THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY DECEMBER 31, 1897.

' [SUPPLEMENT

SABINA ZEMBRA.

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d { Thule," &o.j &o. rtgx&ipM °* Tbanswtust is Reserved.]

CHAPTER IV. AN AMJANCL a^ morning, Sabina «d Janie were caged on an errand m lichmond.Road, Old Bromptpn, when a hadaome cab thab lad come rattling along ehind them was lied up, and the occuput stepped out. ibina happened to turn hr head. "Mr Foster!" j And, indeed, it was M Foster-brisk, I m iiing complaisant; verysmarbly dressed a gloved, too, though t| tall hat made J im look alittle bit unfamiar. " TMs is a stroke of luc," said he-.- " I . divine down to theeports ab Lillis |^ dge _little expecting;to have thia "but you can't tellhow glad I am it* see yon »ble t0 & eb ab Wt again," she fi with great earnestnes. "Indeed, AeA lam very glad ! ] • « There is not much to bast ol yet," he •a liffhtly. " I don't thik I should like Sckf myself to run th Open Quarter Mflfli in forty-eight secons. That was done on Saturday at this •sry place. Bub we are getting on. Andat any rate a hansom is more comforba© than a Babh chair. lam iusfc niakingthe fortunes of the London cabbies at resent. Well, now I won't detain you, for I saw you were ' walking quickly, bu.;iwant you to tell me if I may call at Kasington-equare _tomake your acquaintane, you know." "*"« To make my acquaintance?" she re puted ; she did nob underijand. yes," he contused, cheerfully. »,You've only known me aa cripple—in a i Bath chair and a pothat. ( I want to in twduce myself in a new chracter. May I icome to see you—and Mrs ?ygram ?" <<I am sure, we shall c very pleased indeed," Sabina answered' with evident sincerity. " Why. y°u dot understand— it is lie getting well one'tself to see you as you are now. Don't yovf eel very happy abatit? I do" I Her sympathy was exeedmgly frank, rsnd her pleasure on witnssing this trans formation, obvious enougtf Indeed, in her snrprise and gratification >ver this sudden encounter, she had entirey forgotten the little tentative embassy tet Mr Foster's mother had undertaken, and when he asked her to say on whia day he might call at .Kensington-squarv she instantly named the following aftaajfctet. "Sabie," her SS&SmSpi* demonstrated, ! "You will bagiH^pPcharity Organisa tion!" - - Mj&alijl* home by half-past five," was jfcwswer, "and very glad of a cup of tea Ebecause sometimes the proceedings are kot quite unanimous." ihat ?" Mr Foster struck in. " You aean fesay that those good people an oca^ional bickering? Well, I like is be there—to lend you a y handjl na lau^d. hat is tft. matter.?" he asked, inno think ja would make a strange at a m%g o f the Charity Organisa ociety,"ji remarked. ' , . f& got aljtlngtisb. frnnqua in .my..hoad>. aid speSy mind," he said, bluntly, rever, I {|you want; to be off. To w at haligafc five, then.", Ihe got lithe hansom again and away, wl^they turned out of this lghfare 4'Vaade for the Fulham- Ab the^fere going through the as, Sabimtid : — , ' am so met him. I feel happy abotife." don t see to- his recovering from an SJV «*ent shouldi(of so much importance iyou," Janie s^rather coldly. "You forget tftj was mainly the.cr.ufi? cftbe accident,"Vbina answered, b" f: m ireentleway. : ~ will nofci«juss tlat, for wo are not likely to agreik&nd then Janie added sharply: " And l«£at the way he occupies ffifime, now thatlican get about again -driving in hanson to places of amuse fct^-his only tho^t for himself. Why, SWe, I can't undafend the interest you ike in that roan, lere lever were two inman beings soafcirelj dissimilar in ffiaything. WhenHhink of the life he kds-sports and ijkaaures and pastimes I from week's end to i»k's end • and the I life that you lead—raking hard, and ail 1 "for other people * , I "Janie, Janie," Sfaa said, with a 1 lurch,"why will ymbe at violently pre ■ Meed? Haven't IloW you a hundred 1 times that what is .rij» r£<r one person is I not necessarily ri& for everyone? I Different people have ierent hobbies, and I Ihapnen to have mine, Do you think, if 1 I xould'ride like Mr Fosta ( aad play cricket, 1 and so on, I should Hie intensely in- I terestedin those things?,. . _ : I ■ " Oh, yes," said Janie,tJib cutting irony. 1 "I can quite imagineteina, Zembra a I champion slayer of pto* Jwato, one, I Wope. That's just hkera, Sabie. 1 I WlTen Mr Fred Foster <jed at Kensing § ten-Square the foUowing^rnoon, he was I eyenmore scrupulously I^' I and the slight lameness bm which he I: Btill Buffered served as anxcuse for the I dbplay of a walking-stick the head ot I which was of elaborately^rved lade. I There was no embarrassm(t| about bun I over # his first visit; to i? house; he 1 was more pleasant to Mrs W&m (Janie I tad gone out); he was awns to hear 1 W>ft,ina of the proc^gs at the I ;(Wftable Organisation So%; and be 1 >etiously remarked that^hough b? I dad intended to introduce huelf as a new I acquaintance, it was impossii? to Keep> urn ,1 the pretence-he preferred Acknowledge S that he had fallen among oldaends. '"Well, you know," he^d, the I niemoryofa holiday-place 4 •: <J® tsj! - you spent bbere is always far iierthan m thing itself, and fortunately a,.:£°. n F „ over think of those morningf ] ;MfesZembra-out at the enMthe V er, I yoa know; the fresh wind, al|clear skws, ! tod the music j the young m ab°^ Ind you beginning to thinlj-hat wben ,f»nch-timo comes along you «* be H jleady? . Very jolly morningjibe? .^^ Aren't they ? And when youl»fc J ack_^ *em, they seem very brighb«w )boW . : loetical halo, I suppose? An#at, «c iwutinufid, warming to his sub^ 10/." was evidently bent on making W^J^t Ptesßibh, in bis self-complacent fp i*what I should Uke to have KW.£ o™'0 ™' foßition-just enough poetry to W mnJ*L lpokalittlebetter than they are. lP° «re^ l»rm to go on thinking allyoul|ese are s^ans, so long as you don't find us v ; bourse, I shouldnrt want to haT«BS .mU?f !X)etry as would drive one into publping ">» *to»d running the racket) of the af cs ' l ?' n l t ; Voming miserable if the ppblic *oald" fcok at you. Oh, no ; I sfeld life to bo wle to take a fairly roseate vtyw1 ofthings, Mt for my own use; I shouldn't caie a ra P ||at other people thought of-fena- as '#<writing real poetry,now, we^»f.donc povr— I suppose it may Joje inter«*i nS *°. w a famous person—in yoiir owviW-^ imG' lilneaa—people stare at youj if tp|is any rd to you—but beyond- that wbaiw there tr( fame? I don't see that it woi|| eot any advantage to me that people s&ttld re weijibermy n^Q two hundred vellw^ i^.#Wj.«,',.;,;;,,:: ;; . : ; ' "

