The Great Mill Street Mystery.

Southern Cross, Volume 6, Issue 35, 10 December 1898, Page 13

The Great Mill Street Mystery.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

BY ADELINE SERGEANT, Author of l< Jacobi’s Wife,” “Roy’s Repentance,” “ Deveril’s Diamond “Under False Pretences,” &c.

[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. The Prologue : Chapters I sad 11. In Mill street. Whitechapel, a disreputable locality, a blind clergyman, the Francis Helmont, and a street waif, Richard Evre, are standing on the side of an empty house. Stephen Eyre, a captain in the Salvation Army, has preceded them on the information that Jess, a former lover ot had “ got her man back again, fnd she was with him at No. 20, Mill Street ” The two had come in hot pursuit, fearing that Stephen, in his fury, would do the man who had robbed him of his love, some grievous injury. Helmont fears that an old friend of his, George Eastwood, was the one who had wronged Jessie Armstrong, and be and the street arab are waiting for news of the captain and Jessie, presently a fierce struggle is heard overhead, and Jessie is seen fightingand struggling with one or more men. Presently, as young Dick rushes into the house and mounts the stairs, the body of Stephen is seen hanging by his hands from the window sill. Then someone is seen pushing the clinging fingers from the sill, and Stephen Eyre falls a dull heavy mass on to the earth beneath. Poor blind Helmont feels over the warm body of the dying man, and recognises with his fingers that of Stephen Byre. In the meantime the neighbourhood has been roused, and a search inside the bouse instituted. The dead body of Dick Eyre is found in a quantity of debris, but no trace of anyone else is discovered. Time passes on, and Helmont receives a letter from George Eastwood, who is in Sardinia, and it is apparent that he has been away from England for some time. Shortly afterwards Mr Helmont receives a visit from a woman, She tells him that her name is Jess Armstrong, and she has come to give herself up for the murder of Stephen Byre.

The blindness of the Reverend Francis Helmont bad its rise in a curious way. He was a young man. not yet thirty, and when he came first as curate to a hard-working East End clergyman, his sight was as unimpaired as any other of his faculties. He was an ardent worker, an impassioned preacher, a man of intense and enthusiastic belief. He was also very bold—some said very rash—in the denunciation of sin. The malpractices of a certain landlord in the neighbourhood having excited his indignation he did not hesitate to say what he thought of them. The landlord was a man of influence in Mill Street. When Mr Helmont next held an open air service in Baldwin’s Market, as he often did, he was systematically mobbed by the tenants of the excellent man against whom the parson was waging war. Dead cats and other savoury missiles were freely distributed. Not many stones were thrown ; but one — a sharp flint—struck the curate upon the eye and injured it severely. Inflammation ensued and affected the other eye also, with the result that Mr Helmont lost the sight of both eyes.

PART I. CHAPTER I. A Pace for a Picture. It was ten o’clock on a winter’s evening in Whitechapel, bat the noise and bustle ot a Saturday night’s market were in full swing. Out of the Mile End Road —not far from where the People s Palace, then undreamed of, is now standing ran a short narrow street known as Baldwin’s Court. This street, or alley, opened into a fairly broad space called Baldwin’s Market, where a brisk trade in every _ commodity under the sun was carried on every Saturday evening ; and thence a narrow desolate-looking street of mean looking houses ran for some distance almost parallel with Mile End Road, crossed at intervals by narrower streets or lanes. This thoroughfare bore, an evil repute. The tall, ruin-ous-looking houses on either side were the haunts of notorious rogues : several of them were lodging-houses, where no decent person would willingly set foot. The little lanes on either hand were more povertystricken in appearance, but not more foul with crime and vice : and, as the police of the neighbourhood could have told you, there was scarcely any place in which a man’s life or property was less secure than in Mill Street, WRitechapel. And yet two gentleman came fearlessly down Mill Street that evening, in a quiet, leisurely manner, as if they were accustomed to the place, and nobody seemed to take any particular notice of them. Indeed, when once a stranger to ‘ the market, as it was generally called, showed some disposition to be offensive to them, he was at once hustled aside by his companions with the remark, * ’Old yer jaw, can’t yer F Don’t yer see it’s the blind parson P’ And when the stranger would further have inquired what right any parson, blind or not, had to come down Mill street ‘ as if the place belonged to him,’ he met with a volley of execrations, blasphemously expressive of the affection born by the Mill street residents for this parson in particular.

