'O, Is that you, Patty? Come in!' The words are few, but they are uttered in a low clear tone that makes one wish to hear more; for the speaker is possessed of that rarest of good gifts-a melodious voice.

The permission to enter is eagerly accepted. The door of the 'second-floor front' is opened in haste, and a ruddy-cheeked broadshouldered woman enters, saying,

'You must have thought I was never coming back, miss. Please forgive me for being so late; indeed I could not help it.'

'Dear Patty, if you only knew how glad I am to see your welcome face again! Watching and waiting are dreary work.'

There is pathos in the melodious voice now, and Olga Layton's dark blue eyes fill with tears. She moves towards Patty as she speaks, and takes the maid's rough hands in her own, clasping them gently, gratefully. Patty has proved herself that rarest of treasures-a friend VOL. XXVII.

in need. And Olga, who has found few friends of any kind, appreciates this warm-hearted exception to the rule of general selfish indifference. The girls present a wondrous contrast as they stand facing one another, hand in hand. Olga Layton is tall and slender; her perfectlyshaped head is crowned and wreathed with masses of soft fair hair, and is set on a long white throat. Dark-blue eyes, sad, wistful, and loving, illumine a face that must be admired for its rare beauty of outline, while it interests by its pathetic expression. Fair, refined, and stately is Olga; red-haired, red-complexioned, short, square, and coarse is Patty; and yet a strong bond of friendship unites. mistress and maid. The latter would be positively ugly were it not for the expression of kindliness and good temper which her face always wears, and which, when it broadens into a bright smile, exposes a set of beautiful teeth. Good looks are capital letters of

00

introduction; but there is a certain kind of healthy happy ugliness which also strongly recommends itself to the experienced observer. This is decidedly Patty's case; and in speaking of her, people more frequently described her as 'jolly' than as 'hideous.'

'I really began to fear you were lost, or that something had happened to you, Patty dear,' says Olga, relinquishing the maid's hands, and commencing to put away the work materials scattered over the small deal table which stands in the centre of the sparselyfurnished apartment.

'Thought I was lost, did you, miss?' says Patty, laughing. 'Well, now that is a good joke! No, I'm not of the losing sort, as you might know by this time; but I really have been that busy, I've never found a minute to spare, not even to run round and see 'ow you was getting on, deary. I've had a fresh job at them Jews' house in Sloanestreet, and that's took me from seven in the morning till eleven at night; but they pays me-they does that. 'Tain't much, and 'tain't handed over willing-like; but I gets it if I say I sha'n't come the next morning unless I has my pay overnight. They know I can work; so they've found I'm a cheap sort in the end, and we jog along pretty tolerable together. To-day I struck, and went off at six, because I did want to come and see after you so bad.'

'I am so glad, Patty. It is a comfort to me to hear of these odd jobs, because I think while you get them there is not so much chance of your taking a regular situation, and perhaps leaving us altogether.'

'Leave you, miss? Well, now I do think you might know me better by this time. Didn't I follow you from Waterford to Westminster? and didn't I set up in a

hattic for myself when I found you wouldn't keep a servant no longer?' 'Couldn't, Patty, not wouldn't,' is Olga's amendment.

'But I didn't want no wages, miss; and as for my meals-why, I'd have earned them at odd jobs, just as I do now; and if I'd been let to sleep in your place, I'd at least have had the comfort of knowing that I was on the spot, and could look after you when that wicked drunken old-'

'Hush, Patty!' says Miss Layton decisively, and she draws herself up with a quiet dignity that shows how well able she is to make herself and her position respected.

'No offence, miss, I'm sure; and I ask your pardon,' says Patty, with evident contrition. But 0, do tell me 'ow has he been goin' on these last three days?'

Olga's eyes fill with tears. Signs of sorrow come to her more readily than smiles in these hard days. She covers her face with her hands.

'He has gone to the theatre very regularly all this week,' she says; but and she makes a gesture of deprecation.

'But he comes 'ome dhrunk! that's the long and short of it, of course,' suggests Patty, with vehement indignation and consequent brogue. Lor', Miss Olga, what's the use of makin' believe before me? Don't I see it all as plain as the nose on my face? Isn't there a difference in the room every time I come into it? Where's your pretty little clock off the mantelpiece now?'

'Gone!' says Olga.

Patty utters an exclamation of strong displeasure. It is not intelligible, but sounds like 'Drat the beast!' and then she peers eagerly around the room.

