The pillow or cushion is of cylindrical form, and tightly stuffed. On this a number of pins are stuck, according to the pattern to be worked. The threads, fastened to small bobbins, are thrown across the cushion and placed round these pins; the threads, traversing from left to right, or _vice versâ_, often weave at once the pattern and the ground. There is a line in one of the Volkslied which runs— “That bobbin lace may prosper ever.” We echo the wish, but fear it will never be realised. FOOTNOTES: [3] Mountains between Saxony and Bohemia. [4] These wives and daughters of the miners had always worked at point lace, but this was a quieter and easier work which Frau Barbara taught them. “NO.” BY MARY E. HULLAH. CHAPTER II. “Do you like this part of London?” asked Horace, by-and-by. Embrance had taken off her bonnet and ulster, and was sitting by the side of the fire. It was one of her characteristics, owing, perhaps, to the need of rest after long hours’ work, that she could remain perfectly still for a considerable length of time. She had no desire to busy herself with fancy work or to twirl her watch-chain; she did not throw herself into picturesque attitudes, but sat with clasped hands, listening to her visitor’s easy flow of conversation. A curl of her dark hair had escaped from the stiff plait, and her lips were parted with a smile. “Not half so alarming as I imagined she would be,” was Horace Meade’s thought, as he pursued his inquiries as to her liking for Bloomsbury, “but why, in the name of all that’s wonderful, does she wear such a frightful garment? It requires beauty to carry off a Cinderella garb of that kind.” “I find it convenient to live here,” explained Embrance, while her visitor’s fancy had soared far away, and was drawing her hair high on the top of her head, putting pearls in her ears, and a mass of crimson roses in the lace round her throat. “She would make a good study for the ‘ugly princess,’” he thought. “I know that you are one of the busy folk,” he said, “Joan has told me about you and your hard work. I only hope—” with a certain kindliness that went straight to her heart—“that you are not overdoing it. Joan ought to look after you.” Just for a second, Embrance’s dark eyes looked up at him with a flash of inquiry: could it be that this polite, soft-voiced man was making fun of Joan and of her? As if ashamed of her suspicion, she replied gently— “It is a great pleasure to me to have Joan’s company; we have been friends for a great many years, ever since we were little schoolgirls.” “And you helped her with her sums after hours,” said Horace, twisting the end of his moustache. “I have heard a great deal about you and your doings, Miss Clemon, but seriously, I should be glad to talk to you about my cousin, if you will let me.”