Many men would have retired from the scene where he had incurred so great a misfortune, on the ground that their labours had met with nothing but ingratitude. Helmont did not see his position in that light at all. He was a large-minded man. He maintained that the feeling of the people towards him was not bad at all, and that it was not to be judged by an isolated act of this kind ; also, that the man who threw the stone had not intention of harming him,[and was more repentant for the injury that he had committed than any other man would have been for murder. And that if he quitted the scene of his labours now, all the good that he had ever tried to do would be undone, while if he remained he might hope to do a thousand fold times as much. And in this hope he was not disappointed. In this rough way the people of Baldwin’s Court and Mill Street appreciated his trust in them. From the day when he again appeared amongst them, with a bandage over his eyes, and bis sight completely gone, they listened to him respectfully, how unpalatable soever might be the message that he had to deliver, and allowed him to go in and out amongst them without molestation —indeed, with something approaching deference. And if it had been known who threw the stone that blinded him, that man would have been lynched, although he had only done effectively what other men were doing laxly at the same moment. But they did not know. Francis Helmont knew, and one Other person in the Court knew ; but neither of them was disposed to betray the guilty man.

Mr Helmont had cast off his bandages by this time, for it was nearly two years since ‘ the outrage,’ as the newspapers called it, had been committed; aniacasual observer could not have told that be was blind. He wore darkened glasses, but his step was as sure, hismanner as decided as ever, and no trace of depression could be noted in face or voice. His friends saw that there were a few grey threads in his hair, which had not been present before the loss of his sight, and the few months retirement and rest which he had then permitted himsef ; but he was wonderfully cheerful and untiringly energetic ; and his blindness, though probably a trouble to himself, was never allowed to be a trouble to his friends.

I He had a lad who acted as his I secretary, and he used the services of of one or two of his choir boys as guides in his walks; but he had also plenty of friends, who willingly became his companions from time to time : arid it was with one of these that he was walking now. The two men were very different in appearance. Helmont was very tall, spare, but muscular, broad-shouldered, deepchested. His hair and beard were black as night, his complexion was sallow, his features were somewhat worn, but full of fire and vivacity His friend was slighter, shorter, and considerably fairer; his hair and moustache were chesnut brown, very soft and silky in texture ; his eyes were hazel or grey, his features handsome but delicate. He was some years younger than Helmont —not more, perhaps, than two or three and twenty —and there was an indefinable attractiveness in his appearance, marred only by a look of weakness or indecision about the lower part of his face. It was possible, however, that this expression might be altered by force of circumstances ; and in that case George Eastwood would be a very handsome man. They halted on the outskirt of the crowd that had gathered in the little square —Eastwood to look, Helmont to listen. After a few moments’ silence, the curate spoke. ‘ Then !’ he said. ‘ How you see the market I have told you about— Rag Fair, if you like to call it so. Sometimes I get one of the men to let me mount bis stall and give them a bit of a talk. I believe they call me the Cheap Jack parson. They have a nickname for everybody.’

‘ Shall you speak to-night F’ ‘No,.or I woald not have brought a stranger with me. You might have got bustled and robbed, and I can’t protect you very well now that I cannot see. Well, how does it strike you ?’ ‘ The fun seems to be at its height,’ said G-eorge, gravely. ‘ There are naphtha lights flaring at all the stalls, and the faces of the men and the old crones bending over them would form a study for Rembrant, Not in my line exactly. The faces are strong enough, but they are ugly. I prefer something more idyllic—something pleasanter.’ ‘ You say the faces are strong. Is there no charm for you in their individuality F The mark of sin and passion sometimes makes a face terribly interesting to the observer of human nature.’

