me the refrain of an air in ' Martha,' or else the Shadow song, or a bit from the 'Rose of Castile.' How is a man to get on in such a

case?"

The speaker threw his arms over his head with a sigh, and his companion, changing his posture slightly, took a cigar from his case, bit off the end, and then answered coolly:

"I look upon that as the natural consequence of an overtasked imagination. We composers are sadly dependent"

"We composers!"

"Don't sneer, Harry Sutton. Of course I go in for a composer, since I perpetrate pictures which-ahem-speak of budding genius, while you set doggrel verses to infamous music gently there."

For a large MS. packet suddenly descended upon the arm of the offender, followed by a pen, a stamp case, and a music-book.

"I wonder what made us two agree to differ in the same chambers-lodgings I mean-eh, George?"

Natural affinity, I suppose," responded George; "or else the doctrine that extremes meet may account for it. There never was a more contented creature than I am. My pictures bring in sufficient for my humble wants, no more. Your bravuras, glees, trios, &c. do not satisfy, you; but then you have no

patience

Suppose," said George, with a slight twinkle in his eye, 66 suppose my plan were to marry an heiress?" "Psha!"

"If I were not afraid of making you vain, I would say that I have seldom seen a betterlooking fellow. Only for your romance and Quixotism

"Will you never have done taunting me, George, because I once happened to give my opinion about heiress hunters ?"

George Burford rose and stood on the hearthrug in that favourite posture of an Englishman, even when the grate is full of shavings, with his hands under his coat-tails. It seemed that his companion knew what this portended, for he held up his hand deprecatingly.

"No lecture, Burford, for I won't stand it." "Now listen to me, Sutton. I am older than you, and wiser-that of course. You are clever enough, and some day may be a great composer, who knows? But in the meantime you must live-a vulgar necessity I grant, but still a necessity. This, then, is my plan for you. Devote a certain day per week to pupils."

Harry covered his ears, with a hideous grimace.

"It is of no use to pull faces at me," con tinued his friend. "Take away your hands immediately and hear me out. The variety itself would be good for you, and I know of exactly the sort of pupils to suit you. A painter is an animal tolerated ou some occasions in any society, and I have had the honour of an introductiou to that august family, the Bellendens, of Bellenden Park, Blankshire. They are at present in town.”

"The who?"

"The Bellendens. What are you looking so queer for? You don't know them, I believe." Sir Miles, his lady mother, his younger brother-poor beggar!-and his two sisters are at their house in square. The Misses Bellenden are in want of music-lessons from a first-rate professor. I mention my friend, dubiously, as though thinking it probable he is too proud and too great a man for it: they have seen some of his pieces'-fact, Harry—and snatch at him eagerly. All is arranged.'

B

"Nonsense!"

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"Awaiting his consent. As to the fees-oh, by Jove, enough to make my pictures turn yellow with envy! The young ladies are as proud as-well, well, they are horribly proud, stiff, and not beauties by any means; so you won't be making an ass of yourself. old fellow, the thing is done.'

Come,

"Can't you speak, Sutton?"

"Is not Sir Miles married?"

"Don't I? At least, I remember the beard you brought back, and the long curls - ah!" "Very well. You know that I went alone,

Harry went to the door, and took two steps back again. His face was very pale.

"George Burford," he said, " 'you don't quite know what you are doing. You mean well and kindly, and if mischief comes of this I hold you blameless, but never say I sought it out myself."

"He's mad," ejaculated George, staring at the ceiling. "Quite mad. I believe all these musical geniuses are, more or less. Very well, Harry; never say you sought it out -that's all, is it? Now go and put your coat

on."

CHAP. II.

George Burford was busily engaged upon a picture which he meant to call "The Remorse of Virginius." He had just put the finishing touch to the nose of the stern Roman, and was leaning back in artist fashion to survey the effect, when the door opened noisily and Harry Sutton rushed in.

"Burford," he said, going up to him, "put away that brush."

"Cool, I must say," retorted George, twirling the pallet on his thumb. 'Anything else?.' "I am in earnest, indeed I am."

"Well, I should say you were. You do not look like a man in a jesting humour. Say on, I am listening."

"What am I, George?"

"Why really," said George, staring at him, "unless you mean me to answer a madman, I cannot say."

"Don't trifle with me. I want to know who I am.

"Oh, if it's a case of 'Had she a father, had she a mother? Who was her sister, who was her brother?' upon my word, my dear fellow, I know no more than the man in the moon. We met. You were attracted to me naturally. I took pity upon you, and rewarded you with my friendship. I never asked you about your ancestry, and you did not tell me of them."

ry was pacing the room restlessly,
you cannot help me?"

accident. Imagine all the details of the accident related, and behold me, after all sorts of hardships, taken in by the inhabitants of a fine, but rather ruinous old château in a certain departement of France. I will make my tale as short as possible, George. The family consisted of a middle-aged gentleman, his young daughter, a housekeeper, and servants. The gentleman was English, and his name Rutherford--"

"Any relation to the--"

"Don't stop me, you will hear who he was. Of course he welcomed his countryman, but more than that, he took an especial fancy to me, and when I got well, instead of going on to Bonn, I lingered at the château. It was a dangerous experiment and I knew it, for, as you will easily guess, Mr. Rutherford was not my attraction, though I liked him well enough. At first he used to go with us for short walks in the neighbourhood, as my injured foot would bear them; but he was a great bookworm, and very soon his daughter Marie was my only companion. Think of that, George! One evening-I shall never forget it-she had taken me to see the sun go down into the sea from a certain famous rock. The walk was a long one and my ankle not yet strong. When she saw my weariness and pain she insisted on rolling up her own cloak and making me use it as a footstool. I don't know how any other man might have felt, watching her do this: the sun was setting red and glorious, it sent a halo upon the brown hair under her hat, it shone upon her face as she looked up at me with a smile and asked was that better, was I easier?

