SE The tears gathered in Lucinda's eyes; and she said no more. Like all people who have a good and tender heart, ingratitude appeared to her to be one of the very worst of sins. Well, not to make a short story long, | for it with his life. For goodness' sake' Lucinda Gay's abode at Milthorp Lodge don't you turn flighty, Cindy, and follow grew into a permanency. Little by little his example." also, the work grew upon her. From having at first been required to help only in light duties, she found herself at last to all intents and purposes a servant: kept from morning till night at hard work. This was the effect of necessity, more than of actual wish or intention on Mrs. Munro's part. The servants got worse and worse, each succeeding one that came in turned out to be more incapable than her predecessor; and who was there but Lucinda to fall back upon? By the time the girl had been there a few months, she seemed to have settled down to this hopeless life of slaving in the kitchen and waiting upon others. Elizabeth and Laura playfully called her Cinderella: when in a very good humor with her, Cindy. 66 Once, and once only, the girl remonstrated with Mrs. Munro. "I don't like the life, aunt," she said: "I never expected to have to do such things. Don't you think you could let me go out somewhere?" So from that day she settled down to her lot, resigned outwardly if not inwardly. All the spare moments she could snatch from her duties were spent in her own room, drawing in private. Elizabeth and Laura went out to fêtes and dances and entertainments. Poor Lucinda was never asked to go with them; she had no toilette for it: and if at times a longing for a little change came over her spirit, a sense of neglect that somehow did not seem right, she shut herself in with her paper and pencils and forgot the slight. And thus things went on for about a twelvemonth from the time of the girl's first arrival at Milthorp. Day by day she seemed to be separated more and more from her cousins; between her condition and theirs a greater and greater barrier grew. Lucinda would sometimes ask herself whether things were to go on thus "not forever. "What to do?" asked Mrs. Munro. "As servant?" "Oh, no — blushing painfully as servant." "But you could not be a governess. You have no accomplishments.' "I fancy sometimes that I could make money by my drawings, aunt. No one in the school could draw as I did." " Draw! school!" repeated Mrs. Munro. "You did not learn drawing at school. You did not learn any superfluous thing of that kind that had to be paid for." "Yes, I did. It happened in this way, aunt. I used to copy the girls' drawings out of school; it was all my pastime; and one day the master saw some that I had done, and he asked to speak to me. Then he told Mrs. Cheshunt I had so decided a talent for the art he would like to give me lessons for nothing, that I might do him credit. After that, I always went in with the rest. Do you know what he said when I left, aunt?" "What did he say?" "That I might rise to have a name in the world of art if I practised diligently." "And how in the world would you live while you practised it, Cindy?" demanded Mrs. Munro. Cindy looked distressed. "My dear, don't you be ungrateful. Remember your poor father. He took up flighty notions and schemes—and he paid VOL. XVI. 823 LIVING AGE. II. IT had been a long, hot, July day. The sun had gone down in a blaze of glory; a soft purple haze lay low in the valleys. All the doors and windows of Milthorp Lodge were thrown open to catch the grateful cool of the evening. In the large, oldfashioned porch sat Elizabeth with a book: Laura lay back on the sofa indoors, fanning herself languidly. Cindy, in the kitchen, had just finished washing up and putting away the teathings. Just now they enjoyed the services of a particularly incapable helpmate, who impeded work, rather than did it; and all the labor fell on Cindy. For many months now Mrs. Munro had not attempted to keep more than one servant: her niece filled the place of the second. Cindy took off her large apron, went out of doors, and ventured to seat herself on a garden bench under the wall behind the porch. She possessed this one peculiarity though they did call her Cinderella: that she was always nice and neat. Her dresses were of the cheapest materials cottons, thin stuffs: but somehow she kept them fresh and well. Not a spot was on her naturally delicate hands this evening as she sat down; not a hair out of place on her pretty head. "Is it William Allardeen the painter, aunt, that you are speaking of?" "To be sure it is, child." The small iron gate, hidden by the trees | turned to them, all eagerness and exciteand shrubbery, was heard to open and ment. footsteps to approach: and the postman came into view with his bundle of letters. "Well, I never! "exclaimed Mrs. Munro, seeing him from the window. "What can the man be coming here so late for? Postman," she added, walking forth to the porch, "what brings you here at this time of night?" "An accident to a goods train, which blocked up the line, ma'am," replied the man, as he detached a letter from his bundle and handed it to her. "It has delayed the delivery several hours." She sat down at the entrance of the porch, nearest the light, put on her spectacles, and opened her letter. It appeared to be rather a short one, and Mrs. Munro read it twice over. "I'm sure I don't know what to say about it!" she