SABINA ZEMBRA

A NOVEL. 2f WILLIAM BLACK. a«.flf "Maoleodof Dare," " A Princess jj,atbor w ofThule,"&c., &c.

Eight of Translation is Reserved.] P —

terß I ■ 4ND 11-—Sir • A - nt h° n y Zcmbra, handsome, bland of manner, his his dinners famous ff ifeaq eX c o Uencc, was yet tho most deteated as he was one of tho meanest. """"•"busily engaged inspecting the items of B S S we intelligence, in which the namo of '^f 0 nroiiinentlr fifrures, and which have *8 $t been self-inspired, when ho is inter eTl .a hr a bustling noise, and a young man. fP'j^ and helpless, is borne into the room, Sabina, the daughter of the maj? -s°*ffpnrotests against his house beinc: made Sh ?' | 10wev . er - hj l3 h « r jnjoasiuue. vitlia knowledge pained by six as a hospital nurse, she tends •Jnrif the arrival of a svnvreon. The acci biw nniu through the younpr man, i6i Inton a bicycle, endeavouring to steer w° w ?o.,hina's dog. At his request n.-wa of *&SisTwircd to the Duke of Exininster *ffl»of.F«d lister. r.PTFits HI- Ajro IV, ~~ Janio Wygram, a mfrieudofSabina's, perceives that Walter Kαr a wealthy young artist, is in love with tier friends call her, but thatsho hor- Sms perfectly heart-whole, _ not yet having X l encediove's "pleasuigpiun." At Walnv\s esP T Tanio promises to induce Saln'na to a> mnr her to a musical evening at Lindsay's •fjiTta meet the (jrcatßorolla, a new baritone. « wveram, janie's mother, also promises to h bH aid superintend t>lo arrangements fnr 1 winner In the meantime rfabie, in constant •Smce upon tho wounded man. becomes in his sporting talk and tales of tho racecourse. mAPTERS V. and Vl.—At the supper party, «nich passes off satisfactorily, rtabina is pressed Sept a present from Lindsay, but all that fcAPonsents to do is to drink g little wino from MBtly goblet, which he asks her to receive this lands. Tho act makes the cup thirty Leamore valuable to him, he says. Next day SJd Foster,'the invalid, leaves for Brighton, gabina and Janie Wygrani bidding him adieu

CHAPTER VII.

BY THE SHANNON SHOKE,

|S|k 0 R ordinary SisiS love - sickness there is no more prompt and cffica. cious cure than mar riage ; but for the krt • ache begotten of hopeless love to is the cure ? It is a disease that jwplearefor the most part ashamed of, so fay conceal itassiduously ; and therefore it nay be assumed to be more prevalent than ijjears. Walter Lindsay, at all events, toil find no cure, though he tried many. We was inordinately vexed with himself fat in walking alonsj High street, Kensing toi,£econld not see a tall woman in the feince, without his heart leaping up with en.fjwl hope thafe it might; be Sabina. Ira my, each time that he went home, )w'tte»-& great disappointment for him to finding there no letter from Janie Wy pp, with some chance mention of Sabina ■it} Janie Wygram could not keep con luajily Writing to him apropos of raine. The most—serious interests were interfered with by this !py of vague unrest; his work was done % not for the world, that was willing i&fflglktQ!welcome it, but that it might ;{mknoß'Win him a smile of Sabina's ap- And as for the hopelessness of his itraioa-hFell, he had not studied her wry gesture and look, lie had not ifibeci to Janie's minute and intimate de- Knptionof her ways of life, and her hopes, nit Opinions, and interests, all for nothing ; miwell he knew that marriage formed no I*M Sabina's plans for the future. She tasrery kind to him—for she was kind to teybfldy; and if be were ill, he thought weight be sorry; and for the passing wH-ashad happened the other evening— wwould smile on him, and be generous, [Ml gracious, and bland. 13nt as for any- Mi&more? He knew he might as well ™Uf going into the National Gallery •Masking some fair-browed Madonna to ®P<Wn from her frame and take his W> and go through the years of life with la him.

