HENRY DUNBAR.

Bruce Herald, Volume III, Issue 74, 7 September 1865, Page 6

HENR Y DUNBAR.

By the Author of: 'Aurora Floyd/ ' Lady Audley's Secret,' <fee, &c. {Continued from our I'dst.y, CHAPTER XXXII. 'Oh! great.heavens !' he i. cried at. last; ' how could ; I ..think it possible, that any man could have been as cruelly deceived as I have been by this woman !'. 'I may go now, Mr Austin T said Margaret.' ' Yes, you may go now;— you, who once were the woman I loved*; you, who have thrown away the beautiful mask I believed in, and revealed to. me the face of a skeleton ;f you, .who have lifted the silver veil of imagination to show me ; the hideous ghastliness. of reality. Go, Margaret. Wilmot ; and may Heaven forgive y° u - J 'Dp you forgive. me, Mr Austin ?'..... ' Not yet. I .will pray , QpcL to make me strong .enough' to forgive you !' ' Farewell,. Clemen t.' If my readers have seen ' Manfred '. at' Drury Lane, let them.r.e'inem.berf tie tone in which Miss Rose Leclerq breathed her; last farewell to Mr.Phelps,arid they will know how f lVlarigaret ' .Wilmpt pronounced this mournful word — loves funeral hell— r . „.;. ' Farewell, Clement/ c One word, .Miss ; Wilriaot,' cried Mr Austin. .'.I have lpyed. you too, much in the pasteyertp become; indifferent to your fate. Where are you going ?' 'ToLondpn.^ .-'.., 'To your old apartments at Clapham I* 1 Oh, no, no f ' Havis t you money — money enough to last you for some time V 'Yes ; I; have saved some money.' " ' If you should jbe in want of. help; will you letrme help you ?' . f \ ' Willingly,, Mr Austin. lam not too proud , to accept your help in the hour of my need,*; ' .;:. ; :. ' You. will write to me, then/ at rhy mother's^, or you willf write to my mbther : herself, if fever ypir require assistihce. I shall Isl : iny J mother nothing of what.'. has ; passed between us this day^, except .that we have parted; You are going by the halfpast nine id' clock train, yoii say/Miss Wil- : : motV- y r '■ ' •■ . " r ; ;. : ■ V! Cleirierit had only spoken the truth when he said that Jie was a proud .manf He asked this/qiiestioh in the same business- ! like tone in which he might hf'avij addresseda lady who was quite indifferent to him. ' Yesy, 'Mr Austin? ' I will order a fly for ypu/ ; then. Yoii have five minutes to spare. fAnd I will send one of the waiters .to the^ station, so that you may have no trouble about' your luggage:' , Clement rang the bell, arid gave, the necessary orders. • *; Then he bowed gravely to MargarH;, and'wished hler'gbod morning as she- left the room. ■ : And, ;this is how. Margaret Wilmot parted from Cleirierit Austin. CHAPTER -.■"■XXX,I 11. i fji^piscjoye^ at .the Louvre. : j While rftenry Dunbar sat in : his?lonely-. room at. :Mau^esle^ Abbey, held by his fhrokenoleg^^and waitings aniiousLy for the- hour i^n which he shohld-he allowed the priviiege c ;of (taking his ffirst ffexperi-i mental promenade 7;ufpon: ..crutches, ■••.-/ filiri Philip, Jpeelyn-r and .hisi beautiful^^ young, wife dcp^eitogether oriftheicrowded Bout! levards ;pf [the. Frenjch: capital. They -had, been .southward, and: hadf returned <;p the : gayest capital;dn: alii the world at, the. f time ; when;T,thatf capital is at its best and brightest.. They had. returned to Paris^ for. . : the;, early ; new.^ year ;< and/ as this year r;; , happened fprtunatetyr; to-be. ushered into existence . by -a sharp-frost and a bright sunny sky, the boulevards" were [

not, the black rivers of mud and slush that they^ are apt to he in the' first days of the infantine year. Prince Louis Napoleon Buonaparte was only President as yet; and Paris whs by no means the wonderful city of endless boulevards and palatial edifices that it has since grown to be under the master hand which rules and beautifies it, as a lover adorns his mistress. But.it was hot the' less the most charming city in the universe ; ahd Philip 'Jocelyn and his 'wife were as hapyy as two children in this paradise of brick and inortak They suited each other so well ; they were never tired of each other's society, or at a stand-still