CHAPTER VIII.

THE CORNISHES.

THE afternoon band was playing in the Kur-garten at Kreuznach. The conductor, midway through one of the 'Pot-pourris' in which his soul delighted, was leading the forty musicians who composed his orchestra, with a rapturous energy that music can alone inspire-as it stirs the soul of a born musician. Now he modulated the treble-violins with a measured wave of his baton; now he aroused the bass-viols with an imperative nod; and again, with frantic sawings of his left arm, he hurried the wind-instruments into instant and impetuous action, his blue eyes lighting and gleaming fire at some imaginary laggard; till at length, arms, legs, head, and body all assisting, the 'Pot-pourri' was brought to a successful close in a loud and triumphant crash, and the conductor, sitting down, wiped his heated brow.

Rapturous applause broke from the listening many, who filled the rows of chairs in front of the Kurhaus; while even the coffee, beer, and ice consumers, who occupied seats at the little tables on the covered teṛ

race behind, put down their cups, glasses, and spoons, and joined in the general enthusiasm.

'How I do admire that little man. He conducts all

over,

'I don't agree with you. It makes me hot to look at him, and I wish he would take things more quietly.'

'Miss Cornish, you have no music in your soul, and you are not moved by concord of sweet sounds.Shakespeare.'

'Music in the soul is all very well, but Herr Mhas too much of it in his body. That is what I complain of.'

Complain of!' with cutting scorn. 'Why it is splendid to watch how he compels his orchestra to follow him, and makes them, for the time, as full of music as himself. I could watch him for hours; he is a very king among conductors.'

Miss Cornish answered not. Her mind, such as she had, was at that moment in her eyes, and they were fixed on the sweeping train of a lady who was promenading up and down the terrace in front.

That is the seventh costume I have seen her in,'

she remarked enviously.

'What? Who? Oh! the German countess. You will never come to the end of her wardrobe. We have been here more than a fortnight, and she has never worn the same dress twice yet.'

'How do you know she is a German countess ?'
'Oh! I know every one by sight who frequents

these gardens; and if I don't know their real names, I invent one for them. No one comes or goes here unmarked by my watchful eye, I can assure you. I look upon Kreuznach as in some sort my private property. I always do when I have been to any place often, and feel at home in it.'

'And how often have you been here ?'

'This is our third year.'

'And how long shall you stay?'

'About three months, I suppose. Mamma has a good constitution and can stand the "long cure ;" and it sets her up for the rest of the year.'

'And you can endure it, Miss Bellew? coming here year after year for nearly the whole summer?'

'Endure it? Why I am very happy here. I think it is a charming place, don't you?'

'I think it is the most deadly-lively spot in which it was ever my ill-luck to be buried alive.'

'Indeed! but of course,' apologetically,' if you come for your health

'Come for my health!' echoed Miss Cornish, in the indignant tone of one who repudiates a cruel and unjust suspicion. 'No thank you—not that.'

'You speak as if I had accused you of a crime,' answered her companion, with amusement in her voice. It is no sin to be ill, I suppose? though I am glad for your own sake that you are not.'

Miss Cornish waived the point. In her heart of hearts she had the utmost contempt for invalids; she

looked upon them as cumberers of the ground. She believed (or she thought she did) that we must all die some day-but as to being ill or in trouble!

'We are here for my little sister's health,' she answered carelessly. She has got hip-disease, the doctors say, and one of them persuaded mamma that the baths here would do her good. So what do we do but leave London in the very middle of the season, and come trailing off here at only a week or two's notice? Mamma and I have brought no maid, and the child has got a new nursery-governess, who is a fine lady. Such a journey as we had of it! Mamma, Emmie, and the governess were all as ill as they could be during the crossing, and I had to wait on them, show the tickets, change the money, find places in the train and everything. It has been just as bad ever since. The governess has never been abroad before, and is all astray on a foreign railway, besides knowing next to nothing of the languages. Such incapable people ought to stop at home.'

'I think I must know her by sight. Is she not tall and pale, and dressed in deep mourning; and the little girl with her, in Miss Bellew hesitated.

'In irons,' said the sister cheerfully. 'Yes, that's Emmie and the governess.'

'But she does not look incapable. I have noticed several times how devoted she seems to the little girl.'

'Oh, yes, she's always fussing after her, and making Emmie more self-conscious than she is already.

Mamma likes it, but I think it's a great mistake. Oh! there is mamma, just crossing the road. She always hates walking along the terrace alone, when the chairs are crowded, so we'll go and support her.' And Miss Cornish, who did not hate walking along the terrace when crowded, rose to meet her more sensitive parent.

She was a girl who, without any actual beauty of either feature or expression, could not fail to be noticed and admired wherever she went.

She was very tall, but slightly made, with a straight back, a short waist, and a general air of being 'well set up.' She had one noticeable characteristic, a graceful walk, a gift among women as rare as it is enviable. She was aware of it, and was fond of promenading in public places. As to her face, she was fair-haired and fair-skinned, with rather prominent light blue eyes, and an average set of features. There was a curious sort of expression about the corners of her mouth and nose—not an agreeable one, and yet not absolutely a sneer. Some one had once remarked that she always looked as if she were just going to sneeze, and I think that I cannot describe the peculiarity better. Her dress was of sky-blue merino, well-fitting, and much 'tied back,' and it became her.

Such was Lydia Cornish.

Her companion, Ella Bellew, was small, rather dark, and not well-dressed. She even appeared insignificantlooking by the side of her more showy acquaintance; but her face, though irregular in feature, was pleasing,