was no hurry, and she had better rest for a
day or two, and see the sights. Calmuck
was accordingly handed over to one of Mrs.
Thompson's daughters to be amused with
London, generally.

The day or two elapsed, and again Mildmay
said there was no hurry. Calmuck and
Miss Thompson saw more sights, and went on
seeing sights till there were no more sights
to be seen. Still Mildmay said there was no
hurry, and the unwilling Calmuck continued
to eat the bread of idleness.

The fact was, the painter's hand was filled
with a new picture—an Eastern subject—
which he determined to finish in time to
compete for the prize at one of the great
provincial exhibitions, which opened in the
winter.

At length, the purchaser of As You Like
It became impatient. Strong was reluctantly
compelled to dismount from his new hobby,
and Calmuck's services were at last called
into requisition. She sat for four hours one
day with her old patience and docility. On
the second day, she entered the painting-room
with a troubled countenance, and said she
was very sorry, but she must go home
immediately.

"Home! nonsense, Calmuck. I can't
spare you. I shall want you for a week
more."

Calmuck persisted in her extreme sorrow
and inflexible determination. Home, she
must go, and on that day.

Strong was almost angry.

"This is really too bad, Calmuck. You
ought to have told me. Besides, what on
earth can your father and mother want with
you so particularly?"

Calmuck blushed up to the roots of her
hair, and played nervously with her apron as
she faltered out,

"If you please, it is not my father and
mother."

"Who, then?"

Calmuck hung down her head, and made
answer in a scarcely audible voice:

"My husband!"

"Your what?"

"Yes, sir; if you please, two months after
you left Grayling, Tom came home from
sea; and, if you please, we got married."

"Then why the deuce didn't you say so
before?"

"If you please, sir, I didn't like; the fact
is, sir, Tom is—It's his only fault, now;
for he has turned quite steady and saving;
but—-"

"Well?"

"He's of a jealous disposition, and though
I told him it was a very poor return for your
kindness in bringing father and mother round
to consent; he wouldn't have it, and, if
you please, he is jealous of you, sir."

Mr. Strong whistled.

"He said, he had no notion of young men
coming to live in the house and painting
my picture, and calling me names. As if
there was any harm in Calmuck! Well, sir,
mother writes to say, his ship is coming
home in a day or two—earlier than was
expected—and, if it was known I was staying
with you, he could never be brought to
understand what for; but, being very strong
and uncommon violent—"

"Calmuck," said Mildmay, with some
severity, "this was unfair of you. You ought
not to have placed me in that disagreeable
position. This was a want of candour that
lessens my good opinion of you."

The poor girl burst into an agony of
tears.

"Oh, Mr. Strong, please don't say that, sir.
You, of all people. I couldn't resist it. We
are so poor. What you offered was so
handsome. I thought it would be a little
something for us to begin housekeeping with,
and neither of you would be a bit the
wiser."

"Well, well, Calmuck, it can't be helped,"
said the artist in a kinder tone, yet biting
his lip with vexation. "Pack up your
things."

In half an hour Calmuck and her
bandboxes were whirling away in a cart towards
the London Bridge Railway Station.

And now occurs the only real wonder in
this most unpretending of histories. Mildmay
Strong——whom we had all believed a model
of courage, physical, as well as moral,
suddenly astounded us by appearing in the
character of an arrant coward. He was haunted
by visionary fears of an indignant sea-faring
man, of colossal stature and blood-thirsty
intentions. He gave strict orders to be denied
to all strangers whatsoever. He never went
out unless absolutely compelled; and when
he did so, it was with as many timid precautions
as could be taken by the most nervous old
lady living down a dark lane with a garotte
reputation. He would send servants before him
to see that the coast was clear, and would
rush precipitately into cabs or down entries
at the most distant sight of a suspicious
personage. At first, we were amused at his
fears, and used to enter his room with
terrible descriptions of piratical-looking
ruffians whom we had seen lurking round the
corner, armed with the deadliest weapons.
Some of us would give augry plebeian single
knocks at the front door; and, on its being
opened, would counterfeit a rough, weather-
beaten voice, and ask if a party of the name
of Strong lived there. But these jokes were
evidently not to our friend's taste. They gave
him serious uneasiness. At length, he
carried his pusillanimity to such a pitch that we
began to be positively ashamed of our
former idol.

"I tell you what Mild," said Mack, the
landscape-painter, one day, who, being
considerably below the middle height, was
naturally of an aggressive and warlike
disposition, "You're not the man I took you