to call in such a kind friendly way that I could not refuse."

"Ah, I see," replied Mr Hunt, with a twinkle in his eye; "you accepted for fear of paining the ladies. It will be paying an unpleasant debt, due to good manners, to accept this invitation; I would just leave a pasteboard, I think."

Stephen saw he was being quizzed.

"You know what a pleasure it will be to me to see them, and why I have never been before."

"Well, well, you can go with an easy conscience, for your position is changed. I consider that you are on the high road to fortune; but even if you were still the poor struggling tutor, Mrs Melville would give you a kind welcome, I know."

"I have no doubt of that," said Stephen, "but, but

"But, but. Yes, I understand; there's a young lady in the case. You don't understand women, my boy, that is clear enough. Don't you know that the way to a good woman's heart, such as I judge Miss Violet's to be, is to gain her pity, and that is half the battle, for pity is akin to love. However, you have followed your own counsel. But now there is another little matter to speak of, in what condition is your purse? Of course you must go to your new place with decent clothes and a few shillings in your pocket, and you had better run in debt with me than your tailor."

"I do believe you are the kindest fellow that ever lived, but I will not borrow unless I am obliged," answered Stephen.

Mr Hunt had another visitor that night, after Stephen

left, who sat long in earnest conversation with the artist.

The next time Stephen called at the studio, Mr Hunt greeted him with, "Well, you lucky dog, you will not have to borrow after all. I have sold two more of your pictures, and here is the money, so you can make yourself as gorgeous as you like," and he handed him an envelope-this time it contained thirty pounds.

"Who bought them?" asked Stephen. "The same infatuated person as before?"

Mr Hunt nodded.

"It is remarkable that he should take a fancy to my trash just when I happen to be in urgent need of money," said Stephen. "Somehow I cannot help fancying there is some mystery about it. Did that old Mr Archibald buy them?"

"Mr Archibald! That is an idea!" cried Mr Hunt, with a loud laugh.

"The idea has got into my head, however ridiculous it may be," said Stephen.

"Well, all I can tell you is that the purchaser forbade me to mention his name, so I cannot satisfy your curiosity. The money is yours, anyhow, so you had better make a good use of it."

Stephen laid out some of the money before he made his call on Mrs Melville, and when he presented himself at her door he was as well and quietly dressed as any man need wish to be.

He was shown into a London lodging-house. So different from the well-remembered room at Chiltern, that, except for the flowers in every available corner, he

could hardly believe it to be the abode of Mrs Melville and her daughters.

But Mrs Melville herself soon appeared, and left no doubt upon the subject. She looked just as kind, and good, and motherly as ever, and gave the schoolmaster a warm welcome. Any one connected with Chiltern was sure of that, and besides that Stephen had always been a special favourite with her, she was glad to see him for his own sake.

"We have often wondered what had become of you. Why did you not come sooner? And now," she said, "you must tell me all you have been doing since you left Chiltern. My brother has told me what a kind act you are going to perform for him."

So Stephen gave an outline of his career at Edinburgh, and his struggles in London. His listener was so sympathetic that he told her simply and naturally, almost as he would have done to his mother.

"Poor fellow," she exclaimed, "why did you not come to me, I might have been a little comfort to you, if not a help?"

"You are too good to me, as you ever have been," replied Stephen, looking embarrassed, "but I made up my mind to wait till better times had come."

"Just to make us 'fair weather' friends, Mr Rivers; that was not kind; but as you have come now I presume the fair weather has set in at last-I hope so at any rate?"

"I hope so too," replied Stephen, "but I called because your daughters invited me so kindly, I could not refuse."

He had about finished his confidences when Edith

and Violet came in, and it seemed just like one of the old Chiltern evenings, only that in some unaccountable way Stephen felt far more at his ease than he had ever done then; Edith brought out her drawings and told him all about her studies and her work at the Academy.

Stephen was greatly struck by the change in Edith. She was so bright, and animated, and eager: altogether she seemed to have gained a new life. Violet was very quiet, even more sweet and lovely than ever, Stephen thought; but somehow each seemed to avoid speaking to the other.

Stephen returned to his humble lodging with a glow at his heart that he had not felt for many a long day; and he had promised to call again and let Mrs Melville know how things were going on at Chiltern.

"I never saw any one so improved in my life," said Mrs Melville when the visitor had gone. "He has gained just what he wanted-ease and confidence of manner; what a pity his poor mother did not live to see it—she would have been proud of her son."

"I was always sure he had more in him than anyone would have thought," said Edith.

Violet made no comments, but she lay awake a long time that night thinking-of what?

CHAPTER VII.

A STRANGE VISITOR.

STEPHEN'S little room was strewn all over with the litter of packing when a knock came at his door.

Without looking up he called out "Come in," expecting to see his landlady, or the little slavey, with a tray. But the step sounded heavy and firm, not slipshod like that of those two engaging females, and there was a strange cough.

Stephen turned round from the trunk into which he was cramming the last of his books, and beheld Mr Hunt's strange old friend. Of course, he jumped to his feet and came forward.

"Mr Archibald, I think?" he said, clearing a chair. "Mr Stephen Rivers, I believe?" replied the stranger.

"Yes, I am Stephen Rivers," answered Stephen. “I am sure it is very good of you to call on me, Sir, but I am sorry you should find me in such confusion. I am packing up my books, you see, for I leave my lodgings in a few days."

"And why do you suppose I have called on you, Mr Stephen Rivers?" asked the old man, staring very hard at Stephen.

"Really, Sir, I am at a loss to imagine."

"You are Stephen Rivers, are you not?"