‘ Yes; but you mistake me,’ said the younger man. ‘ I am not an observer, or a student, or a lover of the dark side of life at all. I want pretty faces, picturesque effects, sunshine and flowers.’

in Francis Helmont’s ears, ‘ and would advise her to keep out of that old woman’s way. Ha! by jove t there’s a pretty fase.’

# Helmont felt a vibration of the young man’s arm, as if he would have started off in pursuit of the pretty face but for the curate’s, infirmity, and he experienced a moment’s annoyance. ‘ Is it anyone you wish to see more' closely ? I can go in any direction you* choose,’ he said, after a short pause.

‘ Ho —at least this way,’ said George, who was making his way with some difficulty through the pushing crowd of silent women, and half drunken men, by whom the twovisitors were surrounded. ‘ She is beside your apple-woman ; a girl with large eyes and a rather frightened 100k —pretty for all that—do you know her ?’

‘ I expect you mean old Sarah Flint’s granddaughter, Jess. Is she pretty ?’ ‘At a distance,’ said George, with a. little smile. Helmont could not see his face. The young artist’s eyebrows were lifted, a half-whistle had been formed and arrested upon his lips his whole aspect expressed wonderment. ‘By Jove!’ he muttered to himself so low that Francis could not hear; * a new type —quite a new type —why, Titian might have painted her! She’s got hair of Titian’s colour !’

The girl at whom he was looking certainly presented a noticeable appearance at that moment, though it remained to be seen whether her beauty were not in part the result of certain striking but adventitious effects of colour, light and shadeSbe was leaning against the lamppost and looking down with a sort of careless grace of attitude at her old grandmother’s stock-in-trade. Her clothing was so thin, tha.t the graceful lines of her figure were quite visible, and the foot that could be plainly seen through the burst seams of her old boots was prettily shaped,, although red and swollen from tho cold. Her hands were coarsened, too,, by toil, but they were not large, and the features of her thin face possessed a look of unusual refinement. The colour of her cheek and chin was indeed too sharp for beauty, and her skin seemed to be quite colourless.. In itself it was hardly a face that you would have looked at twice, except for the beauty of the long-lashed grey eyes, and the masses of ruddy hair which waved low upon her forehead and were gathered into a rough knot at the nape of her neck. The gaslight fell full upon this natural adornment and brought out strangegolden lights in the tangled rippling waves. In happier circumstances that marvellous hair and white skin might have created a sensation in the artistic or the fashionable world; but in Baldwin’s Court the girl was widely known as ‘ red-haired Jess,’ or ‘ Carrots ’ —the inhabitants of that neighbourhood not being possessed of aesthetic tastes. The girl had rather a wide mouth and a strong chin. She was not considered goodlooking in Baldwin’s Court and Mill street. To the eyes of George Eastwood, who thought he saw her capabilities, she was superb.

Helmont looked disappointed. ‘To me,’ he said, rather wistfully, ‘ when I could see, this place on a Saturday night seemed always wonderfully fine as a bit of scenic effect. The lights and shadows, the old houses, with their bits of quaint masonry, the varying faces —you notice how the Jew element predominates seemed to me to form an admirable subject for a picture. You might call it ‘ Bag Fair.’ And the faces alone —what a splendid moral study you could get out of them.’ The young man laughed. £ I don’t want moral studies,’ he said. ‘ I want beauty—and love.’

Mr Herbert seemed to think it advisable to change the subject.

‘ Shall we walk on F Tell me if vou see old Mother Flint ; she generally sits underneath the lamppost, with flowers and apples.’ ‘ I see her. You don’t advise me to paint her P A drunken, leering, bloated face, a blowsy figure all out of shape, gray elf-locks, and a bonnet put on crooked ’ ‘ Poor old thing ! She has been drinking again,’ said Francis Helmont, with infinite pity in bis manly tones. ‘Take me to her, George. I am afraid she is falling into bad habits again, and her granddaughter will suffer if that is the case.’

