The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

denoted. She was really not hurt much, for his blows were light; but the tears gathered in her eyes, as she asked:

      "Do you know why, if you killed me I would not give you the money?"

      "Because you're an obstinate woman," he replied, with hand upraised.

      "Because I want it for medicine, for Sally."

      At this point the door of the room opened, and two persons appeared-a man, certainly wide awake and a very little girl, certainly almost fast asleep, holding on to the skirts of his coat. No sooner did the man pause on the right side of the door, than the child converted "almost" into "quite." With a bit of his coat tightly clasped in her little hand, she closed her eyes and went to sleep, using his leg as a resting place for her head. The one candle which lighted the room showed dimly the form of the man but the child, being exceedingly small, was hidden from the Chesters in the shadows which lay upon the floor.

      The intruder, at a glance, recognised the position of affairs.

      "Don't mind me," he said with a coarse laugh, "this is a free country."

      "What do you want here?" demanded Mr. Chester angrily.

      "You've got a bedroom to let; I made out the bill in the window-"

      "All right, just you wait a bit." He turned to his wife.

      "What's the matter with Sally?"

      "She's took ill again. She fainted dead away again this afternoon, all of a sudden, and Dr. Lyons says she must have strengthening things."

      Utterly forgetting her declaration that if her husband killed her she would not give him the money, Mrs. Chester dragged the fifteen pence out of her pocket, and flinging it upon the table, cried passionately:

      "Take it! and drink the child's life away!"

      "Not quite so bad as that, old woman," he said, in a shame-faced tone, "I've enough to reproach myself with one. Is Sal asleep?"

      His question was answered by the pattering of two little bare feet, and Sally herself appeared from an inner room, which, with the parlour in which this scene was taking place, formed the domestic establishment of the Chester family.

      "No, father, I'm not asleep," cried Sally, as she ran.

      Sally was only five years of age, and was such a mite of a child that she might have been no age at all. Waking suddenly, she had scrambled out of bed on hearing her father's voice.

      "You parcel of bones!" exclaimed Mr. Chester, with rough tenderness, lifting the child in his arms. "What have you been up to again?"

      "I fainted dead away, father!" replied Sally, gleefully; "dead away!"

      The proud tone in which, in her thin shrill voice, she made this evidently familiar statement respecting herself was very remarkable.

      "Why, Sally, you're always at it!"

      "Yes, father," said Sally, with a triumphant laugh.

      "But," said Mr. Chester, "if you go on fainting away like this, Sally, one of these days you'll faint so dead away that you'll never come to again."

      This conveyed no terrors to Sally's mind, for she clapped her bony hands in delight at the idea. She stopped in the midst of her clapping, and struggling out of her father's arms, ran to the sleeping child, and gazed earnestly at the pretty face. Following Sally's movements, Mr. and Mrs. Chester saw for the first time that the man who had intruded upon them was not alone.

      The two children presented a notable contrast. Sally had not a spare ounce of flesh upon her body; the newcomer was plump, and her limbs were well proportioned. Sally was dark and sallow; the newcomer was fair, and despite her weariness, there were roses in her cheeks. Sally's hair was black, and hung straight in lank disorder about her forehead; the newcomer's hair was flaxen, and hung about her forehead in naturally-graceful curls. She was like one of Raphael's angels, fresh from heaven; Sally was like an elf from dark woods.

      Sally gazed upon the sleeping girl in solemn wonder and admiration, and presently put forward one of her fingers and touched the rosy cheek-drawing it quickly back, as though it were a presumptuous thing to do. Again she stretched forth her hand, and played with the flaxen curls. Then, emboldened by success, Sally wetted her forefinger on her tongue, and rubbed it softly up and down over the roses in the sleeping child's face. That, when she looked at her finger after this operation, there was no red upon it, was evidently a puzzle to Sally. Her next proceeding was to take the sleeping child's plump hand in her bony one, and make an examination of the fat little fingers, separating them one by one, and curiously comparing them with her own. While thus employed Sally happened to glance up at the man, and, meeting his eyes, her arm stole round the sleeping child's neck. The next moment Sally was sitting on the floor, nursing the new little girl on her lap.

      Sally had had her dreams, as all children have-bright dreams of flowers, and gardens, and light, and colour, and beautiful shapes-of dolls with pink faces and spangled silk dresses-but never, in her wildest fancies, had she compassed the possession of such a lovely doll as this she now nursed in her lap. She had never seen anything so sweetly exquisite, and she sat in her thin night-dress, poor wan little elf, rocking her new treasure, and fondling it in purest delight.

      Mrs. Chester gazed at the children, and her tender heart began to bleed. That this strange child should be so beautiful, and rosy, and plump, and her child so forlorn-looking, and pale, and thin, smote her with keenest pain.

      "Get up from the cold floor, Sally!" she cried; "you'll catch your death setting there with nothing on!"

      Sally staggered to her feet, with the little stranger in her arms.

      "Mercy take the child!" cried Mrs. Chester, still more crossly. "You'll let her fall! Here, give her to me!"

      But Sally, heavy as her burden was, held her precious possession close to her, and managed to reach the bedroom door, where she stood still awhile.

      Mr. Chester brought affairs to some sort of a climax. He looked at the silver shilling and the few coppers upon the table, and his hand stole slowly towards them; but happening to look over his shoulder at Sally, he swiftly withdrew his hand, and left the money undisturbed. Then he turned abruptly to the stranger.

      "Now, then," said he, "what's your name when you are at home?"

      "When I'm at home I'll tell you," replied the stranger. "Let's come to business. You've got a bedroom to let. What's the rent of it?"

      "Three shillings a week. Respectable references, of course?" inquired Mr. Chester, vaguely.

      "Stuff!" exclaimed the stranger, taking some silver pieces from his pocket. "Here's my reference."

      "Not a bad one," said Mr. Chester, "but I shall require two weeks in advance."

      "Here you are," said the stranger, counting out six shillings into Mr. Chester's hand. "And that's settled."

      "Not so fast; you're a stranger to us, and a man's got to be careful what kind of people he takes into his house. You see, you're not alone. You bring a little girl with you, and we've got one of our own already. Now we don't wish to be left with another on our hands that don't rightly belong to us. Children are no rarity round about in these parts."

      Sally, by this time, had found her burden too heavy for her, and the baby-child, with her golden curls and perfectly beautiful features, was now lying on the ground, and Sally was bending over her.

      Mrs. Chester, who had thrown a thin shawl over Sally, listened to the conversation with interest. She was glad to let her room, but she could not make up her mind as to the character of her new tenant. He was a tall spare man, with thin yellow whiskers and light-grey eyes. His hands were somewhat delicately shaped, and his nails were in good condition, denoting that he was not a common workman, nor one who gained a livelihood by manual labour. His clothes were shabby, and an air of shabby refinement pervaded him. Mrs. Chester was puzzled what to think of him.

      "You don't want to be left with her on your hands?" exclaimed the stranger boisterously. "Not a likely thing that. Why, every hair of the darling's head is as precious to me as-as-" Not being able to find an appropriate simile, he gave it up, and continued-"Look there. Your little girl seems to