™j then he would try to argue himself wot this insanity of love. Hβ had set JP ideal, ho maintained to *&"> No woman could be so fine as ™* Why should he bother his head about pnantomof his own creation? Women •Wwomen; he knew what they them ™« said and wrote of each other : ho •«no longer a boy, imagining everything ■ ■».«■» a petticoat to be an angel. And •p »e=would resolve to go again to Janie J l'f, S efc to know something about who must have her faults $i 11 nesses and vanities like oth ? l ' j J ...r?? 8 ' *hat was not of much avail. '' e r| nie % remarked that people might /.woat .they liked about women in 4e¥ :ili t— n ° no of ncr business ; bub ™:W6w w Hat Sabina was : nay, more, Xr to declare to him, as £W already declared to her mother, IAT* g he a man> g] ie wou id consider j,|»! if she were not in love with fcfcl •, ° fchere was »° hope for him todctl, y 6 i ' nofc thafc ne was so anxious fo3S°5 c Ms idol, as he tried to persuade ffi lhe was ); and as Sabina moment of his life, and came MW Breveryßr ever y occupation and project began to think that some- W ■ tl? v done, He wo,lld £° away »ietliw ul Kensington and see *kL!T? of fchi » love-sickness could Cfl • md - He w "O« ld seek out one itfta I nte etudes, and bury himself 'Won, , place, and devofce " imself t0 led nT+ Wo ,.' or assiduous recreation, he %«£v lch - To leay e London—to "nr "I 6 of cafcchin £ a glimpse of let Bam™ 3 *" c chance even of hearing Ww Menfcioned in th e talking of in Lo^ 8 n °t pleasant; but to remain this useless torture, %ii'm i ■■' so on e morning, and on a friend VT 9, he telegraphed over to a "HerTni Wesfc of Inland, asking Wfo-liT ? ould be found for him on a %C* ¥ tfce Shannon ; the answer H\* ; and that after- Nsan/rv Up llis fetching imple ftomwwin?r n ?' rodß ' wenfc down b y tho laornin yhead ' and was in Dublin S»ift c either fco work or to P la y 5 iNs fc ft ■ rnorefoolish love-fancies. in fc l lafc railway carriage, Hiot i and was fcaken awa y across J Mnuß fcudyin S the ever-varying and ?u 0n , 0U3 features of the land *• Andii , owl y-changing effects of Spi Ucky ifc Wa * for him that he an i' bod y else would have ySβ jj , Wy ] ' ourne y a somewhat dis- Pilifcl T 1 th e melancholy April day The leafless trees WP*!M n* I Sh amid the raW redS fHnZ P °«ghed land and fallow ; M**W*S 6 hes of bo &. with here and %enni gC8 ' and stone walls, and ■ ■ Closures, were nob very cheerful

ThiSV?n 80 C °\ d "dneutral-tinted skies. have t£t& 6 i r - dinai ' y tfaVellcl ' wo » ld ' ob»?. m thjse ykles neutfal-tinted and characterless enough ; bub this man was a fet he «™ M find I*te suffici nt shadedbu U- rC ? "! re S. ardi »g softly t c 1,1 and treating perspective of the larger masses of cloud, and in tracing here and there a tinge of golden white Z? n T> th °,^ le ' h °P efess ' a » d vet pea ly a 1 fch .r bl ?? S and s - A » d > X J »" this observation, and studying of fornv" and tone., and «values,» he" waT de termined that Ins heart should nob Z 3saf toKe^s^ In the afternoon he reached his desfcina -7",' a '?, tra B'Sli"jr little town on the banks or the Shannon, the swift-rushing waters of which noble river are here spanned by a long and many-arched bridge. He had telegraphed for rooms to the inn, where he was well known ; and having deposited his tilings there, and picked out a handy little crout rod, ho walked down to the river to have an hour's careless fishing, and a general look round. This was a picturesque neighbourhood into which he had come, but the afternoon was not favourable ; what wind there was was easterly, and that had flrunk the colour out of the hills around, winch looked high and lurid as mountains through the mist. However, there was always the magnificent river, with its surging rapid masses of white-tipped waves, and the pleasant sound of the rush ing over the weir ; while eventually a sort oi coppery-red sunaeb broke through the pall of grey. But he was anxious about neither painting nor fishing on this first evening ; and so he idly walked back to the inn again, and to dinner, in the small sitting-room, where the faithful Nora had not forgotten to build for him a big fire of turf instead of coal. This Nora \\Ms an old friend of his ; and as she came and went during dinner, they had a little talk together. She was a largo limbed creature of a lass, with pretty soft eyes, and black hair that might have been n.ore tidily kept, and hands! that might have bsen more frequently washed. Bub she was friendly, and obliging and pleasant mannered ; and her amiable disposition to wards the young English artist was mani fested in a hundred little ways. She it was who never neglected to fill his flask before he started in the morning 5 and she was the last to wish him good luck as he left; and she sent very nice things for lunch ; and she was the first to congratulate him if the men appeared in the evening bringing a big salmon, or perhaps two, or perhaps three, with them ; and when he came home empty-handed the pretty Nora would say, almost with tears in her voice, "Well, it's sorry I am, sir; what a shame ye didn't get nothin' all the day long." Alanna machree, ho called her, and Mavourneen, and Nora astore, and a great many other things of the meaning of which heknowvery little ; but Nora took all these with placid good humour ; and her friendliness was always perfectly within bound. " Sure, sir," she .said to him this oven ing, as he was getting to the end of his dinner, "it'smany's the time we've beon thinking you'd be bringing Mrs Lindsay over wid yo, sir." "If you wait for that day, you'll wait all your life, Nora, my darling," he answered. "Ah, don't say that, sir!" responded Nora, cheerfully. "Sure there's plenty of pretty young ladies in London." " 1 suppose there are," paid lie. And instantly something in his manner told the sharp-witted Nora chat she had struck a wrong chord ; and she quickly changed the subject. "Will ye have any pudding, sir?" she asked : here she could nob go wrong , . " What kind of a pudding , is it, Nora? " 'Tisanapple-poy, sir." " Oh, yes, that'll'do." And it may have fancifully occurre:! to him in his idle musings, as this gentle mannered hand-maiden came and went, that if Nora were only to brmh her hair, and wash her hands, and get nicely dressed and smartened up, she would make a very presentable bride ; and what if lie were to j induce her to go away to America—to the i west, while he would buy a farm, and they j would lead a healthy, happy, matter-of-fact existence —so that he should forget his sorrows, and think of that hated Kensington no more ? But, no ; that would nob do ] either. He might not find the forgetful ness he was in search of. Besides, lior hair— each time she came into the room he noticed ifc-—lb was too dreadfully untidy. And, then again, it was just possible that the Lass of Limerick (this was another of the names he gave her) might not care to go.