for. want of something* to 'say to each other. They \vere rather frivolous, perhaps ; but a'Httltftivolity may be pardoned in two people who were so very, young and so entirely happy. Sir Philip may have been a little 1 too much [devoted to horses and dogs, and Laura may have' been a shade too' enthusiastic iupon the subject of new ? bonnets, and the jewellery in the Rue de la Paix. But if they idled a little just now', iiithis delicious : honeymoon time, when !it was 'so sweet to be, together always, from morning till night, driving infa sleigh with jingling bells upon the snowy roads in the' Bois, -sitting on the balcdny at Meurice's at might, looking down into the lon^* lamp-lit street' and the misty gardens, when' the trees were leafless and black against the dark' blue sky, they meant to do their duty and be useful to their fellow creatures when they were settled "at Jocelyn's Rock. Sir Philip had half-a-dozen schemes for free schools/ arid model cottkges 1 with ovens that would bake-every thing in the world, and chimneys that would never smoke. Andj -Laura had her own pet plans.; Was ; she.rioV an heiress, and therefore specially sent into the world to give happiriess to : people who had- beeh born Without that pleasant appendage of a silver spoon in their infantine mouths ? '■: She meant to be scrupulousryconsciehtiQus' in the administration of her talentls; and sometimes at church on a Sunday, when -the sermon was particularly awakening, she mentally debated the serious question as to -whether hew bonnets,: arid a pair of Jbuvin's gloves daily, were not sinful; but I think; she decided that the new bonnets and gloves were, on the whole, a pardonable weakness^ as being* good for trad c. The WarAvickshire 'baronet knew a good many people in Paris> and he and his bride received a very enthusiastic Avelcome from these old friends, Avho pronounced that Miladi Jocelyn was cliarmante arid la belle des belles ; and that Sir Jocelyn was the , most fortunate of men in having discovered this ;gay, light-hearted girl amongst the prudish and pragmatical meess of the brumeuM'Anyleterre. . Laura made herself very inueh at home with' her Parisian acquaihtarieef; ahd in the grand house in the Rue' Lepelletier many a glass was ' turned ; full upon the ; beautiful English bride with the chevelitiredpree and the violet-blue eyes. One morning Laura tbl'd- her husband, f^ith, a gay laugh, that -she was going to yictimise him; but he was to promise to be .patient, and hear with hei* for once in a w.ay; ' - ' '^What is it you- want me to do, mv darling?' , ' " ■ .'j want you to ;give me a long day iri the Louvre. 1 want to We all the pictures —the modern- pictures especially.' I re.me^ber all-the Rubenses^ for I 'saw them three s years ago, when I was staying in Paris with grandpapa. I like the iriddern ;pictures best/fPhilip; and I want -j/ou to .telLmeiall, about the artists, and wh&t I .ought to admire/ and all' that ■sdr't of fthihg.".: : ' '■■■': i; ..Sir; Philip never refused his wife any v^SK»' so he said y es > a& d Laura ran, away ■ to : her dressing room like -a school girl »jho. has-been 'pleading for 'a holiday, and : ?^f won ncr cause. She retiiined in a little .more than ten minutes, in the; freshest tbihjtte; all j>ale--siSm^nfi^-biae|-'-like : thei^M^S . skv > with pearl-gray- gloves and jboots and, parasol,^^nd a bonnet that seemed; made of azure butterflies. ; : -: It was. drawing .towards the, close. of, this -.delightful honeymoon/ tour, and it was a ■ fright sunshiny morning early in T'eb- : •ruary; but February': in Paris is sometimes better than April in London. _ Philip Jocelyn's work that; morning, was* by ,no .means ..light, for Laura was fond of pictures, in a frivolous amateurish kind. of .'.; ;w'ay, ; and she ' rah. from one . canvas to' another/like a Hickle minded 1 bee that is ' /bewildered bythe'myriaid^ldssdais' of % \