And your poor dear ma's own silver teapot?' she adds. D'ye mean to say he's took that round the corner too ?'

Olga bows her head in silence. Remonstrance and deprecation are of no avail, for Patty is fiercely indignant.

It's right-down shameful, that it is!' she says hotly. Just look at the number of things as has bin and gone since you came up to town to look after him better. He wasn't so bad as this away down in Waterford. You had got a pretty little 'ome of your own there; but now it's one thing after another as disappears. There was your piano, and your ma's silver, and her rings, poor dear, and your -O dear me, miss, don't cry! don't cry! I wouldn't have said a thing to hurt you, not for worlds, I wouldn't.'

'I know that, Patty. It is no fault of yours, dear. I was thinking of my darling, my poor darling mother. O, if she were only here! This is the last, the very last of all her treasures. He does not know I have saved this.'

As Olga speaks she takes a wedding-ring from the bosom of her dress, and presses it to her lips. It is, indeed, the last relic of her dead mother; and the girl wears it around her neck secured by a small cord. It is her talisman. No power on earth shall induce her to part with that. Not even the brutal threats and violence of that degraded drunkard whom she calls father.

'O, if I could only get hould of him, the cruel old ruffian!' cries Patty, clenching her fists, and panting with indignation.

'I'll

read him the Riot Act, and teach him a lesson he shall remember. You see if I don't!'

'I don't think scolding is of much use,' says Olga wearily. 'And I don't know what is to be done next. Father is coming home to supper, and he told me to be sure and have a hot steak ready for him, as he has such a hard day.

There are always two performances on Saturdays during the holidays, you know. I don't think there is anything left now that I can either pawn or sell. I have not a penny in the house. My pretty old laces are all gone, and so is some lace that I made myself. What shall I do about his supper?'

She asks the question in a tone of absolute despair. The remembrance of that hot supper has been as the proverbial last straw, and the burden of her trouble seems truly greater than she can bear.

"You'll have to let me lend you my half-a-crown this time; now do'ee, do'ee take it, miss, there's a darlint. Don't be for saying no to poor old Patty.'

I must refuse you, my good generous friend,' says Olga promptly, and she arrests Patty's hand on its way to her pocket. 'No more loans that we can never repay. I am heartily ashamed that we' (Olga cannot bring herself to say he, which would have been more correct) should ever have borrowed money from you, you poor dear. We ought to have starved first.'

'Hoighty, toighty, and moighty too!' cries Patty, laughing aloud. 'Whatever will you say to me next, miss? What's the good of a bit of silver except it's to lend or to spend ?

And I've nobody to

spend it on. And as for them savings-banks, I don't trust one of the lot, that I don't. So just you take this 'alf-a-crown, miss, please; I brought it a purpose like. I guessed how things would be going on here, and that's why I came away afore my time was up.'

'No, Patty; you must not ask me. I will not, I cannot accept your money.'

Olga's tone is resolute. Patty knows it, and ceases to urge her plea; but she looks much discomfited until Olga adds:

'I have a favour to ask you, after all.'

Then brightening at once, the willing maid says:

'I'm so glad; and what is it, miss ?'

There is my plaid shawl; I had forgotten that. It is a good heavy one; just take that, and-'

'No, miss; you must not ask me; I will not, I cannot accept your errand,' cries Patty, imitating her mistress's tone and gesture.

Olga smiles, in spite of herself. 'But you must, Patty,' she says, in a more cheerful tone than she has used before; for if you refuse I shall have to go myself, and I am sure you would like to save me from that.'

'Lor', is there any trouble in all this wide world that I wouldn't be thankful to save you from, my poor darlint pretty misthress ?' pretty misthress ?' cries Patty. But, O deary, do let me persuade you not to part with your last wrap. It's bitter cold out to-night, that it is. It's freezing hard still, and the snow is coming down as fast as ever.'

'That is why I kept the shawl,' says Olga. I thought, if no help came, I must go out and sing in the street again to-night.'

'Did you do that, miss ?' cries Patty, with the emphasis of amazement.