exclaimed, in self-soliloquy. "I should like it well enough: but-I hardly know." Elizabeth Munro, apathetical as usual, went on reading, showing no curiosity. Laura came out, twirling her fan. "Who is your letter from, mamma?" "Why, from Emma Allardeen. She says her brother wants a spell of country air, after his recent illness, and she was so happy here during her week's visit to us two years ago, that she ventures to hope we will receive him. And here's a little twisted note inside from himself, asking if I will be bothered with him for a month or two." "I should let him come," observed Laura- who had a faint recollection of an exceedingly good-looking and attractive man in young Allardeen, and was ever open to the prospect of a flirtation. "But think of the trouble!" cried Elizabeth, too strong-minded to have latent views of lovers. "It would be quite a restraint to have to entertain a sick man for two months!" "I don't suppose he is ill now, Lizzie," observed her mother. "What I think of, girls, is the extra work it would entail. And of all wretched, incapable creatures, that Susan who is with us now is the worst!" "Stuff!" said Laura, slightingly. "There's Cinderella." "What do you think, Cindy, dear?" cried Mrs. Munro, in a soft, coaxing tone. "Would you mind a little more trouble for a short while? What is the matter, Lucinda?" The young girl had her speaking face "Oh, but he is a great man; a true artist. I went to see one or two of his paintings once; they were in a collection of pictures that was being exhibited. The school all went. Aunt Munro, I would not mind what work I did for him; I'd never think of the trouble." "That's all right, Cindy: I thought you'd be reasonable. Girls, I shall write my answer to-night, and tell him to come." And in the course of a few days he did come, this William Allardeen. A handsome, manly-looking fellow, in spite of his recent illness, of some thirty years. Wellborn and well-bred, he had some blue blood in his veins. And he had something better - a good, honest heart. He was not an amateur he painted for money. Perhaps it would be better to say he painted for love-love of the art and sold his pictures afterwards. Being entirely independent as to fortune, he could afford time to do good work, and to do it well. Full of all beautiful enthusiasms, with an eye that was quick to see, an ear to hear, and a heart to feel whatever was best worth seeing and hearing and feeling, was it any wonder that he was sweet-tempered and charming, and that he brought into the house a glow brighter than that of the summer sunshine? Was it strange that, ere he had been at Milthorp Lodge a week, there should be fluttering in the dove-cote? Laura Munro was beautiful, and she knew it, and meant to make the most of it. Beautiful with mere physical beautythe beauty of roundness and coloring, of pink and white skin, blue eyes and golden hair. She was not going to marry a small Milthorp landowner, to superintend his dairy, attend to her own babies, vegetate within the prosy doors of her dull home from the first of January to the thirty-first of December, and have a new silk gown once a year. not she. She was waiting for the prince to come and array her in satins and laces and jewels. But she was not so foolish as to say this, even in whispers; and to all appearance she was sweet simplicity itself, guileless and unsophisticated as a child. For she thought the prince had come in the guise of William Allardeen. As for Cindy, we have seen what her ambition was - to become an artist. Not Mr. Allardeen laughed outright. The very simplicity of the request amused him. Genuine to the backbone himself, he never could suspect artfulness in others. that the ambition had taken any very tan- | You should see my ridiculous efforts. gible form as yet. Fortune had given Maybe," she went on, naively, dropping this girl, who had never seen more than her eyelids till the long lashes swept her two or three really fine pictures in her life, cheeks, "maybe I could appreciate your whose knowledge of the miracles of art work better if I should try my hand at it was confined to a few engravings and pho- as you could teach me, and learn some of tographs, an instinctive love of form and its difficulties." color, and a burning eagerness to reproduce them. The creative instinct was strong within her. She drew at first, as the birds sing, from pure love, with no thought of what might come of it. Up stairs in her own room there was one bureau drawer filled with pieces. Cardboard, drawing-paper, and what not, were covered with pencillings, outlines — hints of the glowing life of the girl's heart and brain. There were crude attempts at color, too; here a flower, there a spray of grasses; now a child's face, and then a Bird with folded wings. There were glimpses of sunset skies; and there was one stretch of blue sea, with a lone ship fading in the distance. The coming of Mr. Allardeen to the house was a great event for this inexperienced girl. How good-looking he was! how noble ! and what a pleasant expression sat on his face! As yet Lucinda had not spoken to him. On account of Susan's incapacity, she had to cook a great part of the dinner herself, send in the breakfast and the lunch—and, of course, as Mrs. Munro said to her, she could not be dressed to sit down with them. 66 My little niece, who is here to help the servants," Mrs. Munro carelessly said to her guest one day, when