‘ I am sorry for the granddaughter,, said George, with a little laugh’ which sounded unpleasantly flippant

‘ Wait a moment,’ he said to his friend in a changed voice : ‘ I see a subject before me. I’ll jot down the attitude on my cuff if I can get light enough. I shall call it ‘ A Daughter of the People.’ Do you think I could get that girl to sit to me ?’ ‘Do you mean Jess Armstrong? Why, she is nothing but a shockheaded, pale - faced child, is she ? That is how I remember her two years ago.’ ‘ She has developed since then,’ said Eastwood, decidedly. ‘ Come along, Helmont. I want you to talk to the old woman while I see the girl a little closer.’ Helmont assented with a smile. He was rather amused by George’s sudden enthusiasm. That he should ever really admire a girl of Jess Armstrong’s station and training, never entered the clergyman’s head. He allowed himself to be led

■forward to the old woman’s side, and while he spoke to her, Eastwood turned his eyes upon Jess, who had •altered her position when she saw Mr Helmont advance. She stood erect now, end looked gently and innocently at the stranger who was eyeing her bo intently. 4 ’Ave a bunch of vi’lets, sir ?’ she said. Eastwood was not in the least repelled. He had not expected her to talk like a lady. Her hair shone like red burnished gold in the lamplight ; and that, for the moment, was -all be cared about. ‘ Yes, I’ll have a bunch of violets,’ lie said. ‘Do you live near this place ?’ Jess nodded, 4 With granny, down in Mill street,’ she said, picking out the best bunch of violets in her grandmother’s basket for the gentleman who looked at her so kindly and spoke in such gentle tones. 4 Do you always come here on Saturday night ?’ * Yes, most always.’ ‘ Then 1 shall see you again—if I -come ?’ Jess flushed ; a little smile crept to her lips. She looked really pretty with that flush and that smile. 4 1 shall come,’ said Eastwood quickly, 4 And where do you live ?’ 4 Humber Ten. But you’d best not come without the parson. You’ll be robbed maybe, if you come without him.’ 4 I’ll be careful,’ said George, laughing. ‘ Look here ; there’s something to remember me by, until I come again.’ He vi anted to see her when Helmont was not there to interfere. He had given her a gold coin. Jess’s eyes lifted up; she looked at it admiringly, and then she shook her head. 4 It’s no use,’ she said, 4 1 can’t -change it.’ 4 But I meant you to keep it.’ She shook her bead, and gave him hack the coin with so significant a look of warning, that he involuntarily glanced round to discover what she meant. No one was very near him, but at a few yards’ distance stood a young, stalwart fellow, who was regarding him with an oddly savage and menacing look. The girl slipped round t® the other side of her grandmother’s stool, and stood with her face turned away. Eastwood could not get her to turn round again. 4 1 suppose that young fellow is her lover,’ he said to himself, with something like a feeling of amusement. ‘ She’s much too good for him, I am sure.’

CHAPTER 11. GrOLDEN HaIB. ‘ Is that girl going to get married ?’ •Eastwood asked carelessly of his ; friend, as they went home together. 4 1 don’t know. Why p’ 4 I observed a young man eying me with a very felonious expression of countenance when I spoke to her. I thought that he was her lover, . perhaps.’ 4 Do yon mean,’ said Mr Helmont, deliberately, 4 a young fellow with . dark eyes and a black moustache P

Undersized, but broad and muscular. Used to wear a fur cap when I knew him, and looked like a gamekeeper astray.’ 4 You’ve hit it off exactly. The very man.’ 4 Ah ! That is Stephen Eyre. He is rather a queer customer, 1 would not offend him if I were you.’ 4 1 don’t suppose I shall ever see him again,’ said Eastwood, lightly, and did not pursue the conversation. But he did two unwise things. He dreamed of Jess’s pale profile and wealth of red gold hair for a week, and then set off without Helmont, on an expedition to Baldwin’s Market in search of her. The market was safe enough, but it was unsafe to visit Mill street withont an escort ; and although he knew this fact, Eastwood had no intention of avoiding it. He walked twice up and down it in the hope of seeing Jess ; and in this he was at last successful. She was carrying a basket of flowers, and offering bunches of violets to the passers by. Her face lighted up when she saw George Eastwood. 4 1 thought you’d never come again,’ she said, simply.

