Franklin strove to put on his air of rough assurance, but there was something in Mrs. Branburn's manner which made any familiarity impossible, and he was forced to be respectful, in spite of himself.

My wife was asleep," he said, as an apology. "She must have stolen the key from the drawer. It shall not happen again."

"Be kind to her," continued Mrs. Branburn, looking at him full in the face. "She is not accountable for her actions, and your duty, and that of your wife, is simply to watch her; nothing more is required." She then turned to the trembling maniac, who sat cowering in the farthest corner of the room, and asked gently, "You are willing to return to your chamber, are you not?"

"With him?" cried the poor woman, pointing to the porter. I go with him?"

"Must

There was a piteous expression in her wild face which moved Mrs. Branburn to compassion.

"I will accompany you; have no fear," said she, kindly. "Come." "Yes," murmured the madwoman. "You are good." And she took the hand extended to her, and crouching close up to Mrs. Branburn, they passed out of the room, followed by Franklin, holding the candle.

It was a strange procession walking through those long dark passages, and it was a strange and trying position for Mrs. Branburn; but there was a resolute look about her compressed mouth, and in the fire which burned in her eye. She had strength to go through anything at that moment, and her duty seemed so clearly marked out before her that she needed no hesitation or time for thought. They walked hurriedly on; the house was quite still, not a creature besides themselves was aroused by what had occurred, and the melancholy hooting of the owls outside was all that disturbed the silence, save the dull echo of their hasty footsteps. The broken glass and shattered casements of a window showed that they were reaching the ruined part of the house, and presently they came to a strong oak doorway, of modern make, above which was written, "To the porter's rooms. This door stood partly open, and a woman was seen within, holding a candle-lamp. She was evidently much frightened by what had happened, for her hand trembled, and her eyes sought the porter's face with a look of apprehension.

"Thank Heaven, she is found!" ejaculated the woman, on perceiving the unfortunate maniac. "Oh, ma'am, it was not my fault-indeed it was not; yet what will my master say ?"

Mrs. Branburn made no reply to this appeal, and Franklin cast a scowling glance at his wife, for such she was, which seemed to express the same words he had a short time before used to the little dog. Turning to the left, they passed through another door, and found themselves in a comfortable-looking parlour, which led to a sleeping-chamber beyond, and through that to a dark gloomy passage running in an opposite direction to that by which they had entered. At the end of this there was a narrow staircase, and on the landing above a strong door opposite to a ruined window. This door was likewise open, and conducted to a small bed-chamber scantily furnished. Here the porter's wife slept, and within was the room occupied by her unhappy charge. As they entered the former the poor woman stopped, and pointing to a drawer by the bedside, and to the large key in the door, she muttered, "I found it, but

that is not the key. I must search for it here and everywhere. It is bright-very bright."

"You will come with me," said Mrs. Branburn, mildly, as she found her anxious to remain where they were. "You must go to rest now; it

is

very

late."

The madwoman began to laugh in a wild, half-hysterical manner, but she followed her conductor quietly, and they entered a large rambling room, with a wooden partition down one side, and two little windows high up almost in the roof. There was a stove at one end and a bed. These, a deal table and chair, composed the sole furniture of the place. Some prints from the Illustrated London News were nailed high up on the walls, and a picture-book lay on the floor near a bundle of coloured rags, but when we have enumerated these we have told all, and in this dreary place the poor maniac was left, and the door locked and bolted upon her. Mrs. Branburn heaved a deep sigh, as if partly relieved that it was over, partly sorrowing for the unhappy woman thus shut out from the world, buried in a living tomb, left to her own wild fancies till death should come to release her; but she gave herself no time for reflection then. She turned immediately to the porter to inquire how it had all happened.

"I rang your bell twice," she added. "Is it broken, or why did you

not come to me?"

"I was out," he said, rather sullenly. "I went down to the lodge to speak to my son, and whilst there she must have made her escape, traversed my rooms, and groped her way to you in the dark. Mad women have cat's eyes."

"And how did she escape?" asked Mrs. Branburn, addressing the wife.

66

Ah, ma'am, I can hardly say," stammered the affrighted woman. "She has been so quiet of nights lately, and so docile, that I have not locked the door between us. I must have been very sound asleep never to have heard her come to my bedside and take the great key of the outer door; but so it was, and I can scarcely say it was my fault. Such a thing has never happened before; I have always watched her carefully, and if locks and bolts can prevent it, I assure you, ma'am, it shall never occur again."

Taking the candle from the porter, Mrs. Branburn left them, with injunctions to be kind to the maniac, and to be more careful for the future. "My husband shall not hear of this. No one in the house besides ourselves has been disturbed; nothing, therefore, need be said."

The gratitude of the porter's wife was excessive; she seemed to dread the consequences of her negligence more than her husband did; perhaps he was more certain of the position he held in "The House," and doubtless she, poor woman, had two masters to fear, whereas he had but one. Franklin left his wife, who returned to attend to her unfortunate charge ere she again sought her own couch; and we may be sure that she placed the key of her door in a safer place.

No sleep visited Mrs. Branburn's eyes that night; she retired to her own apartment, but the morning found her seated in the large arm-chair, her head buried in her hands, and the faithful little dog crouching at her feet.

II.

MARKET-DAY.

KELTON is a curious old town, boasting of few modern innovations. Its streets are built, for the most part, up and down hill, with bad pavement, or none at all, and a gutter at one side-an inviting receptacle for any filth that may be thrown into it. The houses are irregular, small ones fitting into large ones, bay-windows jutting into the street, steps up to the doors, and steps down. Archways under the upper stories lead into back lanes and courts, and shop-windows, with a tolerable display of goods, place themselves in the most retiring corners.