Cindy was seen in the garden picking gooseberries for des"You knew, when you were a boy, that poor, mistaken Philip Gay, who threw up his business to go out after gold, and died. That's his daughter. She has not a farthing in the world, and I give her a sert. home." "Very well, Miss Laura. It is a bargain. In return, you shall be my guide to all that is beautiful and picturesque in this wild region." "Oh, thank you," she cried. "I have been longing to show you some lovely scenery ever since you came, but feared you would think me intrusive if I offered. There is a beautiful spot a mile off, called the Sunset Beacon: if you like, Mr. Allardeen, we will go there this evening." Poor Cindy! For the first time in her life she felt envy: she envied Elizabeth and Laura. This new hero of theirs was no less a hero to her. As for loving him, she would as soon have thought of loving a star, or the sun itself, so far did he seem removed from her. But this man was the embodiment of all her dreams. He did with easy, careless grace the ease and grace of a god, it seemed to her the very things that she longed to do. He conceived and executed those magnificent pictures that the world talked of and gazed at. He lived in the ideal life that she longed for and dreamt of. It was hard to be making tarts for dinner, while Laura, in the prettiest of morning dresses, wandered over the hills, or sought out fairy nooks with her new drawing-master. - One day Lucinda was bending over the stewpan on the fire, stirring a custard slowly round, and trying to recall the blithe content of her school-days, when Mr. Allardeen paused outside the open window, and glanced in. He stood in the shadow of the climbing honeysuckle, that made the window like a lovely picture in a green frame. Lucinda's cheeks were flushed, her hair lay back from her forehead, in her soft grey eyes there sat a troubled light, and she seemed thoroughly uncomfortable. "It is very warm to-day, Miss Cinderella.” Cinderella! Even he, then, recognized her low position, and could give her no better name than this mocking one. The flush on her cheeks deepened to crimson; her eyelids were lowered to hide the tears in her eyes. "Where's Susan? I should think she might be over that hot fire, instead of you." "Susan's in the back garden, picking the peas for dinner. My aunt tried to teach her to cook, but Susan could not learn. I caught it up directly," she said. "And therefore you have to do it. I wish you could come into the garden and sit in those shady glades instead. That would be better, would it not, Miss Cinderella?" "Oh, yes. But " - his tone was so unmistakably kind, so sympathizing, that she took courage to finish the sentence she had begun "why do you call me Cinderella?" Mr. Allardeen paused in surprise. "Is not Cinderella your name?" She lifted the stewpan off the fire, for the custard was completed, and turned her tearful eyes on him, shaking her head. "Your aunt and cousins call you Cinderella and and Cindy. I never supposed it was not your name.' "As I am here amidst the cooking and the saucepans they call me so. My name is Lucinda." "What an awful shame!" thought Mr. Allardeen again. "And what beautiful eyes! just like poor Gay's. I remember his." "Well, you must pardon me for the error I fell into, Miss Lucinda. I am very sorry." "It would not have mattered. Only I I thought you did it to mock me." "Mock you! No, I should certainly not do that. I hope I should not mock any one, least of all you. Do you know that I was well acquainted with your father?" Oh, were you!" she answered, her eyes smiling brightly through her wet eyelashes. "If he had but lived!" "Ah! - if he had but lived! You would not be doing what you are doing. Do you never come out in the garden for relief say at the cool of the evening?" "I used to: but just now there's a great deal to do. Sometimes after dusk I can snatch a few minutes there." "Because I was thinking that if you did come I might have told you many little things about your father. He was my good friend when I was a boy." "How I should like it! Yes, perhaps some evening I may be able to come out and listen to you." "I hope you will. He was my friend; and I should like, if I may, to be yours. He, the man, was kind to me, the lad; I, a man now, would serve his child." Mr. Allardeen lifted his hat, and walked away. He began to think he might be hindering her. What a terrible shame it was that so gentle, delicate a girl should have to spend her days at this rough, unfit work!" he thought. "If poor Philip Gay, who was essentially a gentleman, and had loved to smooth the path of all around him, could but rise from his grave and witness it! And for them to call her Cinderella!" From that day Mr. Allardeen sought opportunities to speak to the girl: many a time did he halt, as now, outside the open kitchen window, which looked to the side of the house and the more retired part of the garden. Once or twice he had found her outside at dusk, and they had paced the shrubbery together for five minutes, talking of her late father. The appellation, Cinderella, had grown into a jest between them: and she had not the least objection now to hear it from his lips: liked it, in fact. One morning at breakfast an expedition was proposed to Darley Wood, a welcome place of sweet shade at a mile or two's distance. The Miss Palmers (neighbors' daughters) and their brothers would go with them; and Mr. Allardeen