tiiSLSS%"**«>. wta sna would some- Son .I ? -h^ ? the most unexpected for Si b£V nde?d it was unnecessary,l modes Sr? V 1? 6 cx Pei>ien<* of diverse ere* tV £' aUd She Was tolerant t0 a de 5Tk;« ♦■ S6emed t0 sP3nd a g°od deal whv*\ 6u P afcLord's and at the Oval, why should he not, on those pleasant sum- He did not overstay his welcome ; and ■Jtwaa clear that on this first visit he had managed to somewhat mitigate Mrs Wy gram s prejudice against him ; for it was with no great asperity that she said, when he had gone : " Sabie, don't you think it just a little hS?" Mr Foster should come " Why, then ?" said the girl, with some surprise. " Why, you know it is not such a long time since he asked you to be his wife—in mrectly, at least. And a refusal is supposed to mean something. I should not wonder, now, if you encourage him to call, and re ceive him in that frank way you have with everybody, he may begin to imagine that you would not be sorry if he repeated his Sabina reddened a little, but she said:—j ", Dear Mrs Wygram, you must not put; such fancies into innocent people's heads. I am sure he is thinking of no such thing. He is as busy in his own way as I am in mine ; especially now that ho can get about again." Busy as he was, however, Mr Fostei found time to pay several visits' to Kensing ton-square ; and he was very straightfor ward in asking Sabina when she was likely to be found at home. He seemed ex ceedingly desirous of establishing affection ate relations between Sabina and the old lady in Buckinghamshire. One day he brought with him a magnificent baskef of strawberries.

" This is a little present from my mother, Miss Zembra," he said, "and she wanti you to know that they are her own growing —of course she is rather proud of them.* _•' That is very kind, I am sure," Sabini said. "Will you give her my best thanks' and say how good it was of her to think c me ?" "If you wouldn't mind sending her I note yourself. Miss Zembra ?" he suggested " It would please her so much." "Oh, yes, I will," Sabina said at once " give me the address." And so the brief note was written anc despatched to Buckinghamshire. Of coursj it needed no reply, but all the same thj reply came, in the shape of a very long anj affectionate letter, in which the old ladj ventured to hope that she bad done i| harm by a certain indiscreet disclosure mat? atßrighton. Moreover, enclosed in the letfej was a photograph of the garden where t§ strawberries were grown ; with Mrs Fostf seated in an arm chair, and the old gentjf man, scissors in hand, standing at the df • of the vine-houses. It was a pretty afl. peaceful-looking picture; and Sabina,p acknowledging the receipt, said so. Wljjb, then, should arrive—even by return of pt —but an invitation, a general invitatioefco Sabina to come do ( wn to this peaceful ret|at whenever she felt*tired, or ill, or depresfd. with abundant assurances that she w|ld be treated with the most considerate <p. A more than friendly letter, nicely wrqrld; and Mr Fred Foster was good enou^ to endorse that invitation eagerly, and tfcay the old lady's heart would just be filledrith joy if Miss Zembra would take her afher word, and go down to see her when tjf op portunity arose. / Another point that he went bacwipon again and again, was the necessity <P y%3 Zembra introducing a little more Pu*°" ment into her life. He had nothingp say