He looked at her with a critical eye. She was very pale, but her eyes were bright. Her head was covered by an old black straw hat, with some draggled red and yellow flowers in front. She had a red handkerchief round her neck ; a faded blue dress with flounces covered her limbs, she had donned an old and much-bent crinoline —crinolines being then in fashion —of which a piece of steel protruded pitifully from beneath the lowest torn flounce. No, she was not an artistic figure, George decided —never realizing in the least that all this soiled finery had been put on in his honour, because the girl had hoped that he would come that night ; she was. after all, nothing but a common, tawdry flower-girl, such as one might see at the corner of every Louden street. What had he been thinking of the other night P This girl was almost ugly ; he bad made a ridiculous mistake.

‘ I don’t suppose I shall come again,’ he said coldly. ‘ I was here quite by accident.’ How her face fell ! But George Eastwood was not softened; he simply grew impatient. ‘ I will take a bunch of flowers,’ he said, thinking to restore the smile to her lips, ‘ and here is the money —yes you may take it; why not p It is only half-a-crown,’ Jess, as her friends called her, hesitated, then took the coin with a shy little smile, and busied herself in picking out for him the best bunch of flowers that her basket contained. A gust of wind came down the long narrow street at that moment; it displaced the tawdry hat on the girl’s bent head, and when she dashed at it with her hand she disarranged the rough knot of hair at the back with such effect that it suddenly fell over her shoulders in a heavy, untidy, glorious mass of gold. If she had been the most finished coquette in the world, Jess could not have done a thing more likely to attract the man who was looking at her. Bast-

wood’s sensuous worship of colour was just then at its height. Colour even more than form, entranced him, and Jess’s flood of burnished gold hair was irresistible. With a sudden change of tone and manner, he drew nearer to her and took a tress between his fingers. It was soft and fine in texture —pleasant to the touch, with the crisp yielding elasticity of a a child’s hair, as yet untouched by unguents of any kind. 4 What lovely hair you have, Jess!’ he said softly. The girl looked up, colouring to her brow. 4 They don’t think so down our street. They call me 4 Carrots,’ ’ she replied. 4 They are brutes, then,’ said George. 4 What! that exquisite ruddy gold—is a carrot anything like that ?’ He was still grasping a mass of it in his hand. 4 How I should like to paint it!’ he went on. 4 1 am ar. artist, Jess ; a painter of pictures ; and I have often tried to find some one with hair like yours, and never succeeded ; but your hair' is perfect. Will you Idt me copy it and pot it into a picture ?’ The girl looked frightened and puzzled.

4 Should I have to cut it off ?’ she asked, timidly. 4 Cut it off P No, child !’ said Eastwood, laughing. 4 1 only want you to come to my studio and let your hair hang over your shoulders for an hour or two, while I try to paint it; though I don’t believe that it is possible to reproduce those warm, ruddy tints and golden gleams— ’ Jess was looking more than doubtful. 4 I don’t think Granny would let .me go,’ she murmured.

4 You would earn far more in that way than by selling flowers,’ said Eastwood, quickly. 4 1 would give you —let me see half-a-crown an hour. Would that do ?’

4 1 must ask Granny,’ said the girl. 4 Well, where is Granny ? Let us see her and ask her at once. Is she here ?’

Jess glanced up and down the street rather hopelessly. ‘ The gentleman ’ frightened her a little by bis impatient, masterful way, although his tones were gentle and his eyes looked kind, ‘ I think she’s at her stall with her basket,’ she said at length. ‘ I’ll go and ask her if you like—if you don’t mind waiting for me here.’ ‘ Shall I come with you ?’ The girl shook her head started in search of her grandmother. She had picked up he hat, but, as George noticed, with a half-smile, she had not replaced it upon her head, anp the long hair still flowed down her back in all its splendour. Eastwood had not to wait long. The girl came back, closely followed by the hobbling old grandmother, who, with shaking hands, bleared eyes and bloated face, came wheezing and whimpering to express her sense of obligation to ‘ the gentleman,’ and her convictions of the honour conferred upon ‘ her girl, Jess.’ Jess should go ; oh, yes, Jess should go and have her picture drawn as natural as life ; and the fond granny

had always thought a deal of her, especially since she had grown up so beautiful; and no doubt the gentleman would make it worth her while and not grudge a poor old body a trifle