would take his sketch-book. Sandwiches and biscuits would supply the place of lunch, and they could stay out all day if they chose. Presently Mr. Allardeen took the broad path that led past the kitchen, and halted at the open window. "Cinderella," said he, in a low, pleasant, laughing tone as he lingered over the word, and leaned his head in to see her cutting bread-and-butter for the sandwiches, in her fresh and pretty cotton dress, with the blue bow at her neck. "We are not go ing to the prince's ball, but we are going to spend the day in Darley Wood. Those cool, green, silent shades will be delightful in such heat as this. Can you not go with us?" Ah, if she could! she longed for it unutterably. Mr. Allardeen did not see the hot tears that sprung to her eyes, for she turned round to conceal them. "Thank you: I wish I could," she answered quietly. "It will be more agreeable there than in No, thank you; it would be of no use. I could not go to-day." Well, I should have thought this would be an excellent opportunity, with all of us away; there will be no meals to prepare." Lucinda shook her head. "Indeed it is not convenient to-day," she said with a smile. "Some other time, perhaps." Why should she tell him that there was the day's regular work to do, and that Susan was so useless? That there were also raspberries to be picked over and preserved and a cake and tarts to make, and the late dinner to be prepared? What could he understand about it? The worst of it was these things had never seemed so burdensome to her before, never so distasteful. The cool, fresh green of the woods and valleys, and to watch him sketching-oh, what a contrast! Wishing her good morning, Mr. Allardeen turned away. As soon as he was out of sight she sat down and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Cinderella! Yes; But she was only Cinderella, and never would be anything else. She had not a cross stepmother; she had no cruel sisters. her aunt kept her to this lowering work; and her cousins danced and dressed, and could spend their hot days in the green dells in idleness, Mr. Allardeen their companion. Alas! she had no fairy godmother to come to her rescue as the other Cinderella had. Drying her eyes, she went on with her work. Setting to with a will Lucinda got it done quickly, so as to obtain an hour in the afternoon for herself. Once amid her little paintings and sketches, she was happy. She would have been quite happy if she might but have shared in the benefit of Mr. Allardeen's instruction, as Laura daily did. Bnt of course it was not to be thought of. He knew nothing about her being able to draw: and she would have had no time to take his instructions, had he been willing to give them. As to these lessons of Laura's, all the house felt some curiosity in regard to them. Elizabeth openly declared that at school Laura had displayed no more talent for drawing than she herself did for music: and, as everybody knew, Elizabeth did not know one note from another: and Lucinda did think it queer that a talent should be developed suddenly and spontaneously. At school Laura could not draw a map, or the simplest figure in geometry: at music she was clever. Laura took her lessons from Mr. Allardeen in quite an unusual manner. She would not, and did not, draw before him; she was too shy; but she watched him draw sketches himself and listened as be showed her how she should touch this, fill in that. Every third or fourth morning Laura would come into his sitting-room with her carefully locked portfolio, unlock it, and take out a sketch for his inspection that she had just completed. Over and over again Mr. Allardeen expressed himself astonished at the undoubted talent displayed: and would praise it highly, while Laura listened with shy, downcast eyes, and the softest blush on her whiterose cheeks. "I cannot understand it, Laura," he more than once observed. "Talent-nay, I may say genius, for it is nothing less such as you display, ought to have found its vent earlier. When I was a little lad I used to do crude things with my pencil could not help doing them; and I should have expected you to do the same. True genius cannot be kept in." "I was not well-taught and I grew discouraged," murmured Laura. "But for you, I might never have found it out." He shook his head, unconvinced. As he said, he could not understand it. "It is a singular thing, this new talent of Laura's for drawing!" observed Elizabeth one afternoon that she had bade Lucinda come to her room and give her hear a brush. "She never had a talent for anything, except making the most of her beauty and dressing herself to advantage. Take care, Cindy, you are hurting me." "Have you seen her sketches?" asked Cindy. "I wish she would show them to me! she knows how I delight in seeing good drawings." "Not I. She won't show them to anybody. It's all put on, her modesty: just to look well in William Allardeen's eyes. But he does praise her work, and no mistake: he says it is wonderful, admirable. There, that will do, Cindy: you've brushed long enough. And now get my peach muslin, and try and pull out the bows a bit." The weeks went on. A grand picnic was organized for a distance; some twenty people to share in it. Preparations were made in the shape of good dishes, Mrs. Munro's share of them being chiefly performed by Lucinda: the day arrived, and they started an hour after breakfast. Mr. Allardeen had ventured to say something |