"I bit my lips, George, and ruled my tongue, but what man can govern the expression of his face? We were silent afrer that; she sat on the rock still, but very quiet and thoughtful. I did not dare to trust my voice, but I would have borne all the pain, aye, double and treble the pain I suffered in walking home, for the touch of that tremulous little hand on my arm, as it was then. And yet I did not speak my thoughts."

"She knew them, I suppose?"

"I don't know, I have never known; but she was very young. When we reached the gardengate Mr. Rutherford met us. I don't know what he saw or thought, but he looked at me and stopped abruptly; then he looked at his daughter earnestly, and finally gave her some errand which took her into the house, while he remained with me."

"The air is still pleasant," he said. "Let us go to the seat under those trees."

"I followed him like some one in a dream, for my heart and brain had wandered after Marie, and her face, with the golden radiance on it was still before my eyes."

"How sad it is to think," said my companion, musingly, "that when the head is full of a lifetime of experience, and wiser than it ever was before, that the limbs begin to fail, and the wisdom to be almost useless."

I did not answer, except by an unmeaning sort of gesture.

"And the knowledge of present wisdom adds a donble sting to the remembrance of past folly. Mr. Sutton, I once narrowly escaped having the mark of Cain set on my forehead."

I started, and looked at him.

"Yes," he said, answering the look, "I raised my hand against my eldest brother-I had but one. I wish to tell you about it. You know that my property is in England?" "No, I did not.

"Yet the name is not common. I am a Rutherford, of Rutherford. The folly I speak of was caused by an agent which brings about more trouble and more happiness than any other in the world-you understand what I mean. The lady was the daughter of a poor curate. We both loved her, but I never told her so. I dreamed and hoped and wrote sonnets, while my brother acted.

"Now, my father was proud-all the Rutherfords are proud and ambitious. He had fixed upon a wife for his son-a rich one, of course; but Harry (that was my brother's name), absolutely refused to bind himself by any promise. Soon after that the truth came out. By mere chance I witnessed an interview between Harry and the woman I loved. I waited until her figure had disappeared amongst the trees, and then I sprang upon my brother. In my madness I believe I should have killed him, for he was quite unprepared, but a strong arm came between us suddenly, and my father's voice called upou me to desist and explain.

"I cried out that my brother was a false coward, that he had insulted a lady who

"There my brother stopped me imperiously, and crossing his arms with his head bent down upon them, he said, turning to my father,

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"The lady he speaks of is my wife, sir.' "When my father knew all, he swore a fierce oath to disinherit Harry, and make me bis heir. He bade Harry go, and never come into his presence again. What a thing pride is, Sutton! He never fulfilled that vow, and, on his death-bed, he would have given worlds for a touch of his son's hand or a word from his lips. No one knew anything about him. Every effort was made, but he must have assumed a false name, for we failed to trace him farther than a little village not far from Rutherford.

"All my efforts, after the death of my father, could do nothing beyond ascertaining the death of a person answering to my brother's de

scription, in a remote little inn somewhere amongst the Cumberland lakes. 'My daughter will be a heiress.'

"My eyes wandered involuntarily to the window, where a fair head was bent down over some work; but I thought that Marie, even then, was watching us furtively. Mr. Rutherford saw my glance.

"Yes," he said, 'she is beautiful; is she not? And good, too; but proud. We Rutherfords are all proud. My daughter will wear a title well. She is betrothed to Sir Miles Bellenden. Bellenden-park joins Rutherford, and though the baronet's cstate may be somewhat impoverished, he is a prudent man, and my daughter will be rich. Yes, we are a proud

race."

"Of

There, George," concluded Sutton. course I knew by that time why he had told me all this rigmarole. And now, don't laugh at me, but help me, there's a good fellow."

"I don't see how, yet. What did you do?" "I went away, of course, the next morning. I never saw her again except in her father's presence, and I scarcely dared to look at her. Now you will see that I can give no more lessons in Square."

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But, my dear fellow, I don't see. Why

not?"

Harry looked at him for a moment, angrily; then, recollecting himself, he said: "I forgot! I didn't tell you the end! My lady Bellenden has a new charge. Marie Rutherford is there, George."

"Did you see her?"

"Yes, I did; but she did not see me. I saw a little figure, all black but for the beautiful head I remembered so well. If I had waited a moment she might have turned and seen me, and then. But I rushed away, with my brain in a whirl. Do you wonder at me, George?"

"No, it was quite right-honourable. But why were you in such a fever to discover what you never cared about before-I mean parentage?"

"Some frantic idea that I might be her equal, I suppose. Never mind it now; if I were ever so noble or rich, it would not alter matters. Of course she loves the man who is to be her husband."

"Of course it is best for you to think so."

"I shall write to Cecil Bellenden. He is a good sort of fellow enough. There are lots of excuses for a mad musico like me to pick up, and they will be out of town soon."

"What did you think of Sir Miles? I don't admire him myself; but a good many do." Harry set his teeth hard, and clenched his fist.

"Do you want to drive me crazy, George?" "One word more," said George, meditatively : "I don't exactly see why your friend Rutherford should have buried himself alive in a rotten old French château, and left his English estate untenanted."