twin in her lap; the other, alas, lay in a white wrapper on a shelf. "Yes, it is gone,' whispered Mr. Latimer, noticing my look. 6 The poor little thing had convulsions in the night, and before I could fetch a doctor it was gone; pity the other does not follow. That's the fourth child she has lost.' "I said a few soothing words to the mother, who was fondling her remaining baby, dry-eyed. I suppose constant misery dries up the fount of tears; and when I turned to Ned's bedside I was surprised to find he greeted me with considerable less roughness. "He's ready for the parson now, you see,' said Latimer, who still followed me; 'he's had some of the doctor's good stuff, and is rather more free from pain. He can listen to you now; can't you, Ned?' Yes, if parson pleases. You bean't a-going, sir?' looking at him wistfully. "Not for long. I'll be back by and by; by the time you want me.' "Thank you, sir.' "And, Ned, my man, you'll keep your word, and make a clean breast to the parson "Yes, sir; yes.' ?' "This poor fellow,' putting his hand on his shoulder, and pressing it lightly, 'tells me that he has been a great sinner; he almost murdered a man once; didn't you, Ned?' "Yes, one of my mates; they locked me up for it, though.' "And he says that he has been a bad husband to Sal; pretty nearly starved her and her children. And he wants to know, Mr. Elliott-you being a clergyman and understanding such things-whether he has any cause to hope that he will ever see his little boy again. It seems, since his boy's death he has taken to drinking.' "Ay, to drown thought. He were sich a pretty little chap, were Charlie; and he minded me rarely. "Where's daddie?" he used to call out, as soon as ever he could speak. You mind it, Sal.' And the man wiped away a tear furtively with his sleeve. "And he wants to know if he shall ever see Charlie again. Now, Mr. Elliott, your work is cut out for you;' and then this singular being did consent to leave us alone together." “And did he die, Will?" "Yes; but not for a good many days after that. It was very up-hill work with him; but, thank God, he made an edifying end. Not that he ever said much to me; but he seemed grateful, and liked to hear me read and pray by him; just a few words at the last made me feel the man was really a penitent. "You gentle'em,' he said, speaking with difficulty, for the end was drawing near,- you gentle'em will walk head erect into heaven. If the good Lord will only let me creep in just at the last I'd be more than content.' "On your hands and knees,' quoth Latimer. "Well put," my man.' And, Sal, my lass, you must mind what parson sees, and try for to come in afterwards. I've not been a good master to you, my woman, but it is too late to say naught about that now; maybe you'll get a better master nor I, when I'm cold.' 666 Nay, Ned. I never went fur to think of such a thing,' cried the poor thing, panting and sobbing; but for the drink we might have been so comfortable like.' 666 'Ah,' murmured the dying man, 'thou art about right, Sal. Don't let Charlie drink; it is a pity to let a little chap like that get into mischief. Charlie, lad, you are tired, maybe; let dad carry you,' he muttered on, drowsily. When it came to the last, he would keep his face to Mr. Latimer, and once made a groping on the bedclothes, as though for his hand. "I'm a-creeping in, sir,' he said, once, with a sudden brightening; those were his last words. My dear child,”— for Dym was crying softly to herself," I ought not to have saddened you like this, and on your first evening too." Oh, but, Will, it is so beautiful; no wonder you say Mr. Latimer has something great about him." "Yes; but you must not raise your expectations too high, or you might be disappointed when you see him. Well, what is it, Dick?" "Mr. Latimer, sir." "Here? Oh, what shall I do?" cried Dym, excitedly, trying to clear away the traces of her tears. "Don't be frightened, miss; Mr. Latimer ain't a-coming in. He left word for you, sir, that as you had a lady with you he would not interrupt you, but that you would see him at the schools." "Dear me, I never knew him to do that before," returned Mr. Elliott, looking puzzled; then, as the boy closed the door, "It must be because you are with me, Dym; and yet he is the last man to be shy of a lady. What an enigma he is, to be sure! Well," in a tone of regret, "I must be off now. Perhaps he will come in with me by and by; anyhow, I am sorry you are disappointed." "Disappointed! not at all," returned Dym, contradictorily. "There, run off, Will, you will be late." And when she had watched her brother out, Dym sat down and thought of Mr. Latimer for the rest of the evening. CHAPTER VI. THE RIGHTS AND WRONGS OF WOMEN. CONTRARY to Dym's expectations, Mr. Latimer did not make his appearance in Paradise Row that evening, nor on many succeeding evenings; he had always some excuse ready when William Elliott pressed him to accompany him home on the nights when they were at work together at the schools. Dym, who at first