against the 6elf-appointed labours tit she had devoted herself to ; only that f was jfcjQQjM«iiduQasL_ ,iOLKqi:lL.aiid.ria.»la4lieJnj sisted, was the right thing for no on; and he appealed* to Mrs Wygram. Whyhould not Miss Zembra havo gone up to/cc the Eton v. Harrow match at Lord's—fcpndeed he had been desirous of escorting ti wnole party thither ? I " But I find my amusement in rf work, such as it is," Sabina said, good-ifuredly. " I don't know that I should carep sit and look on at a number of boys knoc^ig a ball about. Perhaps I might, thoug? Young English lads, healthy and welfouilt and active, are always nice to loojat. And that reminds me I am going dwn to see my boys on the Arethusa and Chester next Wednesday; it is the annuafinspection. Now, is not that a sufficient ioliday, Mr Foster ? And lam going witjp. clear con science ; 'I shall not have to dig either Mrs Wveram or "Janie with me ; *rs Tremen heere is going, and I have nfely to pick her up at Charing Cross Pier Now, is not that enough of a holiday? sail down the river, luncheon ji board the Arethusa, watching the boj go through their drill/ presenting theses, and then back to town?" J And not only did Mr Bed Foster ex press approval, but also hf Was curious to learn farther and minute djfcails about this projected excursion. Whit,was the in stitution? Who were the na&gers? Who were likely to be there jn! Wednesday ? How were invitations cornea; ? " You know," said hej f. if my. little arrangement about the Lf^stershireCap comes off I shall become apbscnbcr. " I think we'd rather t*ve the money now," Sabina said, "andhen you wont risk losing it" . ; | ■ » But it's, out of the pofits—if any— that the subscription woulfcome," he then explained. Soon, howwer, he was tbe of assistance to her in a'aore immetite way. ©ne evening, about half-pasteix, he strolled along to Keifej n gton Stare, on the off chance that sW had retted home some what before diimer-fcimea message from the old lady i^Buckingunshire was the ostensible exc^ ; f or hisalling. He had scarcely entereil th e Sqire when he per ceived her at % f ur jar corner of it, coming north j'tj^e Rarely went on to

meet her. ; •[ « Oh, Mr Fos^ j a / glad to see you," she said, in her i^ k « I want to see if you can give n^, help." « You may b^j w jH if I can," he said, cheerfully, fc •'lt is rather a 3sW) r y J "she said, plung ing into the mat% onC e; "A poor widow I know haß;4i y BO n, a, lad about fifteen, and he hagk into trouble. It isn't merely the, wages for the moment— though th | some thing to her Lit is his future> ithe difficulty of netting another at| for h i m , that is worrying the PW|,. This is how It happened. Bf ye d in a hvery stable keepers pfece do^ in Earl > B Co urt. He had to tafeawk t0 the clerk's Office to leavei/ th^e i| u a .^tomer had been paying a f\^he change^was two shillings f bit hj| neglecfc ed to Sck up the (prig); *% an d the clerk £ to the>or of t|^ ce> for : the y were talking MpA» JKoy goes past fhpm into th/office to ie»v, hip; he tees the flo.? l^g 7 Eunter | the Smptotion ? too great, % it in^o bis ? Sways been tellwg b«^

T ' —" needed a man's shrewdness and firmness to assist her—that she was always running the risk of being imposed upon ? " If I could see the lad,"said he, "I think I could tell by the look of him whether his fstory will wash." " Oh, but he confesses I" I " Well, I could tell whether I should care ■to ask somebody to^give him a fresh start." j "Would you mind coming and seeing him now?" she said promptly. "His mother lives not ten minutes' walk from here, and he is at home just now I know." I " But if you are kept late for dinner ?" I " Oh, that is nothing 1" she said cheer fully. "They never wait for me; that's all right." j So they set out—she walking at a studi ously moderate pace, and he seemed a little sproud and pleased to have so fair a coni- Ipanion, And how did he entertaiirher ? [Well, there had been a smoking concert |at Mildenhall, in Suffolk, given by certain "bookies" to their friends who were at the Ne\rmarket race meeting ; and he had been present on this particularly festive ; and he gave her a fairly vivid 'and humorous account of the evening. He fwas very honest; he never sought to con iceal - anything about himself or his com- Ipanions, and they seemed to have been ! pretty gay It the White Hart Hotel. In jthe middle of the story, Sabina bowed to jsome one passing, and Mr Foster, raising i his hat, as*in duty bound, merely glanced at the stranger. "That is Mr Lindsay, the artist, whom I have spoken to you about," said Sabina. "Oh, indeed," he said, indifferently. "An odd-looking creatnre—gaunt, white faced, and black-haired—seems to have come out of Byron's poems—those artists always do like to look singular." "But you* must not say anything like that about Mr Lindsay," said Sabina, gently, "for he is a peculiar friend of mine— of ours." *

-.When they reached the widow woman's scantily-furnished lodgings, the peccant y^uth seemed almost paralysed with fear : he^ imagined that this appearance of a stranger could only mean prosecution, with its unknown horrors. But Fred Foster speedily reassured him. After a sharp scanning of the boy's face :— •' Look here, my lad, you've had a narrow escape, and I hope-it will be-a warning to you all your life. This ladyhas told»me the whole story ; and I think I can get you a situation, where you will have a fair trial only it will- be out of town " "Oh, he will not mind that, sir," the mother interposed, quickly, "if only he can get another chance. Poor lad, he feels it awful, sir." " "Well, if you mean to keep on the square," he said, still addressing the boy, " I'll see what I can do. Get your kit to gether, and meet me at Victoria Station to-morrow •at *ten-forty. Will you re member?" "Yes, sir." "Iwill take you down to Epsom, and get you a place there, where nothing will be known of what has happened. The rest is |pr yourself ; you will have'a fair chance of getting on." "Yes, sir, thank you, sir." The boy was too frightened to, say more. " Well, now, that Is very kind of you to take so much trouble," Sabina said, when they were come out again. -M To go away down to Epsom^-—1" •' Don't give me unnecessary credit, Miss Zembra." he said, at once. " Going down to Epsom never comes amiss to me—l can always put in a day in that quarter, some times to my own advantage. And I will get your stable-boy a place easily enough; 'poor VQung devil, he seems frightened out of*his wits.« I suppose his mother has been nagging at him. What a fearful thing it would be if everything was to be treasured up against us, and no forgiveness possible. I.don't mean you," he added, inasotly;-'Y"wnn talking about men. And— and—did I tell you how we wound up the evening at Middenhall ?" Sabina thought he had not; and so—he discoursing the while on« these pretty goings-on—they walked .equably back to Kensington Square. It was only a day or two after this occurrence that Walter Lindsay happened to meet Janie Wygram, who with her mother had gone to pay an afternoon call at an artist's house. Wandering about the big studio, as all of them did, he had little difficulty in getting the chance of saying a few words to Janie by herself. % "I suppose,"'he said, rather diffidently, "that it was the Mr Foster you told me of Vhom I saw walking with* Miss Zembra the other day ?" Janie instantly turned her sympathetic and troubled eyes towards him, and then lowered them. "I did not know you had seen them," she said. " But no doubt it was Mr Foster. Sabie told me he had gone with her to see some people she's interested in. Well, what do you think of him?" She hoped he would say something bitter and savage. " I only caught a moment's glimpse of him, he said evasively. "He goes a good deal to Kensington Square ?" He endeavoured to speak in an indiffer ent way ; but Janie was not deceived. " Yes he lias been there several times of late i" and there was a little touch of in dignation in her tone as she added : " And do you know how he has acquired such an influence over Sabie? Well, I'll tell you —it' his impudence — pure impudence. Sabie has never been treated in that free and easy way before; and she doesn't understand it, and gets bewildered ; and thinks there must be something in him be cause he is , cool and complacent and mas terful towards her. And to think that Sabie—a girl lik<» Sabie—should be imposed upon by pure impudence !" But Janie Wygram could scarcely be re garded as a dispassionate judge.

