of the fine arts, visited Paul Grahame's studio for the purpose of seeing his great picture, the fame of which had spread through the whole county. The first glance at the painting seemed almost to startle the nobleman, who uttered a sudden exclamation of pleasure. "A masterpiece, Mr. Grahame!" said the duke, relaxing his stiff courtly manners, and passing his fingers through his silvery hair; "a perfect marvel, young man! No mortal ever possessed half the charms of your Titania. By Jove, sir! your fancy is a dainty one, since it can create so perfect an ideal." 66 My Titania is no fancy-creation," interrupted Paul: “I had a living model for my fairy-queen." "Impossible!" exclaimed the duke; "what delicacywhat sensibility those eyes express-what placid thought rests on the brow; and the lips, like ripe cherries, woo one to kiss them. No-no, Mr. Grahame, again I say-no woman exists who can boast of half your Titania's charms." "Your grace must pardon me," said Paul, smiling; "the original of my fairy-queen lives to shame the efforts of my pencil." "Who is she?" asked the duke, turning to the artist. "Zarina Cardonizzi, the actress." "An Italian singer? No, my lord, an English actress." A strange smile passed over the duke's face as he proceeded : "I'll buy your picture, Mr. Grahame,-name its price! "The painting must first be exhibited in London," said Paul; "she must see it," he added, inwardly; "the world must talk of it, and in her hearing too; she shall see it; I would starve-die-rather than part with the canvas before her eyes have rested on it." "I make no objection to its being exhibited," returned the nobleman : "the picture, therefore, is mine, be it understood, and let Fame set a price upon it. To bind the bargain," continued he, drawing forth a pocket-book, “here is a cheque for two hundred pounds." "Your grace "faltered Paul. "Tut! the paper won't bite you!" said the duke, laughing and thrusting the cheque into the artist's hand. Paul bowed, and, as he took the paper, he gazed regretfully at his Titania. "Where does this divinity reside?" inquired the nobleman, speaking in a tone of apparent indifference. "In London, my lord," replied Paul, frankly. "In London !-humph! finished?" "In two months, my lord." When will the picture be "Did the lady visit Manchester for the purpose of sitting to you for her portrait ?" 66 No, my lord, she was a resident in Manchester for some years, and I-” "Is she a relative of yours?" interrupted the duke, suddenly betraying an eager anxiety of manner. "No-no relative," Paul hesitatingly replied. "She has no relatives?" 66 Nay, my lord, I said not that: she has—" "Father and mother?" "Yes, my lord." "Humph! at what theatre does she act-the Haymarket?" "At present she is attached to Mr. Trenmore's company." Oh, to Trenmore's company! Humph! Rather a good sort of man that Trenmore, I believe," returned the nobleman, in a drawling tone. "I am a better judge of paintings than of acting; but I've heard that Trenmore's wife is a paragon of propriety—I mean, a charming actress." Report does not overrate the lady's abilities," said Paul. The duke then adroitly changed the subject, and, after a rather prolonged interview, departed; and Paul Grahame was left with his brain in a whirl of joy. His picture bought by a noble patron-what visions of future advancement flitted before him! and with a swelling heart, he sat down and wrote to 'Rina of his good fortune-of his hopes. Then, with a somewhat tranquillized mind, he resumed his pencil and worked steadily for some hours. At length a giddiness seized him-he staggered from his easel-and, almost fainting, fell into a chair. There was a gentle tapping at the door, but Paul did not hear it; he had become quite insensible. Presently the door of the studio opened, and Mrs. Godfrey's bonnet protruded itself into the little apartment. 66 Humph!" said she, glancing at Paul in the chair"nice doings, to be sure! sleeping in the middle of the day, instead of painting my scenes. Oh, but I've caught you finely, and I'll give it you well!" proceeded she, waddling into the room. With an exclamation of astonishment, she paused before the picture on the easel. 66 Bless my soul!" cried she, pushing back her bonnet"if here isn't one of Cardonizzi's slips my name isn't Cynthia Godfrey! so, so! instead of attending to my business, for which he gets thirty shillings a-week, he loses his precious time-or more properly speaking, my precious time-in painting the Cardonizzi's twigs. I say, Mr. Grahame!" she exclaimed sharply, turning to Paul and shaking him by the shoulders, "wake up, wake up! you're leaving my flats and wings to take care of themselves, while you paint nood females and naked imps: oh, I'm astonished at your behaviour, and have come to fetch you to your work." A faint sigh was the only answer Mrs. Godfrey received. "Why, Mr. Grahame, you mightn't have closed your eyes for an age you sleep so soundly.