boundless parterre. But she fixed upon a picture which she said she preferred to any thing she had seen in the gallery. Philip Jocelyn was examining some pictures on the other side of the room when his Avife made this discovery. She hurried to her husband imtnediately, and led him off to look at the picture. It was a peasant girl's head, very exquisitely painted by a modern artist, and the baronet approved his Avife's taste. ' How I wish you could get me a copy of that picture, Philip !' Laura said, entreatingly. 'I should so like one to hang in my morning room at Jocelyn's Rock. I Wonder who painted that lovely face ?' Th6re was a young agjtist hard at work at his easel, copying* a large devotional subject that hung near the picture Laura admired. Sir 1 Philip asked this gentleman if he knew the name of the artist who had painted the peasant girl. 'Ah, but yes, Monsieur,' the painter answered, with animated politeness ; 'it is the work of one oft my friends ; a young Englishman, of a renown almost universal in Paris.' 'And his name, monsieur?' 'He calls himself Kerstall/ Frederick Kerstall; he is the son of an old rtionsieur who 'calls himself also Kerstall, and -who had much of celebrity in England it is many years.' 'Kerstall!' exclaimed Laura, suddenly; ' Mi* 1 Kerstall ! why it was a Mr Kerstall \vho painted papa's portrait ;' I have heard grandpapa say so again arid again; and he took it away to Italy with him/ promising to bring it back to London when he returned, after a year or two of: study. And oh, Philip, I should so like to see this old Mr Kerstall; because, you knoAV, he may have kept papa's portrait until this very day, and I should so like to have a picture of rhy father as he was when he • was young, and before-^the troubles of a loiig life altered him,' Laura said, rather mournfully. She turned to the French artist presently and asked him Avhere the elder Mr Kerr stall lived, and if there was any possibility of seeing him. The painter shrugged tip his shoulders, arid then pursed up his mouth thoughtfully. ' But/madame/ he said, ' this Monsieur Kerstall's father is very old, and he has ceased to paint it is long time. They have said that he is even a little imbecile, that he does not remember himself oi the most common events of his life. But there are some others who say that his uiemory has not altogether failed, and that, he is still enough harshly critical tOAva'rds the works of others.' The Frenchman might have run on much longer upon this subject. ( But Laura was too impatient to be polite. She interrupted him by asking for : Mr. Kerstall's 'address. The artist took out one of his own cards, and wrote the required address -in pencil. 'It is upon the other side of the river, madame, in the Rue Cailoux, over the office ot a Parisian journal,': he said, as he handed the card to Xaura. 'I dd'rit think you will haVe any difficulty iir finding the hohse.' , Laura thanked the French artist, and then itook her husband's arm and walkedaway with him. 'I do'nt care about looking at any more 1 pictures to-day, Philip,' She said /- ' hut, oh, I. do wish you would take rme . to that' Mr. Kerstall's studio at brice ! You will be doing me such a favour, Philip, if you'll say-yes.' _....-.,. 'When did I ever say bo. to anything you adktd.me Laura ?. Wfe'll .go ; to Mr. Kerstall immediately, if you /like. But why are ydu so anxious to see this very; old portrait of your father, my dear?'/' ; f : ' ./. / / /;;/ ' Because I want to see what he was before lie Werit to India. "I fwarit to' see what; he was when he , was bright ahd' : young, before the world had hardened him. Ah, Philip, since we have khbwnarid loved each other, it seems to me as if I had no thought or care fpr any one in all this wide .world but yburself. But before' that time I was yeiy unhappy about my : father. I had expected that he wbiild be so fond of rii'e. I had sb built upon His return to England, thinking* that we should be nearer and dearer to each bther r thah any father arid daughter; ever were beTore.^ I had thought all this/Philip ; fhight -after '■■ night I' had" dreamt thb /samedream ; - i the bright happ^y diritiafiii v?blch iiikmr-