CHAPTER XVI.

A BETROTHAL.

Among deccrous people it is considered that an unmarried young lady should not drive alone in a hansom ; but Sabina was a very busy woman; and besides, she considered hsrself elderly; so it was in a hansom that on this brillant July morn ing she drove along to Charing Cross Pier. Almost afc the same moment Mrs Tremen heere arrived in her carriage; and the two ladies went down to the special steamer that was awaiting the party. As they stepped on board, the first person to come forward and greet Sabina was Mr Fred Foster. ', Now Mr Foster, though his sympathies in certain directions were distinctly limited, had a good deal of natural sagacity; and instantly he saw—from the look of surprise, or more than surprise—in Sabina's face that in planning this artful little stratagem he had made a mistake. And as quickly as he could he made his apology. "I did not know until last night," he said, " that I had secured an invitation; for I have been down in Buckinghamshire —my first trip there since—since the little accident. And you have told me so much about these training ships, Miss Zembra—l thought it would be a good opportunity—l was very glad when I found I was to have the chance of seeing them." Sabina somewhat formally introduced him to Mrs Tremenhere ; and he was very humble and civil in getting them seats where the awning would shelter them from the sun ; and there was no suggestion in his manner that he had come hither with any dark design. Moreover, Sabina was not one quick to take offence; perhaps it was really hia interest m the Arethusa and the Chicester that had prompted his coming • and if so, did not he deserve a little encouragement and friendliness ? He did not in any way whatever seek to thrust w« society on the two ladies, but he was £3. And as Mrs Tremenhewe was

devoting her whole and rapt attention to the Bishop of Sudbury, who was discours ing to her of the iniquity of spending money on orchids—Fred Foster came gradually to be Sabina's attendant and companion, when no one else claimed her.

It was a very pleasant sail down the river; flags flying; a juvenile brass band playing from time to time in the forward part of the steamer; the lads on the train ing ships that they passed giving them a hearty cheer as they went by. " If helping in a good work were always as enjoyable a3 this, there would be lots at it. I feel very virtuous indeed," he re marked cheerfully.

" I feel very serious," was her rejoinder, "for they have fixed on me to giveaway the prizes ; and though I get on very well among the boys when they are by them selves, I don't like having a lot of spec tators looking on."

"I wish I could be of any assistance to you," he said (and Mrs Tremenheere was entirely given over to her dear Bishop: he could address himself directly, if modestly and respectfully, to Sabina's eyes). " I feel myself such a useless creature in the world whenever I meet you. Ah, I wish you heard my mother speak of you, Miss Zembra. It was Miss Zembra this and Miss Zembra that, all the time I was down. I think she would consent to be ill, if she thought you would como and tend her a little. She was talking about a poor woman —an imaginary woman — lying sick, and hopeleßS, and friendless; and she said that to such a poor creature, when you went into the room, your face must appear to be the face of an angel. And she hasn't forgotten your promise to go and see her " Sabina looked up in surprise. " Perhaps there wasn't quite a promise," he saidfquickly; " but I fancy that in her case the wish was father to the thought. Oh, yes; and she has settled upon the room that you are to have when you go down—it is a curious little box, all by itself ; bnt it overlooks the garden, and it is very quiet, and she says yon will be so much the better for absolute rest and quiet after your hard work in London." " I am sure she is very kind," Sabina was bound to say. " 1 hadn't quite such a good time with the Pater," her companion continued, with a rueful smile. " No, he was rather rough on me. Ho did not think much of my in vention as likely to increase the sum of human happiness." A glance of inquiry asked him to ex plain. "Oh, didn't I tell you? Did you not hear of my invention ?" he said- " Well, it was in this way.. You see, after you left Brighton, it was pretty slow down there for me, and I had to do a good deal of steady thinking all by myself, And then it was that an idea occurred to me which will enable me to go down to the latest ages as a benefactor of mankind. You know how awkward it is for a lady, when she is riding alone in the country, to mount her horse by herself—supposing she has to get down to tighten the girths—and there is no stile or gate handy. Well, now, my invention is a small ladder of rope that can easily be folded up and fastened to the saddle, and there she is independent! She has neither to trust herself to the clumsiness of some country lout nor walk along to the nearest cottage for the loan of a chair ; she can get down or up for herself as she pleases. And would you believe it—the Pater saw nothing in that idea to add to the gaiaty^of nations, and when I talked to him about Galileo*, and Sir Walter Raleigh, and George Stephenson, he used the most reprehensible language. Great discoveries are always treated like; that. It isn't until alter we arejdead th&jtNtto public find out how much they .owe terns." " I'm*as|id you/try^ the told gentleman's patience a#ifctlo ?■' she Said, venturing to look up at him. " But what am Itodo?" he said. "Be gin and work some of those farms ? I could not make as much out of them as the pre sent tenants, and they're all skating on the edge of bankruptcy. He thinks I ought to do something ; and I want to know what I am to do."

