the Signor’s hand heavy with meaning on his arm, answered with tremulous excitement, “Yes---- I saw it. It is terrible, terrible! a desecration. To think she should have to put up with _that_ even for a day!” “I wonder what will be the issue,” said the Signor, meditatively. “Her heart is not in her work now. If she becomes an artist, it will be against her will--Art is not what she is thinking of. I wonder what will come of it. Will she feel the hollowness of this world and throw herself into her profession, or will she----” “Master,” said the young musician, fervently, “sooner or later she will turn to me. It is not possible that a man could love a young lady as I do, and have an ’ome to offer her, as I have----” Purcell was educated--he did not forget his h’s in general; but how many people are there who, beguiled by that familiar phrase, forget all precautions, and plunge recklessly into the pitfall of an ’ome! “You think so?” said the Signor. He did not himself put any confidence in this result, and was even surprised, after his recent experience, that the young man should be sanguine; but still, after all, who ought to have such true intuitions as the hero himself? and there is no telling what perseverance mingled with enthusiasm may do. The Signor was not satisfied with his pupil. She would not devote herself to her work as he wished. She had no abstract devotion to art, as art. The Signor felt, musing over it, that it was possible she might take to it more warmly if by any chance she became Purcell’s wife. John was a very good fellow, and when he was disappointed, the Signor was very angry with Lottie; but, still, he thought it probable that Lottie, if she married him, would not find much to satisfy her in Purcell, and, therefore, would be driven to art. And of all results that could be attained, was not this the best? In the meantime, however, he was very doubtful whether by this means it ever would be attained. “Yes, master,” said the young man; “how can I help thinking so? I can give her, if not very much, at least independence and the comforts of an ’ome. She would not be dragged down by anything about me. My mother’s position may be doubtful,” he said, with passing embarrassment; “but you have been so good, you have never made her like a common servant, and at Sturminster nobody need ever know.” “Your mother has been very good, and done a great deal for you; you must never let anyone ignore your mother.” “Certainly not,” said the young man. “She _is_ my mother; that ought to be enough for anybody. And I shall have her come to see me the same as if she were a duchess; but, still, there is no need of publishing to everybody what she is when she is at home.” “That is true, that is true,” said the Signor. “Then you really think there is a chance that this is how it will end?”