By-and-bye, when Nora had removed the dinner things, and brought him some cofiee, and stirred up the peats, he was left quite alone, and lie pulled in his chair to the blazing lire and lit his pipe. .So far ho had done well. He had scarcely sent one back ward thought towards London the whole day long. But now there was this to be considered. He had premised to paint for Sabina a replied of the water-colour draw ing s!ic had chanced to admire ; and he had iiiiderstood from Janie that xMiss Zembra was willing to accept the same. But re plicas were more or less mechanical things ; besides, he had nob the drawing here. Would it not be better, before setting seriously to work, that he should do some sketch for her—of some actual living scene ? A first fresh impression was always pre ferable. She had shown a little interest in asking him about the various remote corners That he went to ; here -was one. Would she care for a sketch of the wide uaters of the Shannon, the lonpr bridge, the little straggling town, the old square towered church, and, over-looking all, the distant slopes and shoulders of the Sieve Bernagh hills? It would not be recalling him to her recollection ; ifc would be re deeming a promise. And might he not write to Janie—now—and make the sugges " It was a pretty long letter that he wrote to Janie. And if at first he pretended that all bis concern was about that picture ar rangement, in the end he was quite candid, and even glad to make Janie once more his confidante. , _ . " The truth is," he wrote, " I came here to try to shake off certain influences—or rather, one particular influence—that you are aware of, I dare say. And to you who see so much of Miss Zembra, and know what she is, I am not ashamed to confess that it may be difficult ; but I hope to suc ceed in the end; and then, when this clamour of fascination has been got rid of, I hope to meet her on the more durable basis of friendship, if she will permit of that. Of course a young woman, and es pecially a beautiful young woman, may naturally distrust any such proposal; but if ever the need should arise she would find that it was no fair-weather friendship I had beg-ed her to accept. Ifc would not be mirelv while her physical beauty lasted ™ thafc I Motile! be at her service, at any moment, if trouble came. To me, Sabina I may call her this in confidence, and you vißrnthis letter) will always be beau- S 1 oven when her eyes have lost that l"« tre that afc prCSC IS i j a little too bewildering for some unhappy mortals. You have helped me to under stand what this is ; ancf the friendship of such a splendid creature would mean more S me than I can well tell you. 1 suppose noMngelse is possible. You say .so ; and to know At the same time, I am £w°w t*a you don't wish her to marry anybodyTand that, if it were a matter of odvice tl at is the advice you would give her Now let me warn you, dear Miss ft. that you have not seen very much

always so. She cannot be always so. She might want a, helping hand ; she is away norn her family; sickness might overtake ncr; she might get robbed of her good looks—which are an easy passport just now to everybody's favour. In any case, she must inevitably grow old. Is it wise to ask such a woman to face the coming years alone ? \on know better than anyone how sensitive she is, though she pretends nob to be; how eager she is that people should like her; how she seems to crave for sympathy and affection. Well, I'm not going to rave about her any more, for you would think it was all special pleading; but you just be careful, dear Miss Janie, not to do any mischief where the life-long interests of your best and dearest friend are concerned. If she will go that way, ib is well. _ Lach human being has his or her own ideal, I suppose. And anyhow, I'm going to try to banish all this mystification and glamour out of my head ; and when I come back to London, I hope to be able to understand what Sabina really is—and no doubt she is a great deal finer than any of my imaginings about her ; and you will help us to become good, true friends, and pomak.-asatirsfactoiyendofthewholematter. And Im going to send your mother a salmon, as soon as I catch one." It was a very sensible letter, to be written by a man whose brains had got so thoroughly bewildered ; and no doubt at the moment he believed every word he had written. _ But as he sat there later on, staring into the fire, perhaps some other visions may have arisen before him—only it is not necessary they should be put down here.

Next morning ho was all alert; the boat men were waiting outside ; the long Castle Connel rods had been put together ; Nora had filled his flask—just in case there might be occasion to drink " a tight line to your honour;" and presently, when he had bundled his sketching implements together, they were all on their way down to the boat. This was a very excellent recreation for a landscape painter (as well he knew before); for when once the coble, or " cot," was out in the midst of the wild - whirl ing waters, the men nob only managed that, bub the fishing as well; trol ling--" dragging," as they called it—with prawn and " killoch " and phantom minnow, or lashing the stream with a forty yard line and a big gold and red and purple Shannon fly, as the occasion demanded ; while he, if he chose, could sit idle, study ing effects of light and colour and form, or jotting these down in his book, when he was so inclined. And then again, when the light was bad, or the part of the river they happened to be at uninteresting, he would get up and take the casting rod and have a turn at the throwing; and if the forty yards were now reduced to twenty-five, still that was not a bad lino for an amateur to throw out clean. On this morning he was less interested in the fishing than usual; all his concern was to find something fine for the sketch he was to send Sabina. And how would that do, now? Iho built-up bank all ablaze with golden gor.«o ; above that a row of leafless trees against a eky of pale lurid blues and faint red greys; and underneath the bank, and all in front of him, the rushing, boiling, surging river, here and there straight, swift rapids, here and there masses of foam-crested waves, and hero and there a large, circular eddy of black, oily looking smooth water, on which were re flected, in wan and epcctral fashion, the whitewashed walls of an old, dilapidated mill. He looked at ib again, this way and that, but it would not do. Tho east wind had withered tho colour out of tholandscape; this furious river was too difficult for a more sketch ; ho wanted a blue sky on the water, instead of those reflections of grey and black. So he gave that up for the present, and book the rod from Johnnie Ryan, and began to belabour the whirling currents with five and-twonty yards of line and a big " silver doctor."