" Are there no beggars at your gate ?" Sabina said, gently. "There are," he answered, with cheerful promptitude, " and what's more there will be beggars all, over the place, if farming doesn't oecome more profitable. But don't say anything against me this time, Miss Zembra. -Surely I'm engaged in a good and charitable work at the present moment ? I'm actually going down to have luncheon on board the Arethusa ?"

And thissardonic self-depreciation of his pleased Sabiriaa good deal more than an affected interest or other hypocrisy; he seemed to' be constantly saying to her : " Well, I'm not much of a fellow, but you are very good-natured, you won't be too hard."

A right brave sight was that that met their eyes when they reached their destina tion ; for the yards of the great vessel were manned by. near a thousand lads and boys; and loud and long was the .cheering that greeted the visitors. And then, when they had got on board and began to look around the ship, it was but natural that Mr Foster should ljemain with the small party whom he had accompanied on the way down; and, therefore, when the crowd went below for lunch, he assumed the right of attending upon the two ladies, and very assiduously and cheerfully did he execute the task. Mrs Tremenheere was rather pleased with the young man. And she was interested in him; for she had heard of the accident, and of Sabina's care of him subsequently. She thought he was rather gflod-looking, and distinctly well-dressed, and if he car ried his frankness of manner to the verge of a certain cool audacity, she reflected that Sabina and he had been thrown so much into each other's society that now-he prob ably regarded her in the light of an old iriend.

After lunch the visitors went on deck again, and the business of the day began. Very proud indeed was Sabina over the smart and seamen-like way in which the lads went through their drill; and she spied out "-here and there amongst them a particular favourite of her own ; and what officer could check the return glances of recognition 1 Of course she wore the silver anchor at her neck. And she was as pleased at the proficiency of these young sailors as if she had trained them all her self ; and she was glad that the people clapped their hands when something par ticularly prompt was done ; and she made bold to ask Mr Foster if the country should riot be grateful to an institution that took the neglected boys of London and turned them into fine, smart, healthy-looking, bright-eyed fellows, of whom England might one day be in urgent need. Then came her own share in the programme—the distribution of the prizes and. medals; and as each blushing recipient came forward— the best swimmer, the most popular boy, the smartest lad aloft, and so forth—Sabina managed to say a kindly word or two to him as she put the prize into his hand or pinned the medal on his breast. And of course Mr Foster was at her side all this time, and perhaps his little underhand jokes rather tended to give her confidence; any how her fingers did not tremble much as she pinned on the medals; and her eyes— which could express approval very well indeed —3aid as much as her words.

"Bravo, Johnny ; you've done it again," she said to one of the prize-winners ; and Bhe turned bo Fred Foster: "That is one of my own boys." Indeed, Sabina was so highly pleased with the performance that, when they had seen the last of the boat-racing, and were returning to town again on board the steamer, she was in a far more animated mood than Mr Foster had ever seen before ; and she was particularly gracious to him self. He had been her companion, in a way j he. had etood by her, through that

public ceremony; and now that was all over, it was comfortable to sit here in idleness, and listen to bis half-facetious comments about men and things. And what should hinder him from taking up that same subject he had been harping on so much of late, and giving it a more immediate and personal application ? An early opportunity arrived. Mrs Tremen heere went below to have some tea, her Bishop accompanying her. Sabina did not care for any; she preferred to remain on deck. And then it was that Fred Foster renewed his prayer that Sabina should not give herself so wholly up to these charitable labours of hers—that she should introduce a little amusement into her life.

It was a roundabout way of placing an offer of marriage before a young lady; bub it was not an unskilful one. There was no startling suddenness about it. Sabina found herself listening to an argument that seemed to be pervaded by sound common sense. All work and no play, he said, was just as bad as ail play and no work; the first was her case, the second his; wouldn't it be a better and wholesomer arrangement if he could share her work, and she take some part in his amusement ? It was quite gradually that she came to to understand what he meant—that they should join their two lives so as to arrive at this fair compromise be tween pleasure and duty; and she lis tened with her eyes cast down, and with many rapid fancies running through her head. There was not much sentiment ex pressed in this proposal; but then she did not consider herself a sentimental person. Was there not, on the other hand, instead of sentiment, a certain reasonableness and fitness? More than once she had found herself in need of a man's support and guidance, while (for there was no austerity. in her nature) a little holiday-making now and again might gladden life up somevvhat. She listened in silence—perhaps afraid to understand his meaning too clearly; but presently his speech became plain enough.

