Year: 1871

NOTHING to eat-nothing, absolute
| ly nothing. Not a moreel Of bread,
nor a cup of milk, nor a bone, nor a
potato Not a penny to buy anything
with, and not a thing to sell that any
one would buyl She might as well
have been upon desert island-one
where, unlike the desert island of the
novels, there are no delicious wild
fowl and no delicious edible roots to
be had for the shooting and picking ;
no chest hoated ashore, with carving
knives and forks and grid-irons in
them; no conveniences of all kind
on hand +; and no suddenly-acquired
faculty Of knowing just where to dig
for what you want bestowed upon
the unshipwrecked-a desert island
pure and simple, all rock and sand,
and weary wash Of waters, and moth
ing else.


Yet London is not desert of any
kind, and in the very heart of Lon
don lived Lily Vane.


She had been singer, with good
mezzo-soprano voice, and SO had earn
ed her living; but she had never
been pretty, and had never made a
ta1rore anywhere. Still, she had had
a lover, and true one; and they
would have been married one bright
fundamentally, but that on its eve
he died-dropped at her feet ust as
he had taken her hand in his to say
adieu. Something the matter with
his heart the doctors said.


No one who heard it ever forgot
the scream Lily gave then. With it
her voice went-she never sang again.
After that she taught the piano in an
humble way-bade adieu to her am
bition, as she had to her love, for
everl They were part Of each other.
The laurel-wreath she longed to win
was to have been laid at his feet who
trod earth no longer.


And nov Lily Vane lived alone, as
she had for years. She was poor as
she was plain, and she was no longer
young. Her little savings had been
boarded in bank which proved to be
only a swindler's trap for honest peo-
Piles money. 1t was gone, every
penny of it; and Lily had a fever
and been near deaths door, and SO
had lost her pupils.


And now the autumn had passed,
winter was at hand, and she was
starving.


She was a patient woman suffer
ing had made her so. She was proud.
too, in her quiet way. 1t seemed
easier to die than to beg; and between
herself and beggary. lay just one
thipg-the plain gold ring upon hel
fnger-her mothers wedding ring
that she could not sell; but she might
pawn it. What they would lend he1
! upon the little circle Of gold she did
| not know; nor did she know how
people went about such things-but
She had seen the three golden balls
at the door Of a dingy shop, in
wretched street hard by, and by slow
degrees made up her mind to pass
| under them. So. as the clock struck
twelve, she wrapped herself up in
shawl and hood, and slipped out.


The rain beat down upon her head.
The slush lay ankle-deep along the
pavements. There were few people
abroad. One woman, with a stopping
pitcher of beer in one hand, passed
her; no more, until the light glow
| ins behind the red curtain and the
glinanaer of three golden balls told
her she was at her destination.


The old man sat. smoking beside
the fire; no other customers were
there. The business was soon dis
patched, and the few shiilipgs counted
into Lily's hand, she was turning
away when the door burst open and
iovial face was thrust in, and
loud voice, theyoice of a seafaring maj
used to shouting orders above the
roar of wave and the dash of wind
cried:


Halloa, messmatel am I right fol
the Kensington road? I've lost my
bearing somehow, and don't know
which way TO steer.


"The first turning to the right anc
then straight on" said the pawn
broker, and the man, with " Thanl
ye," plunged outinto the dark again
| A ruddy man, tall and broad of breast
with glancing jet-black eyes, ant
hair that clustered in q mass of ring
! let's about his temples. A smile too
that was all goodness. No false gilt
ter in it, but pure gold.


Lily in the glimpse that she caugh
of him, saw, or thought she saw, tina
he had kind heart, also that he re
sembled her ownFlost lover. A thrill


went through her. half of Joy, hal
of sorrow,s sandyshe followed him ou
of the dismal shop with slow steps


and began to retraee her way to he


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