'You ought not to blame me for thinking of my own advantage,' said James, with a faint smile. However, you may make yourself easy. I am not going to be ridiculous-not in that line, at least. She is a good sort of woman. Miss Wade is there as her companion.' 'Who is Miss Wade?'

'Old Frank's step-daughter; don't you remember?' 'That pretty girl? Yes, I know who you mean. know what I have been doing?'

Do you want to

'Getting deeper in?' said James, and he whipped the ponies with an air of cheerful resignation.

'I have spent a very pleasant afternoon,' Sir Michael replied. 'I'll tell you more about it by and by.'

(To be continued.)

POVERINA.

(Translated rfom the French of the Princess Olga Cantacuzène by A. M. CHRISTIE.)

CHAPTER VI.

ROSINA never sang now. For a month she had been working hard at the cigar factory. Her gaiety had completely left her; her face had grown thin and anxious; she was never now seen to make those goatlike bounds which used to excite Fido to playfulness. In the evenings when she came home with Tonina, who was always lively and talkative, happy at having been able to exchange a few words with Geppino, she seemed depressed and weary, and would sit down on the steps of the verandah by the side of Fido, who overwhelmed her with caresses to make up for having been parted from her the whole day, and who seemed puzzled by his mistress's melancholy. Morino himself, after loudly extolling her wise resolution to work, ended by regretting his blithe nightingale.

'Have you forgotten how to sing?' he would say, impatiently.

She answered with a sad smile: 'Spring is past; there are no more roses. The nightingales too are silent now.'

Hitherto Rosina had scarcely known the meaning of the word 'sadness.' Thanks to the happy joyousness of her nature, and the influence exercised over her by a wild and powerful imagination, she had never known a sorrowful thought. Never having been subjected to any restraint, free and independent as the birds, and as careless of the future as they, she lived joyously from day to day. It was love which was now teaching her to suffer. When she first met Neri, she loved him, not from choice or reflection, scarcely even from attraction, but simply because her hour had come to love, and he was the first to speak to her words of love. The moment had come for the bud to blossom into the flower. A more superficial heart, a nature lighter or more coquettish, would later on have easily shaken off this first thoughtless attachment; but to Rosina's deep and steadfast soul obstacles became fetters, and sacrifices had a fatal charm.

In order to please Neri, to earn money as he wished, she subdued the natural repugnances of her independent nature, and resigned herself to work which was odious to her, to confinement which was torture, in the close and nauseous atmosphere of a tobacco manufactory, and in the daily company of women whose incessant chatter was intolerable. But Neri was satisfied, and that was enough for her. And then she looked forward to the happy time when he would say, 'Now we are rich enough; you have worked enough, and suffered enough. Come with me to the mountain, and we will live there happy

and free.' With what joy would she follow him to those happy heights, to live alone with him and Fido! They would have flocks of goats and sheep. Fido would keep guard over them, and they would never again come down into the plain. And in the evenings when she came home from her hard day's work, her feet covered with dust, her eyes red with weeping, her lips parched and swollen, she would look up at the hill and give a half-smile as she saw the white column of smoke rising from the charcoal-burner's hut. It was there that Neri was— there that happiness awaited her.

Giuditta never having seen her again with Neri, nor heard her mention his name, did not in the least suspect the cause of her assiduity at work. She encouraged her in it, praised her perseverance, and feeling convinced that Rosina carefully saved up the money she earned every week, never once asked her for an account of it. The good woman little thought that the money gained at the price of so much patient endurance, and so many tears, was swallowed up Sunday after Sunday in Neri's pocket.

From time to time Rosina ventured timidly to ask him if they would soon have enough money to be married?

'Oh yes, very soon,' he answered.

A little more patience and

there will be enough over to buy a coral necklace for you.'

'Oh, but I don't want one!' she said.

'But I want people to say that my wife is the most beautiful and best-dressed woman in the country.'

Rosina sighed.

'If we stay up there on the hills, we sha'n't see anybody.'

'Do you suppose I should marry a pretty girl like you in order to hide her?' said Neri. 'I shall want to show you about in the streets of Lucca.'

The streets of Lucca ! the mere thought of them made her shudder. Half-way between Lucca and Vicopelago there was an inn which was much frequented, not only because of its convenient situation at the juncture of several roads, but also owing to the beauty of the rich proprietor's daughter, Ersilia. She was a buxom maiden, with cheeks as red as a poppy, eyes black and sparkling, and a neat little figure tending rather to over-plumpness, partly from the inactive life she led, and partly too, perhaps, from the habit she had acquired of taking snacks from morning to night. Her father combined with his wine trade a drug and grocery business, and Ersilia used to help herself right and left from the barrels of figs and dry raisins. She committed more devastation than a whole army of rats, her father would sometimes tell her, but as he knew that he owed the greater part of his custom to her black eyes and pretty white teeth, he was not too hard upon her.