" You know my mother went to see you at Brighton, Miss Zembra," ho said, and his eyes were fixed on the deck, and he spoke in an undertone, for there were many people about. "That was foolish on my part. An ambassador is no good. And even here—when I have the chance —I can only say bits of things. But I have been thinking it over #good deal, and a partner ship between us seems reasonable; and of course that partnership could only mean marriage. I ought to tell you what I think of you ; but I can't praise you to your face ; besides, Mrs Tremenheere may be up again any minute. But I think we might have ' a real good time,' as the Yankeespay ; and I should be tremendously interested in all you are doing, and lend you a hand when there was a chance; and then, when you are over-fagged and deserve a day's holiday making, you might leave me to engineer that with a fair amount of confidence. I would live anywhere you liked; I havent many friends in London; and you don't seem to go out much; when we went pleasuring it would be in the country. There's Goodwood, now, wouldn't|jt be fine to get you away from those slums and run down to Brighton for a week, and get hold of a dog-cart and a stout little cob ? There's tie Mater, too — wouldn't she welcome you? And if you want quiet, that's the place ; and shouldn't I be willing to play good boy then ? Sabina—is it to be • yes V " She looked up for a second, timid and hesitating. "No." he said, quickly, "if you are afraid to say • yes' on so short a notice, say nothing. Think over it. Will you ?" She nodded Blightly, with her eyes still cast down. And then he said, eagerly :—

" But this you must promise—to take no one into your confidence, Will you promise to make your decision your aelf ?—Oh,. I know what,will happen if you take advice. Your peoplo at Lancaster Gate hate the sight of me. I don't wonder at it, and I don't resent it. Perhaps I shouldn't myself like having anybody planked in my house like that. If you ask them, they will say no ; I am certain of it; and I don't see that they take such care of you that you should be particular about asking their permission or advice. And as for the Wygrams, they would say the same thing, for they are very fond of you, and they are jealous, and would be angry at anyone taking you away from them. But never mind that. When it was all ovor I should soon be able to pacify them. Now, will you promise me so much—that you will form your judgment entirely by your self?"

She was understood to assent; he could hardly hear her speak. "And that you will make it 'yes' if you can?" he pleaded. "Sabina, that in not too much to ask ?"

Whether it was or not was of little consequence, for at this moment Mrs Tremenheere made her appearance on deck, and the Bishop, coming along, would insist on carrying Sabina away to have some tea or something of the kind.

Nor did Mr Foster have another oppor tunity of speaking privately with her during the rest of the way up the river; but as they were going ashore at Charing Cross —where Sabina was to embark in Mrs Tremenheere's barouche, and be driven home that way—he managed to say to her :— "Will you send me a message to-mor row ?" And as they shook hands at the door of the carriage, she said to him—but with averted eyes:— '"Yes; to-morrow." It was not a long time in which to form a decision which would aflect the whole of her life; and yet it cannot be said that she spent an agonising night of doubt and dread. For one thing, she was no timid young creature of seventeen, driven out of her wits by the discovery that Charlie had stolen unawares into her heart, confronted by the. awfulness of "having to break her promise to poor Tommy, and conscious at the same time of certain secret and pro nounced flirtations with Frank, that had no doubt awakened ce/tain hopes in his mind and that it would be remarkably difficult to explain away. Nor was there any wild passion in the matter; Sabina was twenty five ; she had seen too much of the real trouble of the world to care about indulg ing in romantic imaginary woes ; life had been serious with her. PerKaps, indeed, a trifle too serious. For it was a cheerful prospect, on the whole, that Fred Foster had opened out before her. She was to have his advice and aid in time of difficulty ; she was to have his blithe companionship when they thought fit to snatch a holiday. There was a kind of happy-go-lucky seif reliance about him which was in itself as suring ; he seemed very certain that the projected partnership would work well; she did not think it would be so much amiss if on occasion they left overcrowded lanes and alleys for a pleasant drive to' Goodwood.

Nor had she any fear about forming a decision for herself; for she had for long been accustomed to manage her own affairs. And well she knew that he had spoken truth in warning her as to the consequences of her seeking counsel either from her own people or from the Wygrams. Neither the one nor the other knew Fred Foster as she did ; they were governed by a violent pre judice against him ; it would not be honest advice she would get, but an expression of ill-will. And was it not a pity to see this young fellow, who had many good qualities about him, left to drift uselessly about the world ? His income she knew was not very large; indeed, he was almost entirely de pendent upon his mother; still it might be better employed than in backing horses. Her income and his together would enable them to live very comfortably in a moderate way, and also permit her to continue her works of charity as well as to have a little amuse ment now and again, according to his pro jected plan. His mother would be kiod to

her, she knew. Altogether, looking at_ the matter from every possible point of view, it not only looked reasonable and practi cal, but also attractive in many ways ; and as for Fred Foster himself, surely ib was affection that had prompted his offer (for she had no fortune) ;then she liked his frank ness, and his sardonic self-criticism, and also the quiet audacity with Avhich he nought to get the best of everything within his reach; and she made no doubt that a man like this, who was rather given to belittling himself, would in the end turn out more trustworthy that a man who \|as eager to show himself off to the best advan tage. And yet it is no light matter for a young woman to sign away the days of her freedom and maidenhood j and next morning the letter that was co deliver Sabina into slavery—into partnership, he caPed it—was written many times over before, she could consider it even passable. And when she came downstairs to breakfast, she was somewhat self - conscious; and rather avoided, meeting Janie's eye. •* v "Areyou tired, Sabie, dear,.after your trip to Greenhithe?" said Mrs Wygram, noticing that she was rather silent. "Np, no, not at all," the girl said, and some slight colour came unwittingly into the pale, calm, beautiful face. "Why, it was a holiday—l think we all enjoyed it very much."

By and bye Sabina had to set forth on the business oi the day; and this time sho was going alone. But before leaving the house, she sought out Janie, and took her into the drawing-room, where there was no one but She had her hand on Janie's arm. , T

"Janie, dear, I have a secret to tell you." Her eyes were smiling; her cheeks rose tinted ; she was hesitating and timid—and then she suddenly made a step forward, and kissed Janie, and put her head close to her head.

