a strangely troubled and dissatisfied expression, and from time to time he lifted his eyes from his page before him, and gazed abstractedly into the fire.

By-and-by he was summoned to his solitary dinner, and rising from his seat he stepped into an adjoining room—a large, dusky, fireless apartment, which bore such evident tokens of neglect, that the very portraits of his ancestors seemed to look reproachfully down upon him, from out of their massive but tarnished and dust covered gilt frames.

When he had concluded his simple repast, the lonely old man resumed his former place in the small library which was his usual sitting-room, and leaning back in his chair, he soon became wrapt in a state of semi-unconsciousness, if not profound slumber.

While he thus continued oblivious to all around, the library door was carefully opened by a gentle hand, and then as noiselessly reclosed.

Mr. Faversham could not have been cognisant of the movement, and yet, when he awoke the next moment, startled by a some

what rude greeting from the fire, which (apparently resenting his negligence in omitting to attend to its requirements) took the present opportunity of adjusting itself by collapsing with considerable noise, he glanced around him in an expectant, bewildered fashion, with an indescribable impression upon his mind that something was about to happen.

The room would have been entirely shrouded in darkness, but for the illumination just caused by the sudden lighting up of the recently flameless fire.

This enabled him to distinguish every object with perfect clearness; and as his restless eyes wandered from one thing to another, and then returned to the vicinage of his own chair, he saw-or was he only dreaming?-a little child standing beside him a fairy-like creature, with a sweet, innocent face, soft blue eyes, which were gravely fixed upon his rugged countenance, and long, shining curls brushed back from a pure white forehead.

CHAPTER IV.

"There are some bosoms dark and drear
Which an unwatered desert are;
Yet there a curious eye may trace
Some silent spot, some verdant place,
Where little flowers, the weeds between,
Spend their soft fragrance all unseen."

BOWRING.

BEFORE Mr. Faversham could recover from the astonishment caused by this unexpected apparition, the youthful intruder advanced a step nearer, and, laying a small dimpled hand upon his bony arm, exclaimed, in a childish, lisping voice, "Are you the mis'able man ?"

The miserable man! How the words thrilled through his frame! Was he miserable? It had never occurred to him to ask himself the question before, and for some seconds he remained speechless, startled by the suddenness of the shock produced upon his wavering imagination.

Then he turned sharply round, and, after

rubbing his eyes to make sure that it was no mere illusion of the senses, he regarded the child with a keen observant look, mingled with a certain amount of awe; and finally, seizing a match, he proceeded with trembling fingers to light the one solitary candle which stood ready for use upon the table. This done, he again examined his young visitor with an appearance of extreme perplexity, wondering who she could be, and how she came to find her way into his presence.

She meanwhile had been watching his movements with infantile curiosity, but now she evidently considered it time for him to reply to her question. Accordingly she repeated it, and there was a slight touch of childish impatience in her tone which would have amused many, but only added to Mr. Faversham's amazement.

His pride rebelled against this extraordinary querist, but he nevertheless found himself powerless to break the spell which she had so mysteriously thrown around him, and when he presently addressed her, it was in a voice which sounded, even to his own

ears, strangely softened and subdued, "What makes you ask me such a question?" and he leant forward and eagerly awaited her reply.

'Cause I p'omised I would try and comfort the mis'able man."

"Who did you promise ?" demanded Mr. Faversham, more and more puzzled.

66

My mamma," was the simple rejoinder. "Where is your mamma?" inquired the gentleman, becoming quite interested in his unknown visitor.

"Gone away," replied the child, shaking her golden curls.

"Have you got a papa as well as a mamma?" was the old man's next question. "Course I have!" replied the child, opening her blue eyes, as if surprised at the inquiry.

"And where is he?"

"Gone away, too;" and there was a slight quiver in the little voice; "but Lily will be good," she added quickly, "and stay wif you."

"With me!" echoed Mr. Faversham in consternation, "what can she mean?" and