Every day as Rosina passed the inn on her way to the factory she used to see this girl standing outside the wall as idle as a lizard in the

sunshine, with bare arms, a gown very open at the neck, and displaying a red coral necklace, and a pair of gold pins stuck coquettishly in her black hair. She always smiled and nodded her head familiarly to Rosina as she passed, though Rosina had never spoken a word to her.

One day, passing by as usual, Rosina fancied she caught sight of Neri's figure through the doorway. She stopped for a moment hesitatingly. Should she go in, or pass on? She made a step towards the door, but as she was about to cross the threshold, the figure had disappeared mysteriously, and the shop was empty.

As if it was likely that Neri would come to such places as this when he has no money to spend !'

As she went by again the next day, she looked round involuntarily to see who was inside the shop.

'You look tired,' said Ersilia, with her most engaging smile. 'How hot it is! Come in and rest.'

Rosina answered stiffly: No thank you. I don't go into inns.'
Ersilia gave a sneer.

'Of course not,' she said. 'You prefer drinking water at the spring in the chestnut wood, don't you?'

Rosina winced as if a serpent had bitten her. She went about with an aching heart till the following Sunday. This was the only day now on which she went to the spring, and she used 'to bring back with her a stock of strength for the week. Sometimes she did not come in till dark, but the strega, who knew what efforts and suffering the daily work at the factory cost this wild independent nature, never reproached her for her long absences, the cause of which she had not the faintest suspicion of. And then it sometimes happened that after her Sunday's roaming she would sing as in former days, and this gladdened Giuditta's heart.

On this particular Sunday there was a solemn procession at Vicopelago, which attracted people from neighbouring parishes. It was the middle of summer; the grasshoppers were chirping loudly under the olive trees, the grass was brown and parched, there was not a drop of water in the ravine, nor a breath stirring in the air. Rosina sighed as she thought of the delicious breeze that would be blowing through the lavender and the immortelles at the top of the mountain-there where it was never hot and stifling as down here in the plain. Neri was already waiting for her at the spring. He received her as usual with all the demonstrations of tenderness and love which had first captivated her young heart; but for the first time Rosina remained cold and silent; the young man's impassioned speeches rang falsely in her ear. She had never been able to dissemble, and she did not even attempt to hide her suspicions from him.

'Neri,' she said, 'do you often go to Ersilia's shop at Pontebello?'

'Never!' was the indignant answer.

He protested and swore that he had never even set foot in the house. It was a lie, and she knew that it was, and not the first he had told her. She sighed and said nothing.

'Why do you ask me such a question?' he said, with a tone of authority.

'From curiosity,' she answered, coldly.

He flew into a passion.

'Then I'll tell you the real reason, for I can guess it. You are jealous, you suspect me ; you have been acting the spy; you have no confidence in me!'

Seeing her face redden, he was emboldened, and growing fierce and threatening, he went on with gestures that would have made the fortune of an actor

'Well then, if you have your suspicions, I have mine! Do you suppose I can have any peace of mind whilst you are living under the same roof as Stefanino? Do you think I'm not devoured with jealousy?'

'Stefanino?' muttered the poor child, stupefied with fear; but he has never spoken a word to me

What's that matter? If you choose to be jealous of Ersilia whom I never see, haven't I a right to be jealous of this boy whom you see every day?'

He worked himself up into such a state of mind, and acted his part so well, that the frightened girl at last burst into tears and begged his pardon as if she had been really guilty towards him. He had the magnanimity to forgive her.

She went back to Vicopelago with an anxious face and a heavy heart. Neri was unjust; Neri had lied; this was not the first wound he had inflicted on the tender sensitive love which had unfortunately taken such deep root in her heart. She still loved Neri, because she could not help it, but she no longer respected or trusted him.

CHAPTER VII.

A SCORCHING wind had risen; the sun was nearing the horizon; the church bells were ringing far and near. Silk hangings floated from the windows of even the poorest cottages, flowers and sweet-scented grasses strewed the roads which the procession was to pass along. Rosina, tearful and heavy-hearted, avoided the crowd, and chose the most solitary by-paths. When at last she reached Morino's house, she saw, waiting at the door, a young man with a trunk and a cage of foreign birds. At the first glance she guessed that he must be the strega's eldest son from his striking likeness to his mother. He was making fruitless efforts to open the door which was carefully barri.