" Janie, be kind to me—don't be vexed— I—l am engaged to be married." Janie withdrew herself from that em brace, her surprise was bo great. "You,-Sibie?" she managed to say. " Bub—but—to whom ?"

" To Mr Foster," was the answer, given in a kind of doubtful tone.

"0, Sabie, what have you dpne?" the girl cried, and there was anguish in the cry, and her face had grown suddenly pale. 11 Oh, what have you done, Sabie—when — when there was one man in all the world who really loved you )! • Janie had stepped back, white-faced and frightened.

"Yes, and you knew it —you knew it— and now you have broken his heart!" "You muse not talk such nonsense," said Sabina, somewhat proudly. " And we1 will not mention the subject again until you have come back to your senses." And therewith she turned and went from the room, leaving poor Janie entirely over come ; for not only was sho aware that an awful calamity had occurred—and to her beloved Sabie —but also she had quarrelled with her nearest and dearest friend.

(To be Continued.)

FRITHS AUTOBIOGRAPHY.

Interesting Reminiscences of Notable Personages; Amusing Stories, See.

(FROM OUR LONDON CORRESPONDENT.)

London, October 21st. The autobiography of " that most Philis tine of modern artists"—as Ruskia has styled Mr W. P. Frith, R.A.—was pub lished on Saturday last, and proves to be the goodliest aalad of anecdote, gossip, and sketches of character given to the world since " Yates'a Reininis" cences. lam not sure, indeed, if Friths volumes are not more entertaining than the great Edmunds. The latter was so anxious to eliminate anything that could be called personal prejudice from his pagea,' that he rather overdid it. A little cayenne pepper besides being natural to poor hu manity, gives added flavour to a story or a reminiscence. Now, Mr Frith is not afraid to say what he thought even of the immor tal Thackeray's manners. Certainly they were deplor&ble on the occasion that tnethen young and unknown artist first met him. The introduction took place at a crowded convivial club. Young Frith was nervous and bashful, and the great author observing the fact, chose^to make him the butt of sundry elephantinewitticisms. Frith could never forgive Thackeray afterwards and Bays so. The painter of "Derby Day" does not refer to his arch-enemy Ruskin by name, but he tells several capital and not ill natured storiesaga.inst"tnegreatart critic." One of them I really must quote. In the exercise of his high calling, friendship for a painter is not permitted to bias Ruskins' judgment of hit; pictures, and though David Roberts, R.A., was (early in the fifties) the great critic's intimate friend, his works found so little favour with the brilliant writer that in on« of his annual notices of the Academy Exhibition they re ceived a very savage castigation. Feeling, perhaps, that Roberts might feel it difficult to reconcile an attempt to do him a serious injury with the requirements of personal friendship, the Professor wrote the artist a note explaining his action on the hypothesis of some self-imposed duty to the public, and concluding with the hope that severe criticism would not interfere with the sincere feeling of friendship which the writer hoped would always exist, &c, &c. Roberts replied that the first time he met his amiable friend and critic he should give him a sound thrashing, and heyentured to hope that a broken head would not inter fere with the sincere feeling of friendship which he hoped would always exist, &c, &C. . . ~: :'. <~, 1.,- ... * , ■::.:■■

Ruskin must have felt almost as bad when he read this as he did when Turner rebuked him. "My dear sir," said the artist, "if you knew how difficult it is to paint even a decent picture you would not say the severe things you do of those who fail." Mr Frith gives the following account of the incident which led to the choice of his profession :—

" As nearly as I can remember, it was on a winter's evening in 1830, when I was sitting idly looking over some of my father's en gravings—having previously, obeyed an order from my mother to wash my hands, as those members in their normal condition were just considered to be unfit to touch those precious prints—that I asked for a pencil and paper and tried , t to copy an en graving of a dog. What impelled me to the deed which actually determined my future life I cannot tell. If I might guess at the motive, I think it was merely that I thought it would afford me a chance of sitting up later than the hour of the children's bed-time—rigorously fixed at nine o'clock—as it did ; for I was allowed to finish my wonderful production there and then. If I had a doubt as to what prompted me to my first work, I have none whatever as to what induced me to under take the second. I received sixpence for the dog, with a promise of a similar reward for another effort. Prom that moment, and on such evidence, I was considered the genius of the family. "Sherry, Sir?" Mr Friths first venture in " modern life subjects " was a small picture of a mother and child. His next is far better known. A little study, done from a good looking girl who was in my service as housemaid, had a great success as an engraving. I painted the girl not on]y in her habit as she lived, but in her habif; v also, for she was* carrying a tray with a ftottle of wine on iiM the whole thing was simple enough. Thr picture was bought by Jacob Bell, who— convinced thab there waa what he called

