are. "It's a burning shame, and so it is. Them
furriners don't seem to care a brass farden
what becomes of their own flesh and blood.
Such muck, too, as they live upon! The young
gal ain't a furriner, though I wonder where that
she-devil, who's sending the people crazy with
her rough-riding, got hold of her. Well, it ain't
no business of mine." And the night-watchman
lighted another pipe, and addressed himself
once more to the not very interesting task of
crunching, with heavy footsteps, the frozen
gravel.

The policemen on the beat knew Lily quite
well, and more than one cheery "Good-night,
miss," greeted her on her way homeward. There
was one gallant constable who, when he happened
to be on night-duty, always insisted on seeing
her to the corner of her street, which happened
to be within the limits of his beat. While thus
occupied—for Lily could not repel him, he was
so civil and obliging—they passed the great
inspector himself, in a short cape, and carrying
a bamboo cane, and followed by a discreet
sergeant.

The inspector stopped. The discreet sergeant,
who was of a somewhat suspicious nature,
turned his bull's-eye full on Lily, shook his head,
and whistled as loudly as the rules of discipline,
and his respect for his superior officer, would
permit him to do.

"At your old tricks again, Drippan," the
inspector remarked, severely. "Who is this
young woman?"

Lily was terribly frightened. Drippan, however,
who was the gallant constable, hastened
to explain. Fortunately, the inspector had on
more than one occasion patronised Ranelagh
with his wife and family, and had seen Lily
waiting for Madame Ernestine at the stage-door
of the circus. He was quite satisfied with Constable
Drippan's tale, and was even good enough
to tell Lily that, if she liked, a constable should
escort her, so far as the boundaries of his beat
permitted, towards her home, every night.

The next time Mr. Drippan met her he
cleared up the mystery of the inspector's
severity at their first meeting.

"Hi've got henemies, miss," he explained,
"henemies has his sworn to 'ave my 'art's
blood, let alone rewenging my good name, and
reporting on me at the station when I ain't done
nothin'. I should be Hinspector Drippan but
for those henemies."

Lily said she was very sorry.

"Well you may be," pursued this victim of
malevolence. "I've been druv from beat to
beat in a way that's hawful. The minds of
sergeants 'ave bin pisoned agin me, and I've
been put hunder stoppages for nothink at all."

Lily told him she was very grieved, but was
still somewhat puzzled to learn what his sorrow
really was.

"I 'ave bin," he continued, in a dark whisper,
"a perliceman in Grosvenor-square. I was
huniversally respected and moved in the fust
families. It was hall halong of a puffidious
nussmaid as kep' company with a Fiend in
Human Shape in the Life Guards. She split on
me, and the cook—which had bin there seven
year—lost her sitiwation. Vy did the hinspector
'ave me up before the commissioners, and play
old Gooseberry with me? Because he were
jealous. Because I had put his nose outer joint.
Ha!"

He paused, as though for sympathy, but Lily,
not knowing precisely what to say, went on.

"They're hall agin me. It's hall known at
'ed-quarters, and they'd as soon promote the
fireman's dog as me. Hi ham a parayur amongst
my brother hofficers. Do I drink? Did Hi
hever do the doss when on dooty? Let 'em
prove their words. They ses I runs arter the
gals. My 'art is blighted. They've sent me
down to this jolly old South Lambeth, where
there's nothink but cads, costermongers, and
fried fish. Hi ham treated in the most
exasperatin' way, and hif this sort o' thing's to go
on, Hi'm blowed hif Hi don't write to the Weekly
Dispatch."

I am ashamed to confess that little Lily—who,
having had her own peines de cœur, should have
learnt sympathy for another's woe—was not very
forcibly impressed by this lamentable tale. I am
afraid, indeed, that she was once or twice very
near laughing. Poor soul, it was but little matter
for mirth she had now. The gallant but unfortunate
Drippan did not fail to mark her culpable
indifference. From that night he offered to
escort her no more; nay, once meeting her at
her own street corner, he pretended not to know
her, and even murmured, in muffled tone, the
injurious words, "Move on!" But Lily often
met the inspector, and he had always a kind word
for her.

She dared not go to bed, this night of the
supper, until her tyrant came home, and when
she had lighted a candle, and unpacked the
bundle she had brought from Ranelagh, sat
down in the little parlour to read. A Sunday
newspaper was the only literary matter at hand,
and she had read it through at least twice before
since the beginning of the week; but she
addressed herself again, and most industriously, to
its perusal, going through all the advertisements
of the splendid corner public-houses, the snug
little free beer-shops, the eligible openings
in the chandlery line, the unequalled tobacconists',
stationery, and Berlin wool businesses for
sale, wondering whether they all found
purchasers, and whether it took six months or
twelve for their lucky purchasers to realise
large fortunes. And then she attacked the page
devoted to theatricals, and read how Ranelagh
was nightly the resort of the highest rank and
fashion; how the experiment of a winter season
had been a complete success, and how Mr.
M'Variety was gaining golden opinions from all
sorts of people. What were golden opinions,
Lily wondered—money? If that were so, it
was strange, for Mr. M'Variety was always
grumbling to the countess about the money he
was losing. Then Lily went on to read about
the countess herself. How Madame Ernestine
was the cynosure of all eyes. How her youth,