In the afternoon ho was more fortunate. For although that weird haze still hung over the lurid blue hills and tho ghostly landscape, and tho sun, when the clouds slowly 'parted, showed himself a sphere of mottled dusky gold, by-and-bye, as the ovening drew on, a beautiful pinky-groy light began to shine in the western heavens, and the stems and branches and twigs of the leafless trees grew to be of a rich warm purple ; and the dark green of the grass on the bank and the deop~yellow of tho gorse became strangely intense and clear.

"Put mo ashore now, Johnnie," he said to the chief boatman.

" Sure 'tis the'best bit of the lake we're just coming to," Johnnie remonstrated. " Very well; you fire away, and pick up a forty pounder. I'm going ashore—look alive now I"

And perhaps he was a littlo anxious as he began, and half-forgetful of his own mastery of his craft. He was so anxious to justify'himself in Sabina's eyes. She had not fcen much ofjhis work. Xor had any one in f/cct. His Wigtonshire patrimony had relieved him from the necessity of labouring for the market; and his reputa tion, "which was distinct and marked, pre vailed chiefly among artists themselves, who were wont to become very enthusiastic indeed about Walter Lindsay's draw ings. Of course there were those who de cried his method, and called him an Impressionist, and the like. And ho was an Impressionist of a kind; but his impressionism was of the higher order jfchat refuses to deal with that which is unneces sary, not the Impressionism which is chiefly marked by a clever avoidance of difficulties. He began by being a realist of the severest type; for years he had laboured, in Switzerland, in Sweden, in Holland, at patient and faithful studies of rocks, and foliage, and water, and sky; but gradually he had emancipated himself; Nature was no longer his master and tyrant; he chose for himself; he left un done what he did not think worth doing, but what he did do was done with the re verence born of knowledge. Nature was his friend and companion, if no longer his master : and hitherto he had been well con tent to wander away by himself into any kind of solitude, working sometimes, idling sometimes, but always more or less unconsciously studying. And if he was not scrupulous about detail, where he did put in detail it was right; he was none the worse a painter than he was also a skilled geologist, and that his herbarium was of his own collection, and bore record of many a toilsome pilgrimage. And now he began to pick up his courage again, for the effect proved lasting, and he was getting on. The beautiful ethereal rose-greys still dwelt in the higher heavens; the leafless trees grew even warmer in their purple, and the gorse bushes burned gold in the pallid shadow of the bank. He glanced at Johnnie Ryan from time to time, for Johnnio was fighting a salmon further down the stream, and he wanted to see the end of that struggle. And then he wondered whether Sabina would care for a bit of a sketch. Ifc was not of the chromo-lithographic kind; it was not striking ; moreover, a good deal of compromise was necessary even with what was before him. But he thought he could make something out of it ultimately—a tender kind of a thing; not strong in colour, perhaps; rather ethereal and delicate, but if possible luminous and fine. Hβ hoped Sabina would like it. Wouid she understood the reticence of it ? Would she understand what had made him hold his hand somewhat? Of course, he could do the other thing if he chose. But it was something in the nature of a pearl that he wished to give to Sabina. He carried out the sketch as far as was possible in the circumstances, until the rose-hiie in the sky began to fade into dusk ; and then he bundled up hie things, fairly well content. And Johnnie Ryan and his companion had got the salmon—a twenty-two pounder, and they were also well content. He let the two men go on before him; arid then, after' sitting there a

while, considering what he could do further with the sketch, and perhaps thinking of one or two things, he rose and'walked slowly home by the river-bank, underneath a twilight made transparent by a single star.

CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW FRIENDSHIP. Of a sudden all this was changed ; for the next morning the wind was blowing freshly from the west; and the world was ablaze with colour —rich and glowing and keen ; and from that moment forward every day as it went by was filled to overflowing with brisk work, and recreation quite as brisk. When he had done a sufficient quantity of the former, he fell upon the latter with might and main, and flogged those surging rapids of the Shannon with a persistency and skill that won even the approval of Johnnie Ryan. And the even ings were given over now to the glorification of friendship. That was to be the future happiness. He would go back to London cured of the cruel madness of love ; and ask that beautiful, high-gifted creature to give him of her companionship, as far as that might be possible. He would prove the faith that was in him too. Others might try to woo and win her ; he would be her friend, no matter what befell. He had heard of such things; and the situation might be fine in its way. And so he worked hard, and fished hard, and bade himself be of good cheer: he had banished tho morbid love-sickness by main force; Sabina was to be his friend.