That will do,’ said George Eastwood drily. ‘I never said that i thought your grand - daughter beautiful. She has hair of a rather uncommon colour—that is all. I want to make a study of it, and if she will come to my studio to-morrow morning at eleven o’clock, I will pay her well for the time that she spends with me. 1 Mrs Sarah Flint expended her strength wildly in protestations of gratitude, but Eastwood did not listen to her. He turned to Jess. Gan you read ?’ he asked somewhat abruptly.

She nodded in reply. He had taken a leaf out of his notebook and was rapidly writing a few words on it as he spoke. £ Two Burnham Studios, Burnham Road*, that is the address. Come at eleven to-morrow.’

‘ And the name, sir; the name, if you please ? said the old woman eagerly, with her cunning eyes fixed ravenously upon Eastwood’s face. Ihe young man hesitated for a moment before he replied. ‘ Ask for Mr Eastwood. It would hardly do, he reflected uncomfortably, ‘ to give quite a false name. Helraont would find me out as sure as a gun, and I can explain to him sometime why it is so necessary to get that girl’s hair into my picture. But confound that old woman, I wish she had not come upon the scene just now ! J

His business was over, and be thought it better not to linger in Mill Street too long.‘He gave some money to Mrs Flint, and reminded the girl once more of the hour at which she was to b e at the Burnham §tudios* and then took his leave of the pair, not ill satisfied with his evening’s work. °

He did not know that he had been watched throughout the interview with Jess and her grandmother by the young man whom he had described to Francis Helmont. A darkfaced, sullen-looking fellow with fierce, deep-set eyes, had been holdinohimself resolutely in the background ; he had slunk along the pavement close to the houses, his face white, his teeth set, his features fixed in an expression of almost murderous hate. Eastwood did not see him, Jess did not see him, but the mother did ; and it was perhaps owing to this fact that she allowed ‘ th p gentleman ’ to slip away so easily without extracting more blackmail before his departure. Eastwood did not live at his studio. He was an artist only by fits and starts ; he had an income of his own, and had never applied himself seriously to any profession. That for which he had the most talent was certainly painting, and his friends, many of whom strongly disapproved of his becoming an artist at all, said amongst themselves sometimes that there was only one thing that George won d ever do well, and that yet he would not take the trouble to do it.

He had rooms about ten minutes’ walk from the studio, and the rooms were in the house of one Mrs Fogg, who bad been lady’s maid to George Eastwood’s mother, and was exceedingly devoted to him. So devoted was she that he succeeded in persuading her to help him in a plan which formed itself in his mind as he was going homewards from Mill street.

It was in pursuance of his arrangement with her that she was at the door of the studio next morning, when Jess came timidly up the long flight of steps, at the top of which his studio was placed. She had evidently arrayed herself in her best for the occasion. Mrs Frogg’s sharp eye remarked that the cotton frock the girl wore was clean, and that her ungloved hands bad been carefully washed. As to the wonderful hair, about which her master had been so enthusiastic, Mrs Fogg just glanced at it and dismissed it with a contemptuous snort. ‘ Just carrots,’ she said to herself, as she grimly bade the stranger enter. ‘ Carrots, and nothing more.’ Jess drew back timidly at the sight of Mrs Fogg, who scanned her with such unfriendly eyes. ‘ The gentleman told me to come,’ she began, when Eastwood came rushing out of his studio and relieved her from her embarrassment.