"Copyright" in it—succeeded in extract* :' ing forty guineas from a well-known pub lisher, who differing in opinion from Bell aa to the value of the copyright, immediately transferred ib, at a great loss, to another afd more adventurous printseller. Bell presented me with the copyright money, and I heard with pleasure that the picture wasfplaced in the hands of Frftnk Holl, afterwards A.R.A., an admirable en-r graver and most worthy man. Holl produced an excellent print from the little picture. I approved, and it was published —after, being, without my knowledge,, christened " Sherry, Sir ?" What a thorn in my side did that terrible title become. I dined frequently out, and dreaded the -pproach of the servant with the sherry;! for the inevitable " Sherry, sir ?" ran^in.; my ears, and reminded my neighbour afj table of my crime. "A pretty thing enough, that servant-girl of yours ; but how' you could give her auch a vulgar title, I can't.think." This was dinned into my; ears "so frequently, that I determined I j would try to get the obnoxious words j changed into some less objectionable. I, went to the publisher and unburdened myi mjnd. "Change the title !" said he; why, j it's the name that sells it. We offered ife! before it was christened and nobody would: look at it; now it sells like ripe cherries,, and it's the title that does it." < ! Such arguments are nob to be resisted, i The artist is constrained to "confess with j humiliation " that he was prevailed upon to | paint a companion to the vulgar sherry. "Did You Ring, Sir?" The Princess of Wales as a Sitter. It seems thafc the Princess of Wales is nofc what the artists call " a good sitter." Mr Frith describes himself as reduced to despair when he, too soon— Discovered that the illustrious young lady did not know that the keeping her face in one position, for a few minutes even, was necessary to enable an artist to catch a re semblance of it. That first sitting can I ever forget ? I did not dare to complain till after two or three more fruitless at tempts. With downright failure staring me in the face, I opened my heart to the Prince of Wales. " You should scold her,", said the Prince. Just at this time the Princess was sitting for her bust to the celebrated sculptor Gibson in a room at Marlborough House. I was sent for by the Prince and, before I was admitted to an in terview, I was shown into the sculptor's studio and found him waiting for a sitting from the Princess. The bust was already in an advanced state. I did nos think ito was very like, and, in reply to Gibson, said so. " Well, you see," said Gibson, " the Princess is a delightful lady, but slie can't sit a bit." Just at this moment I was summoned to the Prince, whom I found with the Prin cees; and I Baw, or thought I saw,a sort of. pretty Bmiling pout, eloquent of reproof,] and of half-anger with me. The Prince had something to show-me—photographs, I think, then he led the way to Gibson ; the Princess and I following. No sooner did we find ourselves in the sculptor's presence than, after some remarks upon the bust, the Prince said : " How do you find the Princess sit, Mr Gibson?" " Now," thought I, "if, ever man was in an awkward fix you are, Mr Gibson ; for, after what you eaid to me a few minutes ago, you cannot, in my presence, compliment the beautiful model on her sit ting." The Prince, looked at Gibson, and Gibson looked in dead silence at the Prince, and then at the Princess; he then looked! again at the Prince, smiled, and shook his j bead. " There, you see, you neither sib J property to Mr Gibson nor to Mr Frith." "I ■ do—l do," said the lady; " you are two bad I men." * troubles With Plain-Looking People' One noble duke was rather curt and churlish, but for reasons that seemi to show, that'he was UndjjsnO illusion as to his perjfc Bonal'fappearancer He was the possessor of? a vei?ybr6ad-brimmed hat and a very plain, j not to say ugly, face. After many appeals to this nobleman, which he had not an-, swered, the artist finally got the following note:— I Dear Sir,—l have no time to sit for a' picture. If my form must appear in your, work, allow me to suggest that, in respect for my face, you might bury it in my hat,1 in the manner of people when they go to church. —Your obedient servant, — •'. Origin of the "Norn de Plume" f "Ouida."

The following will be news to some of] our readers:— t1

I have already spoken of Mdlle. de la j Earn 6, otherwise " Ouida ;" but I have nob' noticed an accomplishment which may nob: be generally known co be possessed by thab j lady. " Ouida " is an excellent artist, as i many of her drawings hanging on the walls j of her rooms in the Langham Hotel luffi- j ciently proved to me. They were, indeed, ■ remarkable specimens of amateur work. I-j was curious te know the origin of the' famous name under which the lady writes, j and it is interesting, I think, to find that ib j arises from a child'sattempt to say "Louisa," i just as the immortal "Boz"was adopted1 from another infantile attempt to say! " Moses." My information with respect toj "Ouida" came from "Ouida" hersUlf, of! whom I saw a good deal some years ago, j before she left the fogs of England for th© sunshine of Italy. •

Eccentric Equines.

Hobses are very curious in their likes and dislikes. Several have had a great love for! cats. When the Godolphine flattened by mistake his favourite* grimalkin he pined; with remorse, and was furious against any, other member* of the feline race thati' entered his stable. In Sir Edwin Landseer's picture of Voltigeuiy the famous racer is; painted wibh his head down caressingly to » tortoise-shell pat who used to sleep upon hirn^ at night. After he had been done up for' the night, he would put his head to the rack that puss might make a bridge of his nose and neck. Waxy and Camel were never happy unless they had a rabbit in their stables, and Lanercost's only pet was a dog. In 1841, when the string was divided, Lanercost went on to Pigburn, while another detachment was sent to Don caster ; the dog followed the latter by mis take, but discovering his error, rushed off, and was next heard of at Pigburn, where, he had found his way although he had never' been there before. There was greab joy _at the meeting, and when the canine was enticed' out by the cry of "cats," he revenged himself by killing' a number of ferrets that were kept in ai loft above the stable, and then walked off.] Gemma de Vergy was so fond of company', that a boy had to sleep with him at nighb' and sit with him all day. The habib began I as a yearling, wW he was found at a windowKwith his forefeet on the Bill, looking out into the yard where the men were^i having first climbed over a wall. One Act: was so fond of the society of her own kind.i that when in front of a race he would look round anxiously and indignantly for the the others. Lord John Scott's favourite charger, Helen—who, by the by, he once rode up the steps of the Bank of Dublin to cash a cheque, and rode down again with the money in his pocket—would I never allow a jockoy in white to mount) her until he had covered the obnoxious jacket, and this because one day she had picked her owner's pocket of a white hand kerchief, blowing ovlr her face, she conceived a hatred for the hue ever after. Very curious was the caprice of an American horse who would never extend himself inj his gallops unless the jockey was in fulH tog, and who had such a dislike to bare-1 footed stable boys, that whenever they! him he would try to bite their legs. This horse was evidently an aristo-' Foprietie°s. BtOOd VpW §ttqv* W* their j