There came a large envelope containing a couple of cards for the private view of the Royal Academy. A week or two previous he had received the honour of an invitation to be present at the banquet; this was an additional compliment; and highly pleased was he with both. But of course, his first thought was of Sabina, and as he guessed that old Mr Wygram would as usual have received a similar couple of tickets (this was a friendly act on the part of the Academy towards one who was not now so prosperous as once he had been) and as he knew that Mrs Wygram and Janie in variably made use of these, he at once tele graphed to Miss Janie that he had a card for Miss Zembra, if she cared to go, and also begging her to fix the engagement. That meant, naturally, that he should escort the three ladies to Burlington House, and show them round the rooms. Bub it was all in the way of friendship. Next morning he said casually to the Lass of Limerick:—

" Nora, what do you think now would be a nice present for a young lady ?" "Sure a sweetheart rnjghtn'li be amiss, sir," said Nora demurely, as she was put ting the eggs on the table. " Ah, you're too facetious, Nora, alannah, for one of your tender years. How about a salmon, now ? What if I were to send the young lady a salmon ?" " Shod be mighty plased, sir, I suppose,'"' said Nora, as she was heaping some more turf on the fire.

"But the fish ought to be of my own catching—don't you think so f' '' And maybe it's herself you'd rather be afther, sir, begging your pardon," said Nora, darting a glance at him from the door. "Nora," said he gravely, "is that the fashion they have of talking in Limerick ?" " It's the fashion they talk all over the wurruld, sir, when a young gentleman spakes about a young lady in that way— and that's the truth, sir," said Nora, as she smiled maliciously and disappeared into the passage. He was not to be deterred by the sarcasm of the Pride of Kildare (another of her names by the way). This was a happy in spiration that he should send a salmon to Sabina. He did not stay to ask himself what she could do with it. Why, it was the and privilege of every sportsman to malte a present of game—salmon, or venison, or grouse, or whatever it might be to whomsoever he chose, even to a stranger. Sabina would have the compli ment"; the Wygrams would have the fish. And surely this noble river, that he had made friends with, that he had come to know so well, that he had formed so great an affection for, would yield him a- worthy prize? Anyhow, his colours, and block, and camp-stool, and sketching - umbrella were all left unheeded in a corner; and he was busy with minnows and prawns and "Jock Scotts" and "Blue Doctors;" and forthwith he was on hi 3 way down to the coble with Johnnie Ryan and his mate.

And what a day this was for idleness, whether afloat or ashore! The spring seemed to have come upon them with a bound. The lilac and silver-white April skies were filled with blowing clouds ; and now there were dazzling floods of light, and attain the gloom of a passing shower ; the yellow gorse burned hot in the sun ; there were blush-tinted anemones in the leafless woods, primroses everywhere, and shy violets; the swallows were skimming, and dipping, and twittering. A robin sang loud and from the topmost twig of a haw thorn hush. And then the splendid river, changing with every mood of the sky ; at times sullen and dark under the heavy rain-clouds; and then again, when these had passed and the heavens were bountifully flooding the world with light, this great mass of water became a mighty highway of flashing, vivid, intense cobalt blue, lying be tween these soft green meadows and that high bank crowned with its golden furze. '"We ought to get a fish to-day, John nie," he said, as he was flogging away at the water. " Bedad, and it's more than one we 11 have before going home this night, your honour," was Johnnies confident answer. Moreover, the prophecy came true, for that evening as they went home through the dusk, the men had three very nice fish to carry, one of them weighing twenty eight pounds ; and. it was the twenty-eight pounder, of course, that was to go to Ken sington Square. A twenty-eight pound salmon ; a ticket for the private view of the Academy ; a water-colour drawing of a rose-grey evening over the beautiful river ; these were the gifts he now had for Sabina : but they were not to show her that he was continually thinking of her ; they were not to beg for her favour in any way; they were merely

to cement the new friendship. All the same, he began to wonder why Janie had not written. He watched the posts. He tor mented himself with doubts. Perhaps he had been too bold. Perhaps Sabina was ill. To think of her—while here he was in this blowing April weather, with the spring flowers carpet in <r the wood and the west winds redolent of the full-blossomed gorse, and the grsat river shining back the deep blue of the young year's skies —to think of her as perchance in a (lull room in that grey Kensington Square, lying pale and wan, it might be, with white fingers limp on the coverlet! Why was he not in London, that he might go straight to Janie and ask ? If Sabina were ill, however slightly, small messages from the outside world might vary the monotony of the sick room—flowers and fruit, and books, and an occasional word of remembrance and sympathy — these could do no harm. Then again he would argue himself out of thisfear. Sabina was very busy. Janie, too, had many things to look after. Perhaps she was waiting to see whether Sabina could de finitely fix about the private view. Never theless, he came downstairs early in the morning lest there should be an envelope waiting for him on the breakfast table. And sometimes he would leave the fishing just as the evening looked most promising and wander back to the inn, hoping for an answer from Kensington Square. But all anxiety, and needless alarm, and torturing speculation had nothing to do with love or love-sickness; it was but part of newly established friendship. Nora was a good-hearted lass, andshrewd withal; and she had got to suspect that Mi- Lindsay was troubling himself about the non-arrival of a letter; bo that one day, when the afternoon post brought a little batch of correspondence for him, she straightway sought out a small, shock headed boy, and sent him down with the parcel to the boat. The letter from Janie had come at last, and eagerly enough it was opened. She apologised for not having answered sooner, but said she had been extremely busy. The young gentleman who had met with the accident had left Lancaster Gate; following that, Sabina had many arrears of her own particular work to attack, and Janie had been helping her. And as he. read, on, remorse of con science struck him. It appeared that his letter had very much distressed this tender soul. Any charge, however slight or re mote, against her beloved Sabie, was a cause of deep concern to her, and she had got it into her head that Mr Lindsay was rather hinting that Sabina was impervious to the claims of friendship ; and she con sidered this to be most especially ungrateful on his part. "Don't think me impertinent, dear Mr Lindsay," she wrote, " but really I cannot help asking what you would like more. You write as if you and Sabie were strangers; that you were coming back to beg for a little friendship from ncr ; and that is all you have to say in return for the way she treated you that night at your houne! Why, she just devoted herself to you the whole evening; and had scarcely a word or