'carne home to irie, the forid foolish • dfesirir in which I felt his strong arms folded round me, arid his true heart beating against my own. But when he did come at last, it seemed to me' as if ; this father was a man of stone ; his. white fixed face repelled me ; his cold hard voice turned my blood to icei I was frightened of him Philip; I was frightened of my own father; and little by little we grew toshuri each other, till at last we met like strain--g ers, or something worse thpn strangers j for I have seen my father look at me Avjth an expression ' of absolute horror in^Us stern cruel eyes. Can you wonder, theny that T want to see what he was in his youth ? I shall learn to love him, perhaps, if I can see the smiling image of hislost youth.' : Laura said all this in a very low voice as she walked with her husband through the splendid galleries of the Louvre. She walked very fast ; for she was as- eager as a child who is intent upon some scheme of pleasure. CHAPTER XXXIV. Looking for the Portrait. The Rue Cailoux was a very quiet littlestreet—a very narrow, wihdirig* street, with tall shabby-looking houses, and un ; tidy little greengrocer's shops peering out here and there. The pavement suggested the idea that there had just been an outbreak of the populace, and that the stones had been ruthlessly torn up to serve in the! construction of barricades,, and only very carelessly put down again. It was a street which seemed to have been built with a view toachieving the largest amount of inconvenience out of the smallest materials j and looked at in this light the Rue Cailoux was a triumph : it was a street in which Parisian drivers clacked their whips to a running . accompaniment of imprecations: it Avas a street in which you met dirty porters carrying six feet of highly r baked bread, and shrill old women with wonderful bandannas bound about their grisly heads : but above all, it was a street in Avhich you were so shaken arid jostled and bumped and startled by the ups and down of the pavement that you had very little leisure- to notice • the distinctive features of the neighbourhood. . The house iri Avhich Mr Kerstall the English artist lived was a gloomy- looking building with a dingy archway, beneath which Sir Philip Jocelyn and his wife alighted. . . There was a door under this archway, and there was a yard beyond it, with the door of another house opening upon it, and ranges of black curtaihlessf windows looking down upon it, ; and an ; air of dried herbs, greenstuff,, chickens in the moulting stage, fand old" women, generallypervading it. The dpbr which belonged- to My. Kerstall's houSe, or » rather ihe> : house iri which Mr.: iKersftalb.'hvißd . in ; common with a colony : /of unknown ; .number and Various avocations, was open, and Sir Philip and his wife went into the dreary hall. or '" " / .' . ;^ : There was no such thing as a poa&ror pp'rtrc'ss; but a I stray old wotna,h, hovering under the archway, informed Philip Jo* celyn that Mri Kerstall was to be found on the second story. So Laura and her hus - ; band ascerided the stairs, Avhich were bare of any Covering exlcept dirt, and . %verit on mounting through, comparative darkriesss, past the office of the iParisian journal,, -till, they came, to a very dingy black 'door. / ';•.■ - ys - : --- Philip knocked, and, after a; considerable interval, . the ' door was opened by another old fwomari, tidier arid cleanet . than the old wbrheri who pervaded the yard, but - lbokirig like a very near .relation to thoseladies. F _ A 'Philip inquired in French for the seriior Mr. Kerstall; 'and. the.' old woinari told "hiiii, - though ;. very 'miich' through her nbse,i that Mr. 'Kerstall, the' father, sawno one ; but that Mr. Kerstall, the 'son, .was at'his / v ; "; f Philip jocelyn said, that in that <$ase he would be^glad to sea Mr^fKerstall 'junior ; upon which the -old woman' ushered the barori&t and his- -wife into ai saloon/ distinguish e(T by ; an> air of faded splendour, arid in whieh'the v . French clocks' 7 and "ormolu candelabras were iri-the^proportidh : of - twa to bh« : <to 1 the shairsWd tables. '