'Yes, once. Only once,' answers Olga, and a look of dreamy happiness changes her face completely. I was most fortunate that night, too. I did not mind a bit. I earned a heap of money, and-'

Patty watches her mistress in speechless surprise. She has not got over the shock of that first revelation yet; but she is so anxious to give vent to another torrent of abuse anent that 'vicious beast,' Michael Layton, that she forgets to inquire into the cause of the happy smile which has chased all

'Why can't Mr. Layton pay for his own supper to-night? Saturday is pay-day all the world over, and he's had his two pun ten, you may be sure of that.'

'Yes, Patty; but he has some little debts to settle; and he promised one of the men at the theatre that he should be paid to-day without fail. And then there is the rent. Father knows we should be turned out if that were not paid at two o'clock every Saturday. So he always brings the money straight away from the treasury to the landlord. He paid him to-day, and I bought father some dinner then; but he will be hungry to-night again, and he cannot go to bed without his supper, poor dear; so you must take the shawl, Patty. It will have to go, sooner or later, and something must be got in for to-morrow. There is no food in the house now.'

'And whose fault is that?' says Patty angrily. He earns two pun ten a week. Where does that go ? Why, it's a little fortune, if it were properly used.'

"You forget the rent, Patty,' says Olga eagerly.

'He has paid that.'

'That is one pound,' answers Patty promptly; and precious

high rent it is too for such poor furnished rooms as these, and up all them stairs. But there's thirty shillings left; where's that gone?'

'I told you, Patty, for his dinner and his debts. Olga speaks sadly, deprecatingly, as before; all external evidence of some pleasant passing thought has left her sorrowful face again.

'Debts!' repeats Patty, in a tone of bitter contempt. 'It's the dhrink, not the debts, that takes his money, every farthing of it. More shame

too; and when you're so good, so patient, and kind to him.'

'No, Patty; I am not patient, and not kind. I cannot be either. I am too much shocked, too much ashamed.'

The proud girl wrings her hands in a passion of grief. There are moments when she feels that her strength of endurance has come to an end, and that the degradation put upon her is greater than she can bear, and live.

'Indeed there are times when I think I cannot stay with him another hour,' she cries, roused to sudden revolt. 'I feel I must run quite away and hide myself, and beg my bread or die. But there, it is only when I am angry and impatient I feel cruel like that,' she adds, turning to Patty with a look of apology. When I remember the last promise I made to my darling mother, I know that I can bear it all-all for her precious sake, and I do try.'

'But she never thought, poor dear lady, what she was asking of you,' says Patty. She did not know what drink brings men to, when they've been at it for years and years.'

'I am thankful she was spared the bitter knowledge,' says Olga earnestly. That she foresaw the evil to come, I cannot doubt; for when she made me promise never to desert poor father, she told me she was sure that he would go to ruin altogether if I did not stay with him.'

'A good job if you'd let him be off,' mutters Patty savagely.

'It is only because I am here,' continues Olga, not heeding the interruption, that he keeps straight at all.

Even such a home as this to come to, with his daughter to wait upon him, is better than leaving him to shift for himself altogether. It is a wonder so wretched a place as this brings him back;

but it does, and I am thankful for that.'

'You're thankful for too little,

miss,'

says Patty impatiently. is it that his home 'Tain't yours, that's

'Whose fault is wretched? very certain. you don't get into quarrels with the rest of the lodgers; you don't pawn every rag and stick in the place for brandy-'

You don't drink ;

'Hush, Patty; pray be quiet,' says Olga earnestly. I hear some one coming up-stairs.'

Patty is silent perforce, but it is sorely against her will. She could hold forth on the subject of Michael Layton's delinquencies for hours. They rankle in her kind heart like poisoned arrows, and the only relief she finds is in voluble abuse of the man whose misconduct drives her to despair for her gentle mistress's sake. The last tones of her furious tirade have scarcely died away when there is a sharp rap at the door.

'Come in,' says Olga, and rising hurriedly she goes to meet the newcomer on the threshold. He is evidently not an unexpected, and certainly a welcome, visitor.

A faint colour steals into Olga's pale face as she extends her hand, and when her eyes meet the searching glance of him who enters, the flush rises and deepens until it becomes a bona fide blush.

'Good-evening, Miss Layton,' says he, in a tone of marked deference; and, as his glance rests upon Patty, he adds ceremoniously, 'I must really apologise for calling upon you so late this evening.'

Patty, whose observant eyes have noted every detail of this formal greeting as eagerly as her ears listened to the inflection of the two constrained voices, turns abruptly on her heel, and busies herself in reviving the dying embers on the sparsely-fed hearth.