look for anyone else—so much so that it was remarked ; and was as kind to you as an unmarried girl could be. I think you want a little too much, if I must speak my mind. If you think that Sabie is not already your friend I can only say that you are very much mistaken ; and friendship with Sabie means something. And she is very much interested in your work, as I know; and when I told her where you were, among such beautiful things — well, I confess I was mean enough to say it was lucky for some folk that they could go away and live among green fields and spring flowers and woods and all that, for we were walking through a horrid little lane over in Battersea—she was quite sharp with me, and said it was a very good thing some people could go away and bring us b&ck reports how beautiful the world was, and give us pictures of it that we could look at again and again with de light, in the middle of all our troubles and worry. Yes, and she met the President pf the Academy afc somebody's house tfie orher evening, and he was saying very nice things about you, and she came home and repeated every one of them, and was very much pleased about it, and said how fine a thing it must be for one in your position to have such a career before him, and to have won such esteem already from your own brothers in art. But that isn't friendship —oh, no! That is the carelessness of a stranger. However, lam not going to scold any more, for I don't know that there was not some make-believe in your letter. Only it does seem hard on Sabie. I suppose you don't know how kind she was to you that evening? Or how much attention do you expect, if I may speak frankly? I wondered that none of the other gentlemen were jealous of the way she devoted herself to you, both during supper and in the studio ; but I suppose they find girls like Miss Sadleir and Tottie Morrison more attractive. Well, they're welcome, so long as they leave me my Sabio. She told me you had offered her that beautiful old wine-cup, and she thought it was very kind of you; but of course it would be no use to her. Besides, you could not expect her to accept so valuable a gift. Mother, who has very sharp eyes, says that something else hap pened just about this time. Do you know ? Of course, I would not ask Sabie for worlds. But did it happen ? That was not friend ship, anyway ? And yet you seem to think that. Sabie is not kind to you."

He took her scolding manfully, and only wished for more. For it was very grate ful to him to have it so hotly argued and proved, by one who ought to know, that Sabina held him in some little regard ; and the references to that evening in the studio recalled an abundance of happiness, and he liked to be told that Sabina had shown him so much favour. He read the scolding over and over again, and did not care whether he merited it or not; it was allabout Sabina, and that was sufficient. But that chance remark about the lane in Battersea gave him a twinge of conscience. He could see the two girls trudging through those squalid thoroughfares, on their errands of kindness and help, the air fcetid around them, the skies hidden away from them. While as for him, look at his sur roundings at this moment! The afternoon happened to be strangely still and peace ful—it ws»s like an evening in summer. On

the higher meadows lay a soft and mellow radiance, streaming over from the west; but down here the wide stream was m shadow ; and odd enough was the contrast between the turmoil of the water—with its sharp and sudden gleams of blue-black and silver-grey—and that peaceful golden land scape, and the pale cloudless over-arching sky. Here and there a bird was singing ; and ever there was the lulling rush of the river, a murmur filling the still evening air. And then he thought of Battersea, and of Sabina; and of her generous defence of him ; and all he could say for himself was this— that if any of his transcripts of these peace ful and beautiful scenes on the Shannon had a trace of interest in her eyes, or could make a dull corner of th» house in Ken sington Square one whit the brighter, she was welcome to her choice of them or to all of them put together. There was further good news for him in the postscript. "About the private view of the Aca demy," Miss Wygram wrote, " Sabiesays I am to thank you very much for remember ing her, and she will be glad to go with us, if nothing unusual should happen."

