leering at the cherubs.  "Such nice round faces,
and such nice soft wings, and—nothing else.  No
dirty little legs to run about on, and no noisy
little lungs to scream with. How immeasurably
superior to the existing construction!  I will
close my eyes again, if you will allow me.  And
you really can manage the drawings?  So glad.
Is there anything else to settle?  If there is, I
think I have forgotten it. Shall we ring for
Louis again?"

Being, by this time, quite as anxious, on my
side, as Mr. Fairlie evidently was on his, to bring
the interview to a speedy conclusion, I thought
I would try to render the summoning of the
servant unnecessary, by offering the requisite
suggestion on my own responsibility.

"The only point, Mr. Fairlie, that remains to
be discussed," I said, "refers, I think, to the
instruction in sketching which I am engaged to
communicate to the two young ladies."

''Ah! just so," said Mr. Fairlie. "I wish I
felt strong enough to go into that part of the
arrangement—but I don't. The ladies, who
profit by your kind services, Mr. Hartright,
must settle, and decide, and so on, for
themselves.  My niece is fond of your charming art.
She knows just enough about it to be conscious
of her own sad defects.  Please take pains with
her.  Yes.  Is there anything else?  No.  We
quite understand each other—don't we? I
have no right to detain you any longer from
your delightful pursuit—have I?  So pleasant
to have settled everything—such a sensible
relief to have done business. Do you mind
ringing for Louis to carry the portfolio to your
own room?"

"I will carry it there, myself, Mr. Fairlie, if
you will allow me."

"Will you really?  Are you strong enough?
How nice to be so strong!  Are you sure you
won't drop it?  So glad to possess you at
Limmeridge, Mr. Hartright.  I am such a sufferer
that I hardly dare hope to enjoy much of your
society.  Would you mind taking great pains
not to let the doors bang, and not to drop the
portfolio?  Thank you.  Gently with the
curtains, please—the slightest noise from them
goes through me like a knife.  Yes.  Good
morning!"

When the sea-green curtains were closed, and
when the two baize doors were shut behind me,
I stopped for a moment in the little circular hall
beyond, and drew a long, luxurious breath of
relief.  It was like coming to the surface of the
water, after deep diving, to find myself once
more on the outside of Mr. Fairlie's room.

As soon as I was comfortably established for
the morning in my pretty little studio, the first
resolution at which I arrived was to turn my
steps no more in the direction of the apartments
occupied by the master of the house, except in
the very improbable event of his honouring me
with a special invitation to pay him another
visit.  Having settled this satisfactory plan
of future conduct, in reference to Mr. Fairlie, I
soon recovered the serenity of temper of which
my employer's haughty familiarity and impudent
politeness had, for the moment, deprived me.
The remaining hours of the morning passed
away pleasantly enough, in looking over the
drawings, arranging them in sets, trimming
their ragged edges, and accomplishing
the other necessary preparations in anticipation
of the business of mounting them.  I ought,
perhaps, to have made more progress than this;
but, as the luncheon-time drew near, I grew
restless and unsettled, and felt unable to fix my
attention on work, even though that work was
only of the humble manual kind.

At two o'clock, I descended again to the
breakfast-room, a little anxiously.  Expectations
of some interest were connected with my
approaching reappearance in that part of the
house.  My introduction to Miss Fairlie was
now close at hand; and, if Miss Halcombe's
search through her mother's letters had
produced the result which she anticipated, the time
had come for clearing up the mystery of the
woman in white.

REAL HORRORS OF WAR.

THE spade is now busy on the ground of
Solferino and Magenta. The manumitted
husbandman, now bidden to look up and be
cheerful because he has been set free gloriously,
ruefully takes thought how he shall remedy the
disorder his deliverers have brought to him.
Almost with despair he gazes upon his crops,
trodden into a mash by swiftly passing legions;
upon the stumps of his vine-trees, cut down
pitilessly to warm his benefactors' soup; above
all, upon the memorials they have left to him,
of bodies thrust barely a foot below his soil,
from which the sweltering sun distils the thick
miasma of decomposition, encompassing him in
a cloud too broad to travel out of. It will
be long before those human shambles can
be made to take the smooth, decent, tranquil
aspect of a graveyard.

But for the people outside, who stood round
watching the fight, with bated breath and
senses painfully strained, it seemed a glorious,
thrilling spectacle, that campaign just now
played out. For those who sit at a distance
and read all the shifts and turnings and general
theatrical business of a war in the open field,
the trumpet-blowing and fanfares, the flaunting
colours and gaudy liveries, the marching
and manoeuvring, the desperate charges and
bits of dramatic heroism have a grand and
pulse-thrilling effect which makes the eyes
sparkle and the colour come and go.  There
is, at home, data from Aldershott, to furnish
the upholstery and supply a light basis for
fancy.

But this is all no more than the fine colouring
of a consumptive cheek, or the bloom
of a rotten apple.  There is not, of all things
existent, a more repulsive, coarse, untheatrical
business than war, and what it brings with
it. The delicate film of gaudiness rubs off in