as her son, for all his ugliness, was not a
common-looking young man.

She went down into the library, and the
little downy-faced lord took her in to
dinner; and up-stairs, with the door open,
Maud could hear bursts of merriment,
blown out of the dining-room in gusts, as
the servants went in and out. She was
not quite sure that she liked it. She
wondered whether she should like better being
seated at that table as a guest. But why
should she? Were not these just the sort
of men she had been declaring to herself
all her life that she despised? Had it not
been to escape from such society as this—
the fainéants with whom she felt she
had no lot or inheritance—that she had
fled from her step-father's house, resolving
henceforward to maintain herself by the
labour of her own hands? It could not be
that she was weak enough already to regret
what she had cast from her but a few hours
previously. No! a hundred times, no!
She would not find herself back at
Mortlands for all the world; and how it came
to pass that she felt any curiosity, any sort
of desire, to know what was passing inside
that dining-room, puzzled and annoyed
her.

By-and-bye, Mrs. Cartaret left the men
to their wine and cigars—for Lowndes had
induced her to permit the malpractice of
smoking in her dining-room—and then the
servants' supper-bell rang, and when Maud
did not obey the summons, Jane appeared
with a message from Mrs. Rouse. But
Maud sent back to say she was not hungry,
and wanted nothing; a step which was
viewed by Mrs. Rouse as unprecedented
and presumptuous, an unwarrantable
infringement of the etiquette of the
servants'-hall, and by most of the others as a
proof that she was "an uppish young
'oman, as requires to be took down a peg
or two."

Mrs. Cartaret had left her fan in her
room, and presently Maud, knowing that
the old lady was alone, ventured
downstairs with it, and knocked at the library-
door. She heard what she took to be
"come in," and entered. Mrs. Cartaret
was on the sofa, fast asleep, with a
handkerchief over her face, from beneath which
there issued fitful but sonorous sounds not
wholly unlike the growling remonstrances
of a human voice. Her new maid, of course,
did not disturb the old lady; she laid the
fan on the cushion beside her, and left the
room noiselessly, but not before she had
glanced round it, and contrasted the faded
yet comfortable aspect of the old book-room
with the cold grandeur of Mortlands.

It was nearly an hour later—she was up
in her own little garret, but the door was
open—when she heard a few chords struck
upon the piano, and being fond of music
she stole down to the first landing to listen.
A rich, strong man's voice was lifted up,
and began Hatton's pretty ballad of Goodbye,
Sweetheart. She sat down on the
top step of the stair; it was very pleasant
there, in the dark, and alone, knowing the
servants to be at supper, to sit and enjoy
what had something in it of forbidden fruit.
For she would not like to have been
detected: so much she acknowledged to
herself. The singer sang three or four songs,
and she was confident she knew who he
was. Finally, he broke into a negro melody,
in the chorus of which his friends joined,
and at the same minute Maud heard a
clatter of feet up the back-stairs, with
guffaws of female laughter. She got up
quickly, and returned to her room. But as
she did so, she caught the words of one
speaker: "Victuals? Lor' bless you, the
like o' she don't need it. She lives upon
hair, depend on't, she do;" which brilliant
sally provoked renewed merriment.

When she went to bed that night, after
undressing Mrs. Cartaret, she lay awake a
long time, pondering upon many things.
And through all her thoughts, charged
heavily with disquietude, that tiresome
tune kept worrying her, and pursued her
even into the land of dreams, Good-bye,.
Sweetheart, Good-bye!

MR. DICKENS'S NEW WORK.
Just Published, PRICE ONE SHILLING,
PART FOUR OF
THE MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY S. L. FILDES.
London: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

Just published, price 5s. 6d., bound in green cloth,
THE THIRD VOLUME
OF THE NEW SERIES OF
ALL THE YEAR ROUND.
To be had of all Booksellers.