Now here was a notable thing; for though he was neither Academician nor As sociate, he would be in a certain sense Sabina r s host on this occasion, and respon sible for her being pleased and entertained. And what could he do ? Was there no special favour he could obtain for her? Numbers of both Academicians and Asso ciates were amongst; his most intimate friends; perhaps they could procure for him the use of some small room somewhere, so that Miss Zembra and the little party he might make up could have lunch in peace and quiet, instead of amongst the heated crowd ? Failing that (and it did not sound possible somehow) by going early surely he could secure a table in the refreshment room, up at the window end ? And who could prove himself a better guide to her as she went round the galleries? For each year he was in the habit of sending in a little water-colour, not to ask for public favour at all, but merely to gain for him a ticket for the Varnishing-day; and he would devote the whole of that day to a rapid survey of the Exhibition, so that when Sabina started on her round of the rooms ho could take her without trouble and exploration to everything worth see ing. On private view day, as everyone knows, the women-folk rather let them selves loose in the way of conspicuous attire. And if Sabina should come amongst them in her simple gown of plain brown homesrun, with its black buttons and frilled light cuffs! He hoped she would. It was ;he dress he used to look out for in Kensington High-street; it was the dress chat used to make his heart leap—before the era of their friendship had opened, And better than any extravagance of fashion, it seemed to suit the tall and lithe and graceful form. But for the consideration of these and other high-stirring projects and fancies, he wanted more freedom and the excitement of motion ; this coble amid the hurrying waters of the Shannon was all too narrow and confined ; so he surrendered his rod to Johnnie Ryan, got put ashore, and pre sently was walking rapidly along the un frequented highway in the direction of Lough Derg. And what, he was asking , himself, ought he not to strive for, in order to prove himself worthy of this rare com panionship that wa3 to be his; how was he to win further favour in her eyes ? Women, he understood, rather liked the society of famous men—of men who had " done some thing " and who were known to the world. Well, now, he had striven to win the ap preciation of his brother-artists, ana he had succeeded in a most enviable degree ; but chiefly, it may be said, he worked for ab solute love of itself. His Wigtonshire pro perty rendered him _ independent of the dealers and of any caprice of public fashion ; he did his work in his own way ; he could afford to linger over it, and pro duce his best; and the ultimate fate of it, or the effect it would have on his reputation, did not bother him much. But if woman liked the society of famous men ? Surely there was nothing unworthy in seeking the public approval, in doing something definite, in making his work perhaps a little more consecutive ? He was walking near to the Shannon on this placid and golden evening. And it suddenly occurred to him that a series of drawings illustrative of the mighty river from its source away in the north, down to its dis appearance in the sea, might show a certain coherence, aridappealtothepublic withmoi'e effect than any mere number of disconnected water-colours. It was a bold project, for the Shannon during its course of 200 miles flows through almost every kind of country. He would have to face mountain scenery and lake scenery, and gentle pastoral scenery; and he would have to deal with the varied character of the river itself, now widening out into such inland seas as Lough Ree and Lough Derg, again gliding swiftly by peaceful meadows, or wildly racing and chasing over the rocky barriers of Castle Connell. And then look at the result of these two or three years' labour : an exhibition room in Piccadilly or King street-- a private view day all to himself— Sabina making her appearance, along with the Wygrams, about four in the afternoon —Sabina, as ever, gracious, and benignant and smiling-eyed.

This newly-formed friendship seemed to demand a good deal of reverie ; and it is to be observed that not only did the figure of Sabina loom large and constant in these visions of the future, but also that the society and companionship he was arrang ing for her was very curiously limited. In fact, there did not appear to be any room for a third or a fourth person. The Wy grams, of course, did not count; they might be regarded merely as attendants upon Sabina ; while as for anyone else, there was no one else. Sabina and he were to be friends ; the outer world—especially the male creatures of the outer world might surround that distinctly limited circle if they chose, at a little distance. Now, friendship is not ordinarily so exclusive. But perhaps this was a new kind. " I'm afraid I'm very late for dinner, Nora, acushla," said he, as he got back to the inn an hour and a half after the proper time.

" Oh, well, sir," said Nora, good naturedly, "we expect the gentlemen to come in at army time. If it's bad luck they're having with the fishing, they come home, and if it's good luck they stay out. , I sent you down your letters, sir." " Thank you kindly," said he. "Ihope there wa3 good news in them, sir," said Nora, as she was giving the last touch to the turf fire.

" Indeed there was," he rejoined.

" Well, it's glad lam of that, sir," said Nora, who had been forming her little guesses, " for sometimes a letter has a dale to say."

"I'm going back to England on Mon day."

" Are ye now, sir ? Well, that's a pity, to be sure ! —and Tim O'Connor declaring the weather was going to be splendid for the fishing."

"Yes, I must be off; but some day or another I'll be coming back. No fear about that; you're too good to me over here."

"And the next time you come, sir," said Nora, in her demure way, as she was leav ing the room, "sure I hope yell nob be coming alone." There was no particular need that he should go back on Monday; but he knew that the art world of London was now entering upon its annual period of excite ment ; the studios would all be a-murmur ing ; and the air surcharged with stories of rejections, and rage at the hanging, and wonder at the good luck of some folks in selling their pictures. Of course, he was interested in such things; and it was natural he should return to London at such a time. As for soiy other re&uuu or subtle

hope, or fascination ?—no, he answered himself, there was none. He was quite heartwhole now. Those weeks of hard work, and hard exercise, and whole some air on the shores of the Shannon, had cured him of that hateful and febrile sadness that had made his life in London unendurable. He was going back to assiduous and happy labours in his studio ; and if by chance he were to meet Sabina in the street—down by Kensington- Square, it might be, or Hyde Park Gate, or Cromwell Gardens—he would be able to take her hand without a tremor, and she should find nothing but friendship—placid* and assured, and abiding—in his eyes.

(To he. Continued.)

SELLING ONE'S OWN SKELETON.