-Lud o'mercy; how cold his hand is! why, what's the matter with the man?" Another sigh from Paul, followed by a fit of convulsive shuddering. "Where's the bell?" said Mrs. Godfrey, becoming alarmed and searching the room for the bell-handle. "Drat'em! why do they build houses without bells? There ought to be an act of Parliament forcing folks to have bells in every corner." Going to the landing, she bent over the stair-rail and shouted with all her might "Holloa! holloa!" No response. "Mistress! mistress!" cried Mrs. Godfrey, at the top of her voice, getting excited and very red in the face. Still there came no response. The little woman now grew exasperated; and swore like a trooper over an empty canteen. She was not over-nice in the choice of her expressions at any time; but on this occasion she gave vent to a perfect volley of expletives which, for the reader's sake, and also to preserve the purity of these pages, I will omit detailing. 66 Lud, I'm an ass!" exclaimed she, pausing suddenly for lack of breath; "I'm talking to the walls: however, I'll try once more-somebody must come to me; for I can't manage running up and down these stairs. Hy!" she continued, shaking the banister-"Hy!" Without waiting to listen for an answer to her last call, she trotted back into the room-ascertained that Paul was still insensible-seized the poker-returned to the landing -and commenced a violent assault upon the unoffending stair-rails. Mrs. Godfrey, flourishing the poker, then screamed out: "Help!-murder !-help!" This was followed by a battering at the banister, accompanied by renewed vociferations of fire and murder. At last there were sounds of approaching footsteps, and a tall old woman made her appearance on the stairs below. "Eh, what's the matter?" asked the dame, addressing Mrs. Godfrey. "Oh, you're a nice one to let lodgings!" responded that lady; "here, a man may die for want of help. Do you call this sort of behaviour proper attendance?" 66 'My daughter is out," said the dame, approaching Mrs. Godfrey. "What's the matter?" "Why" "Stop-stop! I can't hear you without my trumpet," said the dame, diving her hand into a capacious pocket, from which she drew forth a large ear-trumpet. Mrs. Godfrey uttered an exclamation of anger. "Grant me patience!" cried Mrs. Godfrey, darting back into Paul's room, the deaf dame following. "Ah! he's in a fit!" said she, disappearing into the next apartment, whence she returned with a bottle of water. "Oh, if I had but known of that room," muttered Mrs. Godfrey. All their efforts to recover Paul proved vain. A doctor was sent for, and the artist was carried to his bed; on which P he lay for many days, suffering and exhausted, while those around him deemed "the tackle of his heart cracked and burned," and watched for the setting of his sun-watched for the coming of that darkness which is--Eternal ! CHAPTER XXIII. Two gentlemen are sitting over their dessert in a large and quaintly-furnished apartment. The elder of the two is our old friend Sir John Craggsbridge, who now lives in his ancestral residence in Park-Lane: he is still a bachelor, and has grown more eccentric than ever. His present companion is his nephew, Geoffrey Hollingsworth, the son of the baronet's widowed sister, lately deceased. The door opens, and the Duke of Lissborough is announced. "Why, Lissborough!" cried Sir John, rising and cordially grasping his visitor's hand; "I am delighted to see you! To what unlooked-for occurrence am I indebted for this unexpected pleasure? Whoever heard of Lissborough visiting London during the shooting season?" "I admit the novelty of the event," returned the nobleman, presenting a finger to Geoffrey Hollingsworth. "But the cause of such an event, my friend ?-I'm all impatient to know the cause." "Tut!" cried the duke, laughing. gagement for this evening?" 66 "Have you any en None," replied Sir John; "sit down. By Jove," he exclaimed suddenly, "I forgot to ask whether you had dined; forgive my remissness. I will "I have dined," said the duke. 'I want you," he resumed, with embarrassment-"I want you to accompany me to see Trenmore act Hamlet. I have secured a stagebox, and my carriage waits at your door. Come-there's |