distinctly necessary.

The lateness of the hour together with the influx of visitors, owing to the London season being then in full swing, made the search a difficult one; they were about to give up its continuance and go to an hotel, when the cabman good-naturedly proposed making one more attempt, and drove down a fresh street. Stopping at a baker's shop on the way, he invited the assistance of those serving, as it was growing too dark to discern the cards of advertisement.

They directed him to a private house in a street adjoining, but added: 'The chances are they are let; still you might just as well try, as Mrs Griffiths has a yearly lodger who allows her to sublet sometimes; perhaps he is away now.'

'Shall we chance it, ma'am?' inquired the cabman.

'Do; I am so weary. She may be able to give us a corner for the night at least.'

When they reached the house, Mrs Griffiths—late cook in a nobleman's family, who had married the footman—appeared, and in answer to the appeal, asked hesitatingly: 'For how long?'

'We should take them for a week of course,' said the lady.

'I cannot let for so long,' she replied, after a brief calculation; 'but I can accommodate you for a couple of days, if you please; that will give you time to find other rooms.'

'Thank you very much,' said the wearied traveller gratefully, as she followed the landlady into a good-sized room on the right of the entrance-hall, and begged for lights and tea as soon as Mrs Griffiths could make it convenient to send them.

'How very fortunate we are to have found a night's lodging,' she said to the lad, who now joined her. 'I think I see an easy-chair in that corner; what a comfort!' and she sat down to rest, removing some of her heavy wraps as she spoke. 'Now at least we shall have breathing-time to consider what is best to be done after your examinations are over. I can go in search of rooms to-morrow while you are at them. I wish she would hasten with the light and tea; this darkness is oppressive. Where are you, Fred?'

'Here,' he replied, from the opposite side of the room. 'Can I do anything for you? I've seen to the luggage and paid the cabman, and now am quite ready to do justice to some tea.'

They were soon put out of their discomfort by the entrance of the landlady, bearing a handsome lamp which gave a brilliant light.

'I've brought you my gentleman's lamp, ma'am; he is away just now; that is why I have been able to accommodate you; for he's most obliging, and don't mind my letting his rooms—this one and the one inside behind the folding-doors, together with the one I have given the young gentleman up-stairs, which belongs to his man-servant. May I ask what name, ma'am?'

'Mrs Arlington; and the young gentleman is my son.'

Mrs Griffiths glanced at the tall elegant woman in widow's weeds, and thought to herself: 'She looks more fit to be his sister than his mother; and is a sweet-looking lady anyway, whoever she is;' and she was glad she had taken her in and her son, if such he were. And then she bustled out of the room to prepare their meal.

As soon as they were alone, Mrs Arlington gazed around the room indifferently. It was of the usual stamp of lodging-house apartment, furnished according to the taste and means of those who take to letting for a livelihood. A dismal horse-hair suite were the chief articles of furniture, supplemented by others which stood out in contrast against the horse-hair background—a good piano, an harmonium, a bookcase with glass doors filled with a choice selection of the best works, and an easel. On the walls hung several good paintings, one of which was the portrait of a beautiful young girl.

'Some artist must live here, I imagine,' said the lad, as he went from picture to picture examining them, finally stopping before the portrait of the young girl, that hung immediately over the chair in which Mrs Arlington sat.

'I daresay,' she replied weariedly, as though it were a speculation which could not possibly concern her; and too glad of repose to be roused to any sense of curiosity upon the subject.

'Just look at this, mother; it is so pretty.'

'I cannot, Fred; I am too exhausted to turn round. I cannot possibly think of or look at any thing until I have had a cup of tea.—Ah! here it comes. Go and pour it out for me, and never mind the picture. But I forget. I am unfeeling and unnatural to tell you not to mind, for you are just at an age when young girls are beginning to possess a powerful attraction for you; but you must put the pleasing delusions out of your head until you have passed your examination for Sandhurst; that is the move-in-chief towards which all your energies must now be directed. I long to see your poor father's wishes fulfilled; and shall not feel quite contented until you are gazetted into the army; then my trust will have been accomplished. How many years is it now, Fred, since you first became my child?'

'Ten.'

'Yes; you were a little fellow when I first took you in hand as your governess, and you learnt to love me so well that your father asked me to be your mother.'

'Was that why you married him?' inquired the lad, as he brought her a cup of tea. 'Didn't you care for him for his own sake? You always seemed to.'

'Yes, since you could observe; but not at first, Fred—not at first. I had no heart for any one or anything just at that time but mayhap for a little child like yourself, who was motherless and needed tenderness. It was just such an uncared-for flower which alone could have saved me then, for I had gone through a bitter sorrow, born of my own caprice and foolishness; and through it I lost what could never be mine again. I must have died of despair, had I not set myself the task of working out my wrong-doing in atonement, if not to the person—that was impossible—at least to some one of God's creatures who might need me; and it was at that very time I took up the paper containing your father's advertisement for a governess. It served me for a suggestion and a field wherein I might find that for which I sought. I had never been a governess; but I determined to become one, notwithstanding the opposition of my family, who could not comprehend, and strongly disapproved of my taking such a step; but I carried my point through our doctor telling my mother she was wrong to oppose me, as my mind needed distraction after all I had gone through; and that my choice, so far from being reproved, ought rather to be commended, since I had preferred it to the injurious remedy of a round of amusements, so invariably prescribed for distraught spirits; which need instead the healthy medicine of some reasonable duty to restore them to their former mental composure. Thus I became free to answer your poor father's advertisement, and was accepted by him for the post, oddly enough. And that is how I became your mother, Fred. I have tried to fulfil my trust; perhaps that has atoned.'

'Atoned for what?'

'Ah, never mind! I was only a young girl then, vain and imperious, because I found I possessed a most dangerous power—the power of making whom I would love me—a precious gift, which I did not know how to value rightly until—— But never mind. I hate recalling by-gones. Life is such a perpetual stumbling up hill with most of us, it is no use retarding our journey by useless retrospection; so when I am inclined to indulge in vain regrets, I always think of that heart-stirring line of the poet's, "Act, act in the living present;" and therefore, Fred, please to cut me another slice of bread and butter and give me another cup of tea, my child;' and she laughed at the application she had given to her words, which was commonplace enough to destroy all their poetry.

The way in which the boy watched and waited on her, and the look of quiet amusement and interest on his face as she spoke, shewed how thoroughly she had won his heart, and was indeed his mother, sister, friend, all in one.