Is It Lawful for a Man to Dispose

oi His Dead Body?

Has a man a right to dispose of his dead body? The weight of authority seems to be in favour of an answer in the affirmative, but a, new decision will soon be rendered by the Hungarian courts.

It appears that a man named Fabry re' cently died at Buda Pesth who measured seven feet three inches "in his stockings. ,. Several years ago he sold his skeleton to the Anthropological Museum of that city for a considerable sum, and that institution naturally laid claim to his corpse on the an nouncement of his death.

The widow, however, would not give up the remains of her elongated spouse, and insisted that they should be burned. The question has been referred to the courts, and we shall have another legal opinion on this interesting subject. It seems there lived at Kief a shopkeeper named Raskorovitch, who was remarkable for having an enormous head—out of pro portion and unhealthy looking. This pro digious cranium surmounting a frail body had a most singular effect. Raskorovitch seemed proud of his lusus naturce, and spent the most of his time seated in front of hia shop. He was weak-minded and feeble in health.

It so happened that a Dr. Walter had oc casion to pass Raskorovitch's shop daily, and became so interested in his abnormal development that he finally offered the shopkeeper a considerable sum in cash if he would sign a paper leaving him his head after death. The man consented, pocketed the money, and went on so loiia a "spree" that his enfeebled constitution could not react from the effects, arid! death ensued. Dr. Walter, on learning the facts, appeared on the scene and claimed hia head. The widow, being ignorant of the transaction, protested. The courts were appealed to and decided that the contract, having been made in the interest of science, must be respected, and the bereaved one was compelled to bury her husband head less.

In the month of January, 1474, the physicians and surgeons of Paris repre sented to Louis XL that " several persons of quality " beine afflicted with . diverse diseases, it would be very useful to examine that part of the body so affected. It so happened that a man who suffered from the stone had been sentenced to death for robbery, and the surgeons obtained permis sion to operate on him "for scientific pur poses." The operation was public and proved successful, so that the culprit was not only cured in a fortnight, but was pardoned, and a subscription taken up in his behalf.

Thus it happened that the man had to be sentenced to be hanged in order to be cured of his disease, and that, had his sen tence been executed, the surgeons, who operated on him living, would not have been allowed to touch the corpse.

Not long afterward the dissection of criminals was made legal in France, and over the door of the first operating-room opened in Toulouse was placed this inscrip tion : " This is the place where death comes to the aid of life." In Paris to-day there exists a society whose members bind themselves to allow an autopsy to be made on their bodies immediately after death. Gambetta belonged to thia association, and it was Dr. Mathias Duval to whose lot it) fell to examine the locality of the disease and study the brain of the eloquent French' man.—" Chicago Times."

THE IDEAL HOME.

How It Is Obtained—Somo Valuable

Suggestions.

The ideal Lome beautiful is attained rather by avoiding errors of taste than by the adop tion of dogmas of art. For my own part, if I have any dogmas to preach they may fairly be condensed in this rule : " Avoid shams and affectations of all kinds."

Don't mistake some prettiness for beauty; millinery, for instance, is out of place in the home beautiful.

Don't attach to your chairs and sofa-cus hions meaningless bows of ribbon which tie nothing.

Don't dress your toilet-table in muslin petticoats stiffened with crinoline or coloured calico.

Don't scatter startling white "tidies" about chairs and sofas, as on so many bushes, as if you were hanging out the wash to dry.

Don't display on your walls china plates and dishes. They were never meant to go there. An exception may be made now in favour of a piece of fine colour to help light up the room or where a delicate china painting is worthy of careful examination. But hang up ordinary china ! Don't ! Don't hang small pictures so that their beauty is lost to any one under eight feet high. If a picture is not seen from the same position that the artist saw it when he painted it, the drawing will appear fore shortened and the general effect conse quently falsified.

Do not hang any picture in the home which has not the impress of elegance, purity and cheerfulness.

Do not give place to representations of corpses, tortured saints, or anything occa sioning painful emotions. And, above all, having such pictures and wanting them downstairs, do not banish them to the nursery, schoolroom or bedroom.

Some things I would relegate to the bed room—out of the way somewhere—in locked drawers for instance. I mean mementos of seaweed and dried ferns or flowers, and wretched daubs on china, canvas or paper, the crude efforts of youthful members of the family. No true lover of the home beautiful will inflict these on his family and friends, and compel them to violate truth by pretending to like them.

Don't admit into the home beautiful any piece of furniture or implement of every-day life which does not honestly serve its pur pose—no light, flimsy chair, which an able bodied man dare not sit upon ; no puffy, debilitated sofas, all wind and springs ; nd burnished, brass-sheeted fireirons, bough* only to be looked at, and give place to the ugly little black poker and shovel when coal is to be broken or ashes are to be re moved.

They had been at the masquerade, wher* she had recognised him at once. •' Was it the loud beating of my heart), my darling, that told you I was here?" murmured he. " Oh, no," she replied; " I recognised your long legs."

"My husband was poetical," said the widow, "and often expressed a wish to die in the eternal solitudes, soothed by the rhythmic melodies of nature's unutterable harmonies, and yet he was killed by the ex« plosion of a tin of kerosene," ;'

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR/ SATURDAY, DECEMBER 3, 1887.







rSUPPLEMENT.