to either the chemist or his daughter, yet was their relative.  Mr. Smales had had a sister, who at an early age became a public singer, and so far prospered as to gain some little distinction in two or three opera seasons.  Whilst thus engaged, she made the acquaintance of an Italian, Casti by name, fell in love with him, and subsequently followed him to Italy.  Her courage was rewarded, for there she became the singer’s wife.  They travelled for two years, during which time a son was born to them.  The mother’s health failed; she was unable henceforth to travel with her husband, and, after living in Rome for nearly four years, she died there.  The boy was shortly brought back to England by his father, and placed in the care of Mr. Smales, on the understanding that a sum of money should be paid yearly for his support and education.  From that day to the present nothing more had been heard of Signor Casti, and all the care of his sister’s child had fallen upon poor Smales, who was not too well provided with means to support his own small household.  However, he had not failed in the duty, and Julian (his name had been Englished) was still going to school at his uncle’s expense.  It was by this time understood that, on leaving school, he should come into the shop, and there qualify himself for the business of a chemist.

Had it not been for Julian, the back parlour would have seen but little cheerfulness to-night.  Mr. Smales himself was always depressed in mind and ailing in body.  Life had proved too much for him; the burden of the recurring daylight was beyond his strength.  There was plainly no lack of kindliness in his disposition, and this never failed to come strongly into his countenance as often as he looked at Harriet.  She was his only child.  Her mother had died of consumption early in their married life, and it was his perpetual dread lest he should discover in Harriet a disposition to the same malady.

His fears had but too much stimulus to keep them alive.  Harriet had passed through a sickly childhood, and was growing up with a feeble constitution.  Body and mind were alike unhealthy.  Of all the people who came in contact with her, her father alone was blind to her distorted sense of right, her baseless resentments, her malicious pleasures, her depraved intellect.  His affection she repaid with indifference.  At present, the only person she appeared to really like was the servant Sarah, a girl of vicious character.

Harriet had suffered more from Ida’s blow than had at first appeared likely.  The wound would not heal well, and she had had several feverish nights.  For her convenience, the couch had been drawn up between the fire and the table; and, reclining here, she every now and then threw out a petulant word in reply to her father’s or Julian’s well-meant cheerfulness.  But for the boy, the gloomy silence would seldom have been broken.  He, however, was full to-night of a favourite subject, and kept up a steady flow of bright