his own

sobbed aloud. At this the father wiped away tears with his sleeve, and patted her on the shoulder with a cheering word or two. It was beautiful to see these simple-hearted people so full of love and sympathy.

"Do not despair, my friend," said Julian, kindly; "London is not so large a place but that your little Angela may be found. No doubt her father was among the strolling players you mentioned, and took her away with him. But it is quite possible that her mother may have rescued her again, and fled with her to some other place of safety. When I get to London I will make every inquiry, and perhaps I may discover some clue to their whereabouts. name!"

What is the mother's

"Carla Saffi; a curious name and difficult to spell," answered the man. "Oh! sir, God bless you for your kindness in troubling yourself about me. I am a poor hand at speaking to gentlefolks like yourself, sir, but if you could see right into my heart you would know that I am grateful. I could bear to be parted from our little girl; I could be quite happy never to see her even, if I did but know that she was growing up innocent and God-fearing as she was here. But, oh! sir, there is a great deal of wickedness in large places like London; and living amongst bad company, I fear me she will learn bad thoughts and bad language, and forget the prayers we taught her."

"Let us hope for the best," replied Julian ; "early instructions are rarely forgotten by such pure and loving natures as your little Angela's seemed to be. No, no; I cannot for one moment believe that she would lose the recollections of her happy home here, and all the good that she learned from you."

"You are right, sir; I will try and feel more contented about her, for the Bible says, 'God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,' and why should I think our darling wants any other protector but Him. But seeing these little ladies here, about her own age, so well clothed, and happy-looking, and kept from sin, and poverty, and ignorance, makes my heart yearn for her once more, who may be in rags and the utmost wretchedness for all I know. Ah! what am I saying? God knows best what is good for her and me.

The moon was now up, and having taken leave of their host, Evan Evans, and the good Greta, the little party pursued their way homewards. You may imagine that they talked a good deal of little Angela on their way.

"Are there many little girls made to sing and act at fairs and such places, Mr. Julian ?" asked Jenny, seriously.

"A great many, no doubt, have seen children acting often?"

I am sorry to say. You, Sylvine,

"Oh! yes; little girls riding on elephants, and feeding tame lions, and singing in the streets; and boys,

oh! so many, acting at horsemanship entertainments, or at theatres. They generally look very pale, yet I have never thought of their being unfortunate till now; indeed I have fancied they must like to be dressed up so splendidly, and have such crowds of people looking at them.'

"But think, Sylvine, of the poor little things doing the same thing night after night, compelled to sit up late, however tired or sleepy they may feel; forced to come before a crowd when often they are near dying of shame and terror. Think also of their being deprived of schooling, wholesome exercise and children's play. Have you ever noticed how old and wearied they look ?"

66

Ah! yes, it must be a dreadful life. Oh! Jenny, how lucky we are to be able to go to bed as early as we like.

"And to be well educated and taught to love what is good and innocent," added Julian. "Ah, Sylvine! children like you, accustomed to a comfortable, happy home, having indulgent parents, kind governesses, and every sort of enjoyment, you little know the sadness and suffering of many a child's life in the present day. Think of this, and when you see the pallid little streetsinger, or flower-seller, however begrimed or wretched she may be, never despise her in your heart, but bestow a kindly word and a penny. You never know how much happiness they may give."

CHAPTER XX.

TWO DAYS AT CARNARVON.

BEATRICE'S DIARY.

"SEPTEMBER 4th.-A lovely day. We started at one o'clock for Carnarvon, and drove outside the coach, which was quite a novelty to us, and very pleasant, as we had such a good opportunity of seeing the scenery. I was sorry to leave Beddgelert, and shall never forget the wild beautiful vale, the grand mountains, and the birch-trees that hang so lovingly over poor Gelert's grave. The affair of the picture makes us all very uncomfortable. I do not so much grieve at the thought of my labour being wasted, as I do at the suspicion of Jenny's deceit; for she is so simplehearted, so sweet-tempered, and so intelligent that I had begun to love her very much. I feel very, very disappointed. Oh! if we could but find out that she is innocent after all; yet who else would have done it ?

"We have left Emily at Beddgelert; so much the better, and I do believe Sylvine is not sorry, for Emily was so selfish that she wanted her own way in everything. I hope we shall not meet her again; yet we all miss her brothers, Mr. Kennedy, and the Markhams.

We had a good view of grand old Snowdon and the mountains round Beddgelert as we passed along, and saw a very pretty cascade and a little lake, called the One-mile Lake. At the sight of this, Jenny started up from her seat, and cried, 'Oh! Sylvine, that is Ladyfern's lake, and she is buried beneath the waters, and Snowdon is the giant that died for love of her.' Of course I wanted to know what all this meant, and she repeated to me a pretty fairy-tale that Mademoiselle's friend told her on her homeward journey from Snowdon. The road to Carnarvon was solitary to the utmost degree. A few stone-built hovels and cattlesheds here and there, and one or two little children, bare-legged and quite wild looking, who ran by the coach with crystals and ores to sell, were the only signs of human habitation. There were also countless small black cows feeding on the pasture, and sheep browsing among the rocks. They climb to the most dangerous looking crags and points; the mystery is, how ever they get down. The pastures being so well watered all through the year are very rich, of a bright glistering green; I do not wonder at the Welsh milk and butter being so delicious when the cows have such grass to feed on. We saw some girls in the meadows milking, and one was returning with her tin pail flung over her shoulder; she looked such an odd figure, with her bare red legs, and uncombed hair partly covered by an old black hat, and wearing a pink and white