looked for him with some eagerness, at last relinquished her watch in despair. When life is monotonous, trifles appear of magnitude. In the confined landscape of Paradise Row, Mr. Latimer's figure loomed gigantic in the foreground. Dym, out of natural contradiction, longed to brush it out; womanlike, she revolted against the vagueness and mystery; she wanted the dim outline to gain form and coloring. But soon her thoughts were directed into another channel. William Elliott had acceded, with evident reluctance, to Dym's plan of seeking employment as daily governess; but, though her efforts were most persevering, they had not as yet met with success. Either education was at a low ebb or governesses were at a discount in Kentish Town. Dym tried Haverstock Hill and even Hampstead, but the market seemed overstocked. A great commercial panic had taken place in the City a few months previously, and scores of girls, younger and less welleducated than Dym, had been thrown on their own resources: girls luxuriously brought up, and taught everything but to govern themselves and teach others, were driven from the fastnesses of happy homes and launched suddenly upon the world. Incompetence seeking competence; youth and helplessness going hand-in-hand to find a stewardship, where they could starve themselves and bring others to beggary. And the beggary of the heart and mind-what more pitiable than that! Dym's neat little figure traversed miles of pavement in answer to countless advertisements, but she never found anything to suit; her youth was against her. Sometimes people told her to her face that she was not good-tempered; at such moments Dym could not always repress her impatience and disappointment. "This situation would quite suit me," she said, once, when she was weary of doors closing against her"only two little girls; I will not quarrel about the terms." "Pardon me, but you will not suit me, Miss Elliott," returned the lady, coldly. "You are too brusque and decided for such a young person; let me tell you, for your future guidance, that mothers like to have the management of their own children; you have set aside my remarks once or twice already." "I have not always given satisfaction, but I have good references," faltered Dym, more humbly. "I do not doubt it; forgive me if I pain you, but you do not look old enough, nor yet sufficiently staid, for me to intrust my girls to your care." Very much the same thing was repeated at the next house, where Dym found herself in the presence of a very strongminded woman, evidently one of those original characters who combine domesticity with plenty of public speaking. Dym found out, years afterwards, that this lady was a member of the school-board, that she spoke on public platforms, and was conspicuous for her advocacy of the rights of women. On the present occasion she very soon inspired our little heroine with a painful degree of awe. began the strongAfterwards, Dym "Seeking a gov "Well, why have you come to me?" minded matron, in a loud manly voice. thought the voice not an unpleasant one. erness's situation, are you? Absurd! you are too young. What do you say you can't help your age? No, but you can speak louder while you are about it. Tut! go home to your mother, child; we have too many incompetent young persons in the present day applying to us as governesses—a pack of useless rubbish; it cannot be every girl's vocation to teach-whether they are qualified for it or no; we ought to subject the thing to competitive examination. Why shouldn't women take their degree, I should like to know?" for this was in the days before the Cambridge examination for women. "I am not quite incompetent," interrupted Dym, in a frightened voice; "I know French and German-Ï can talk French almost as well as English-and if the children be young "Who said the children were young? One is not bound to state their ages in an advertisement; my eldest girl looks almost as old as you, only of course she has masters. French and German-trash! The question is, are you up in algebra and mathematics generally; have you any idea of geology; do you know what a stratum means; or in architecture could you give me the history of the several transition periods; do you know more than the fancy work of botany-in a word, could you administer education in any other than homoeopathic quantities? There, go home to your mother, girl!" "I have no mother," returned Dym, vainly trying to repress her tears. "Of course I could not teach your daughters all those things; I thought, perhaps you had younger children, or "My youngest is over twelve," replied the matron, a little less grimly; "she is working hard at classics with a tutor now. Why shouldn't women teach classics, I should like to know? I hate men about a house-clergymen especially. Got no mother, you say, child—' bleating about the world like an unfolded lamb,' as Elizabeth Barrett Browning has it. What is it she says? and 'Felt a mother-want about the world, And still went seeking, like a bleating lamb |