Sir Philip gave his card to the old ■ wojnan, and sac carried it into the adjoining chamber, ,Vhence there issued a strong gush pfjpbacco smoke, as the door between^the two rooms was opened, and then< ghut again. * In less than three minutes by the minuteThand qf/ the only one of the ormolu c locW which made any pretence of going, tiie door was opened again, and a hurlylookmg, middle-aged gentleman, with a verwblack beard, and a dirty holland bloipe all smeared with smudges of: oilC pter, appeared upon the threshold of the ajj^ning chamber, surrounded by a cloud (ftSoacco smoke, like a heathen deity, or i good-tempered African genii newly estaped from his bottle. This was Mr. Kerstall, junior: He introduced himself to Sir Philip, and then waited to hear what that gentleman required of him. Philip Jocelyn explained his business, and told the painter hoAVj more than five-and-thirty years before, the portrait of (Henry Dunbar, only son of Percival Dunbar, the great banker, bad been painted by Mr. Michael Kerstall, at that time a fashionable artist. , ' Five-and- thirty years ago!' said the painter, pulling thoughtfully at his beard ; 'five-and-thirty years ago !' thatfs a very long time my lord, and Tin afraid it's not likely my father will remember the circumstance, for I regret to say that he is glow to remember the e-vents of a few days past. His memory has been failing. a long time. You wish to ascertain the fate of this portrait of Mr. Dunbar, I think you said?'. Lady Jocelyn answered this question, although it had been addressed to her husband. 'Yes, we want to see the picture if possible,' she said ; ' Mr. Dunbar is my father, and there is no other portrait of him in existence. Ido so want to see this one, arid to obtain possession of it if it is possible for me to do so.' ' And you are of that my father took the picture with him to Italy when he left England- more than five«»and-thirty years ago ?' ' Yes, I've heard my grandfather say so. He lost sight of Mr. Kerstall, and could never obtain any tidings of the picture. But I hope that/ late as it is, we may be more fortunate mow. You do not think the picture has been destroyed,' Laura asked eagerly.' ' - ; , ' ' Well,' the artist answered . doubtfully, { I should be/inclined to fear that the portrait may have beeh painted out : arid yet, by the. by, as the picture belonged by right to Mr. Percival Dunbar, and not to my father, that circumstance may have preserved it through all these long years. My father has ft heap of unframed canvasses, inches thick in dust, arid littering every cornet of his room. The portrait 5 may be amongst those/ ' Oh, I would be so very much obliged if you would allo\v me to examine those pictures,' said Laura. 'You think; you would recognise the portrait.^ ' Yes,suf ely I could not f ail to do so? I know my father's face so well as it is that I must certainly have some knowledge of it asit.was five-and-thirty years ago, however much he inlay- have altered in the interval. Pray Mr; -Kerstall f oblige me by letting me see the pictures.' ' ' I should be very churlish were I to refuse to do so,' the painter answered goodnaturedly. - ft will just go and see if my father is.able to receive visitors He has been a voluntary exile from England for the last fi-ve-and-thirty years, so I fear he will have forgotten the name of Dunbar ; hut he may he able to give us some slight assistance;' ' Mr. Kerstall left his visitors for about ten minutes, and at the end of that time he returned: to say :that his father ' : was' quite ready to=receive Sir Philip and liady Jocelyn. ■J'-y-' ' I mentioned the- name of iDunbar to him,' the painter said, 'hut he remembers nothing. He has been painting a little this morning, and, is in-high spirits about his work!' ■ The Artist led : the i way to a large room, ' comfortably, biit plainly, furnished, and : heated -to^pitch of suffocation by a stove. There swas a beddn/a curtained ; alcove at. the end- of ithe ;:an ieasel stood: nnear' ithe large wiridowi; arid ;the proprietor of the apartmientk sat in a cushioned^arm-chairclpseXotheiSuffocating! stove. UHKf ■:-■!

