and Susan could scarcely wait until the servants were out of hearing, to impart their discovery.

"Oh, Leonard! we have found, not Miriam, but a drawing of hers for sale in Sloane-street. There can be no difficulty in tracing her now."

The story, though often interrupted by eager comment and inquiry, was soon told, and if anything could have increased Leonard's impatience to end this time of suspense, it would have been the suspicion of the straits to which Miriam was now reduced. He must find her that very evening, he said, and he would permit no one to share the privilege, but would go alone, and only return when he could bring Miriam with him. His determination prevailed, and, better provided with money for all contingencies than Uncle Ralph had been, he repaired to the curiosity-shop at once.

The evening passed in Charles-street in the anxious expectation which cannot be sustained for any length of time without a reaction; and the hopes with which Susan and Uncle Ralph returned had so completely subsided, that Leonard's entrance alone, and with no intelligence to impart, was scarcely a disappointment.

"I don't know why I am so late," he said, "except that I could not bear to come back. I have been wandering vaguely about since the shop was shut two hours ago. I enclosed ten pounds in a blank envelope instead of writing as I had first thought of doing, since the man looked rather impertinently curious, and I

directed him to give it to Miriam, and ask her address. But I do not trust to his execution of the commission; for I mean to be in Sloane-street by nine to-morrow, to keep guard there until she come."

Leonard was punctual to the hour he named, but he came too late. With a meaning smile, even more offensive than his manner on the foregoing evening, the shopman informed him that the young lady came as soon as the shop was opened, and that she appeared much agitated by his account of the inquiries after her, that she declined to give her address, and after opening the packet left for her, she had re-sealed the envelope, and taken away her drawing.

"I did all in my power to induce her to remain," the man added, "but I did not feel authorized to use forcible means."

"Certainly not," said Leonard, strongly tempted to exercise unauthorized force at that moment by stretching his strong arm across the counter. But resisting the inclination, he left the shop, and opened the envelope in the faint hope of finding some acknowledgment or explanation. There was nothing there but the rejected gift; and crushing up the note in his hand, he retraced his steps to Charles-street with hasty strides, to recount his baffled hopes, and to devise some new plan for tracking the lost ones.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Alas! I have grieved so, I am hard to love.
Yet love me, wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

E. B. BROWNING.

MIRIAM meanwhile had returned to Phillips-terrace, and there was no trace of agitation in her manner when she knocked at the door of the front room, and asked permission to boil her kettle there.

"Surely," said Mrs. Tomkins; "and stay and warm yourself a bit. You look quite perished, and a fire, as the saying is, is better than meat and drink."

"It is a chilly morning," said Miriam, as she cowered down on the rug.

"You ought to have a bit of fire mornings and evenings," continued Mrs. Tomkins, who justified her reputation as a motherly woman, by omitting no opportunity of advising her young lodger. "A hundred of coals will go a long way with a good housekeeper like you."

"I do not feel the cold in general," said Miriam, "but I got chilled this morning."

"And how about the picture, Miss Leigh? Is it disposed of?"

"No, I brought it back with me," said Miriam,

and the answer accounted for her evident intention to stint herself more than before in the very necessaries of life.

"Ah, indeed!" said Mrs. Tomkins compassionately, "it is a sad pity that you make nothing by your painting, such a real genius as you seem to be."

"I must try some other shop," replied Miriam, "and different drawings. Meanwhile I have enough to go on with."

"To go on after a sort, but it is badly enough, as we all know. It went to my heart to take last week's rent, as I told my master when I took in his wash yesterday; and he would not believe that you were so badly off, for he says you never come in without something nice for the poor young man in the ward, jellies, and such things as are not to he had for nothing."

"Mr. Elton said he wanted support," said Miriam, "and though they give him wine, the hospital fare is not so good as he requires. But your husband is quite right, Mrs. Tomkins. I am not yet in absolute need, and before it comes to that I hope to succeed in selling my drawings."

"If I might be so bold," said Mrs. Tomkins, hesitating, for it did require a certain degree of courage to make any proposal likely to offend Miriam's sensitive and shrinking pride, "if I might be so bold, I would offer to take that picture that would not sell. It would

light up the walls, and though it is not much that I can give, four or five shillings may be acceptable."

"It would be very acceptable," said Miriam, "if you are sure that you can afford to buy it."

"Yes, indeed; times are pretty easy with us now, thank God! And now," Mrs. Tomkins added persuasively, as she produced the money, "you don't like to waste the daylight in shopping, so you must let me lay out a shilling for you to the best advantage in a bit of something for your dinner. How ever are you to keep up your heart when you don't eat?"

"I must not be extravagant with my first earnings," said Miriam, smiling faintly; "you may do as you please with sixpence, but I must keep the rest."

She returned to her little room; and cheerless as it was, with its empty grate and scanty furniture, she had carried out in its arrangements the scrupulous neatness which had sometimes provoked strictures on her dress and habits. Her breakfast, consisting of a slice of dry bread, and tea without milk or sugar, was laid out with as much care as if it was to be shared with others, and more luxuriously appointed. But it remained untasted; for a glance at the drawing she had just agreed, to part with, called forth a flood of silent and bitter tears from which she did not quickly recover.

"I ought to be thankful," she thought. "Now that I have four and sixpence between me and starvation, I need not break into my last pound, and I can get some