‘ Oh, come in, come in, Jess,’ he cried. ‘ This is Mrs Fogg, my housekeeper —she’ll show you what I want you to put on and all that sort of thing. Here’s a little room that you can make into a dressing-room ; Mrs Fogg will see to that.’ He was a little confused by her appearance and by Mrs Fogg’s severe stolidity of manner, and, haying uttered his speech very rapidly, he escaped once more into some inner room, leaving Jess to his landlady’s mercies. It had occurred to him that the girl’s hair would not show to advantage if she were in her common clothes, and that she was not very likely to know how to arrange the artistic- garb that he had dreamed of for her ; and it was real kindness and delicacy of feeling that had prompted him to provide her with a tirewoman rnd protectress. * Another time she will know how to manage,’ he said to himself, as he stood before his easel, touching in an outline with a piece of charcoal, ‘ but to-day she will need help.’ And as he said the words to himself, the door opened and Jess came in. But a changed, transfigured Jess; not the untidy, ragged flower-girl, but a golden-haired girl in yhite, whose face was pure and sweet as that of a pictured saint. For the drapery with which she had been invested was admirably suited to her slender figure, and colourless, delicate face. With any large square of material, a few pins, and a little skill, it is possible, in the space of about three minutes, to drape a figure in what looks like an exact reproduction of a Greek woman’s graceful dress. Mrs Fogg had been trained by George Eastwood, and formerly by George’s mother, who had a passion for theatricals and tableaux vivants, and knew to a nicety how to arrange colours and folds to the best possible

effect With some difficulty she had persuaded Jess to take off her gown, and draped her from neck to ankle in the soft white stuff, thjit had been provided for the purpose. Then she let down the mass of golden red hair, and was herselt astonished at its length and fineness and softness. And it was in this guise that Jess came into George Eastwood’s stndio, and took the place shown her by Mrs Fogg upon the little platform meant for the artist’s living models. Eastwood looked ; he could not speak. There was something in the pale pure profile of this half-starved, uneducated girl of the people that seemed to go to his heart. What it was exactly that charmed him, he could not make out. It was not beauty, in the strict sense of the word. It seemed to him as if there was a hint, a suggestion, of something nobler and sweeter than mere beauty in Jess’s downcast face. The slightly parted lips, with their downward curve, the lowered white eyelids, the slender throat half-turned aside, suggested a refinement and delicacy of breeding which most assuredly poor Jess was not likely to possess. The rippling hair gleamed in the strung north light more brilliantly even than it bad gleamed beneath the gaslamps in .Baldwin’s Market ; and Eastwood noted that it was not only lovely in colour, but that it grew prettily, springing away from her forehead and behind the ears in a hundred little golden tendrils and caressing curls, which flung into strong relief the clear pallor of her face and the heavier whiteness of her dress.

George Eastwood was suddenly conscious of a mad desire to take this pale creature in his arms and kiss some colour into her lips and cheeks, to crush the golden masses of hair in his bends, and wind its tendrils round his fingers. There was something that charmed him irresistibly in this child of the streets —this daughter of the people. And yet he was a man with some sort of a heart and conscience—with ties that bound him to another, and with a keen intellectual realisation of the fact that this golden-haired girl could never be in any way a fit mate or companion to him. He turned back to his easel and tried to set to work. To his annoyance he found that his heart was beating violently, and his hand shaking so that he could hardly wield the brush.

After a few ineffectual attempts he threw himself into a chair and remained for a few moments gazing idly at Jess, who stood motionless as a statue, scarcely daring even to breathe, and glancing now and then at Mrs Fogg, who sat austerely with her knitting in one corner of the room. At last he got up and spoke abruptly. ‘I can’t do anything to-day,’ he said. c Will you come to-morrow, Jess ? The light isn’t good to-day. To-morrow at the same time. That’s right. , Mrs Fogg will help you to take off that dress. And —oh ! here is the money I promised you.’ He remembered, with a sudden shock of surprise, that he had never before felt a difficulty in offering

money to the model who had sat for him. Why should he feel it then with Jess ? The girl hardly said a word in reply either to him or to Mrs Ifogg. She put on her old gown and her battered black hat once more, and passed silently out of the studio into the road. Some one was waiting for her at the next turning. A young man with wild black eyes and lowering brows. Mr Helmont had said to Eastwood that his name was Stephen Byre. (To be contfnued).