1 Michael: Kerstall was an old man, who lookedeven older. than, he. was. He was a picturesque-looking old man, with long white, hair dropping down; over his coatcollar, and a, blaok velyet skull-cap upon his head. He was a cheerful old mam and life seemed very pleasant to him ; for Frenchmen have a habit of honoring their fathers and their mothers, and Mr Frederick Kerstall Avas a naturalised citizen 4 of the French republic. The old man nodded and smiled and chuckled as Sir ' Philip and Laura were presented to him, and pointed with a courtly grace to the chairs which his son set for his guests. 'You want to see my pictures sir? Ah yes, to be sure, to be sure ! The modern school of painting, sir, is something marvellous to an old man, sir; an old; man who remembers Sir Thomas Lawrenceay, sir, I had the honor to know him in-, timately. No pre-Raphaelite . theories ; in those days sir, no figures cut out of colored pasteboard and glued, on to the canvas; no green trees and vermilion draperies, and chocolate- colored streaks across an ultra^ marine background,, sir ; and I'm told the young people call that a sky. No.pairited chins,. and angular knees and elboAvs, and frizzy red hair — red sir, and as frizzy as a blackamoor's — and I'm told .. the young people call that female; beauty. No, sir; nothing of that sort inwiy day. There was a : French painter in my day,, sir, called David, and there was an . English painter in my day called; Lawrence ; and they paintedj ladies., and gentlemen,, and they instituted a gentlemanly school, sir. And you put a crimson curtain behind your subject,, and you put a brari^new hat, or a roll of paper in his right hand, and you thrust his left hand in his waistcoat- — the best black satin, sir, Avith strong light in the texture— and you make your subject look like .a gentleman. Yes, sir, if he was . a chimney sweep when he'Avent into your studio, he went, out of it a. gentleman.' The old man would have gone on-talk-ing for any leDgth of time, for preRaphaelitism was his favorite antipathy ; and the black-bearded gentleman standing, behind his chair was an enthusiastic member of the pre-Raphaelite brotherhood. Mr Kerstall senior seemed so thoroughly in possession of, all his faculties while he held forth upon modern art, that Laura began to hope his memory could scarcely be so much impared as his son had represented it to be. ' When you painted portraits in England Mr Kerstall,' she. said, before you went to Italy, you painted a likeness of my father, Henry Dunbar, who was then .a young mian. Dp you remember that circumstance?' Laura asked this question very hopefully, but to h«r surprise, Mr Kerstall took no notice whatever of her enquiry, but went rambling on about the degeneracy of modern art. ' I am told there is a young man called Millais, sir, arid another young man called Holman Hunt,; sir,-4-positive boys, sir; actually very little more than boys, sir"; — .and I am given .to understand, sir, that when these young men's works are exhibited at the Royal Academy in London, sir, people crowd' round them, and go raving mad for 'them ; while a gentlemanly portrait of a county member, with a Corinththian pillar and a crimson curtain, gets no more attention than if it was a bishop's: half-length of -blank canvas. lam told so sir/ and I am obliged to believe it, sir;' Poor Laura listened very impatiently to all this talk about painters and their pic- : tures.' But Mr Kerstall the younger perceived her anxiety, arid' came to her 'relief. ' Lady Jocelyn would very /much likfi to' see the pictures you have scattered about, in this room, my dear father,' he; said/ *if ! j you haVe no objection to our turning them over:? '.'" ."'" "; " ■ ■..'"/'■ '-'■'■• The old man. chhckled arid nodded. ' You'll, find -'em gentlenianly/ he said/ 'you'll find 'em fall more, or. less, gen tie.-', .manly.'; - : f" .. •'"'- ." '■" /''/ j ' You're, sure you don't remember .paint-: ing the -portrait : of a: Mr Dunbar 1 ? ' Mr Kerstall the younger said ; earnestly, ; bending over ,his father's chair as -he spoke. ■'Try iagain ; fathers—try to remember-^ rHenry jDunbar, the.son of/Perciyal Dun.bar ths great banker.' ; 1 ;Mr Kerstall senior, who never left off sriailing, nodded .and chuckled, arid scratched hishead, and /seemed- to plunge iritoiaidepth-ofiprofound thought.; ':■ '• *«iQLaura;ibegaaiitof/hopeiagainvi e; ! fi .<,-'.:>

' I remember painting Sir Jasper Rivington, whowas Lord Mayor in the year—; bless my heart ! how the dates slip out of my mind; to be sure !^I remember painting Mm, in his robes too ! yes, sir: — by gad, sir, his official robes. He'd like me to have, painted him looking out of the windoAv.ot his state coach, bowing to the populace on Ludgate- Hill, with the dome of St. Paul's in the back- ground; but I told him the notion wasn't practicable, sir ; I told him it couldn't be done, sir ; I—' I Laura looked despairingly at Mr Kerstall the younger. ' May we see the pictures V she , asked, 'I am sure "that 1 shall recognise my father's portrait, if by any chance it should be amongst them.' : 'We will set to swrk at once, then,' the artist said brisklj^^' We're going to look at your pictures, father.' : Unframed canvases, and unfinished sketches on milbpard, Avere lying about the room in every direction, piled against . the wall, heaped on side-tables and stowed out of the Avay upon shelves, and everywhere the dust lay thick upon them. ' It was quite a chamber of horrors,' Mr Kerstall the younger said, gaily : for it was here that he banished his own, failures ; his sketches for his pictures that were tp be painted upon some future . occasion ; carelessly drawn groups that he meant some day to improve upon ; finished pictures that he had been unable to sell*; and all; the other useless litter of an artist's studio. There was a great many dingy performances of Mr Kerstall senior ; very classical, and extremely uninteresting ; studies from life, gray and chalky and mascular, with here and there a knptty-lpoking foot or a lumpy arm, in the most unpleasant phases oi fore shortening. There was a, good many portraits, gentlemanly to the iast degree : but poor Laura looked in vain for the face she wanted to see- — the hard cold face, as she fancied it must have been in youth. . : There were portraits of elderly ladies with stately head-gear, and simpering young ladies with innocent, short-waisted bodices, and flowers held gracefully in their Avhite muslin draperies ; there were portraits of stern clerical grandees, and parliamentary non-celebrities, jwith popular bills rolled up in their hands, ready to be laid upon the speaker's table, and with a tight look about the lips, that seemed to say the member was prepared to carry his motion, or perish on the floor of the House. There were only a few portraits of young men of military aspect, looking fiercely over regulation stocks, and with forked lightning and little pyramids of cannon-balls in the background. Laura sighed heavily at last, for amongst all these portraits there was not one which in the least possible degree recalled the hard handsome face with which she -was familiar. ' I'm afraid my father's picture has been lost or destroyed,' she said mournfully. Bnt Mr Kerstall would not allow' this. j have said that it Avas LaurVs peculiar; privilege to bewitch everybody with whom she came in contact, and to transform them, for the nonce, into her Avilling* slaves, eag*er to go through fire ai\d Ayater in the service of this beautiful creature, whose eyes and hair were like blue . skies and golden .sub shine, and carried light and summer wherever they w;ent. The black bearded artist in the paintsmeared holland blouse was in no manner proof against Lady Jocelyn's fascinations. He had well nigh suffocated himself with dust half-a-dozen - times already in ,her .service, and was ready to inhale as much fmore dust if she desired him to dp ■so.' ' ' "■. : 'We won't, give it up, just yet, Lady Jocelyn,' he /said, cheerfully; '.there's a couple of" shelves still to examine. Suppose Aye try shelf number one, and see if can find Mr Henry Dunbar up there. . .Mr ;K.erstall junior mounted upon a chair and jbrought: down another heap : of canvases, dirtier than any. previous collection. He brought, these; to a table by the side of .his father's ieasel, and one by one! he wiped ;• thenr clean with a large silk handkerchief/ land ithen . placed : them on .the easel; The easel stood in -the iull light of . the broad window. The day was bright; and clear, .and there: was ho lack of light, therefore; upon the portraits. : ; , Mr Kerstall hegan ;to; be quite. interested in:h;is:prpcee'diug-9;; and j contemplated the

younger man's operations with a perpetual chuckling and nodding of the head, that were expressive ot umnitigated 'satisfaction. 'Yes, they're gentlemanly/ the old man mumbled, « nobody- can deny . that they're . gentlemanly. They , may make a cabal '• against me in Trafalgar Square, and decline to hang 'em., but they, can't say my pictures are ungentiemanly. No, no. Take a basin of water and.&sponge, Fred and wash the dust off. It pleases me to see 'em again— yes, by gad, sir, it pleases me to see 'em again ! ' Mr Frederick Kerstall obeyed his father, and the pictures brightened wonderfully under the influence of a damp sponge. It: Avas rather a slow operation, but Laura was bent on seeing every picture, and Philip Jocelyn waited patiently enoiig'h until the inspection, should; be concluded. The old inau brightened up as much as his paintings, and began presently to call out the names of the subjects. 'The member ; , for SloptonT-on-the-Tees,-he said, as his son placed a portrait pri the easel; that wasa presentation picture, but the subscriptions were never paid, up, and . the committee left the portrait upon myf hands. I don't remeinberthename'of the member, because my meinpjy isn't quite so gcod as it used to be;; but the borough was, Slopton-on-the-Tees— Slopton— yes, yes, I remember that.' The younger Kerstall took away .the member for .Slopton, and put another picture on the easel. But this was like the rest ; the pictured face bore no trace, for which Laura: was looking. V. : 'I remember him too/ the old man ; cried, with a triumphant chuckle. 'He ; was an officer in the East India Company's; service. I remember him, a dashirig young fellow he was too. He had the' picture painted for his, mother, paid me the money at the first sitting; never paid me a sixpence afterwards ; Avent off, -to India, promising to send me a bill of exchange for the balance by the next mail but I never heard any more of him.' Mr Kerstall removed the. Indian officer, and substituted another portrait. ' Sir Philip who was sitting near the window, looking on rather listlessly, cried' ' what a handsome face I ' It was a handsome face — -a bright young face, which smiled haughty defiance at the world— a splendid face/ with perhaps a shade of insolence in the curve of the upper lip, sharply defined under a thick; auburn moustache, with pointed ends that ' curled fiercely upAvards. It was such ,a face as might have belonged to the favorite. ; of a powerful king ; the face of Cinq Mars on the very summit of his giddy eminence, with a hundred pairs of boots in his dress-ing-room, and quiet .Cardinal jliicheiieuvii watching silently for the day ,of his,;dppm. ,; English Buckingham may .havh ; worn the : ; same, insolent smile upon his lips^the same bright triumph in his glance, -.when h^ walked up to., the throne of Louis the Jus,* Avith the pearls and diamonds; ; dropping) frbmhis garments as he wen j;, along, , ; and, : with forbidden love beßming pn him putipl , ■ Austrian Anne's. blue eyes. . It;was suc,h ar- i; face , as could only belong to.;spme,;high n favorite of fortune, defiant of: all mankind I in the, consciousness .-of his own' supreme advantages. . But Laura Jocelyn shook her head ai she looked at the picture. ; ' I begin to despair of finding my father's portrait/; she ' said : ' I have- seeri nothing* at ,all like it yet.' «> 'The old man lifted up his bony hand and pointed to the picture on the easeL 'That's the best thing A ever did, he said ; ' the very best thing I ever did. * It was exhibited in the/ Academy six- f and-thirty years agp^yes, : by/gad, sir; ' six-pnd-thirty years ago! 'and the papers : mentioned it very favorably, r sir; but the man who coirimissidned it sent it back to me for alteration.' The /expression of the face didn't please him/ but/he paid me two hundred • guineas fpr the picture, so I had rio reason to complain; and if I'd remained iri England the connexion might have ' been very advantageous to me; for they were rich City people, sir — enorraously wealthy— soiriething in the banking line— and the riairie, -the harrie— let the see,let me see— ' f The old man tapped his . forehead thoughtfully., . J - .: 'I remember,' . he , added. ; presen tly ; , ' it was a greajt .name, ; in,. the ; Ci tj- — a ; weltknown hamer-^Dunbal^ , : ;V. , ." l -•■/.'.' To be continued;