The market-place is in the centre of the town, and a large open space it is, with a stone cross and pant, or fountain, in the middle, round which innumerable children play, unburdened with more articles of dress than is positively necessary, and exhibiting very dirty feet and legs, and faces that most assuredly are only washed once a week. A long street runs from the market-place down hill; this is Mossgate, the principal street in the town. Here the post-office stands, a small, unpretending-looking place, wedged in between two shops-one a grocer's, the other a linendraper's. On market-day, this is the spot most resorted to in all Kelton.

The women come to buy their goods for the week; it is so handy, for they have only to pass from one shop to the other, and all the carriers' carts stand opposite, ready to convey the parcels home at night, if they do not chance to have carts or conveyances of their own. Besides these advantages, they are sure to see their friends, for as every one makes his or her purchase at these particular shops on this the greatest day of the week, they can hardly fail to meet some one whom they would be glad to have a prose with.

It was market-day when we entered the town, and full of business everything looked. Temporary booths had been erected for the protection of the wares for sale; old women were sitting in the midst of their property, which was spread out around them. Crockery, jugs, basins, cups, &c., lay upon the ground; there were stalls for vegetables and flowers; coops of hens, and chickens, and ducks; fish was exhibited for sale, and everywhere bargaining and haggling was going on. It was a busy scene: all the neighbourhood seemed to have gathered together, and the usually silent streets of Kelton resounded with the noise of voices and the rumble of cart-wheels.

Hunter's, the linendraper's-shop by the post-office, had its usual succession of purchasers; there was plenty of work for all hands that day; women, young and old, came and went; yards of stuff were sold, and the shopmen had barely time to wipe the perspiration off their brows before they were called on to be busy again. Threading her way through the crowd in the street came an old woman, neatly dressed, and carrying a large umbrella in one hand to help herself along with. She wore a thin shawl, pinned across her chest, and a black silk poke-bonnet, with a bow of ribbon on one side, a narrow fall of lace all round the edge, and a snow-white cap inside, which formed a kind of frame to the clean, wellshaped, but aged face within. On she came round the corner of the market-place into Mossgate, and stopped before Hunter's shop. It took

her some time to get up the steps, and as she did so she was recognised by all those within, who were quite ready to give her a hearty welcome. Gude-day, Mistress Crossman," said one of the shopmen, and a hand was stretched out over the counter to give hers a hearty shake; "it's naa sa of'en thart we see ye here."

"Naa, sir," said she, "time gees on, and A'm grooin' owld. It's naa easy matter to bring ma owld boones into Kelton noo."

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Maybe ye'll ha manny poorchases to maak to-day, Mistress Cross

man ?"

"Ah, yees, thare's monny things to geet, and little to maak t' pot

bile wi'."

"P'rhaps ye 'ill tack a chair. Ye moost be weary wi' yer larng ride." This offer was gladly accepted, and then followed a lengthened inquiry after Mistress Betsie and Jane, and Mr. Jones and Holleman, and numerous other personages equally unfamiliar to us. When the questions had all been satisfactorily answered, it was thought to be about time to enter upon business, but the subject was not commenced after the usual mode. The old lady did not make known her wants, but the shopman exerted his ingenuity to find out what they might be.

"And maybe ye'll be aboot buying a goown this mornin'?” he said. "Ah weel, sir.”

"And p'rhaps it's sumthin' waarm foor the winter thart ye're lookin' arfter?"

An assent was given to this suggestion, but nothing more.

"And carn ye tall me aboot whart price?"

This caused some reflection. At length the old lady proposed that it should be eightpence a yard.

"Ye'll naa geet whart ye woold like at thart price, Mistress Crossman," he said, with a shake of the head. And again his suggestive faculties were brought into play: "Ye'll warnt it stoot, and whart 'll wear weel. Thare's the cawld winter to think o', and the farm's on the hill."

"Ah weel, ye moost brin' me sumat."

This was a wise proposal, but it was not immediately followed up. The shopman had various different stuffs to recommend, and various prices to tell; but at length the counter was covered with the desired materials for a winter gown, and the old lady's hand was passed over them and under them, thumbing this and thumbing that, now preferring one and now another, till she grew quite puzzled, and allowed herself to be provided with a gown of the shopman's own choosing. The winter gown was the principal purchase she had to make; but there were cap ribbons and a bonnet for Betsie, two sixpenny caps for herself, and many other different things, the selection of which took up the greater part of the morning, and caused her to be conducted into the show-room up-stairs. Down she came at length, however, to pay her bill, which had mounted to a considerable sum for her small means; but on her way she saw some tempting aprons, and asked the price. They were above what she could give, she thought, and turned away. The apron followed her in the shopman's hand, and when the parcel was being made up he intimated, with many a bland smile, that it should be put in with the other things, Mrs. Crossman was a good customer, &c. &c. Her shopping was now

over, but there were many last words to say, friendly messages had to be sent to various country folks, who could not often come to Kelton, and it was nearly two o'clock before Mistress Crossman found herself being assisted down the stone steps before the shop door.

It chanced that old John Hillingham, who had come in to Kelton to post the Blaswick letters, was in the act of leaving the grocer's adjoining the post-office, at the very same time, and a voice from within was giving him the following instruction:

"Maybe ye'll tall Mistress Jackson thart if she carn manage to waant the tea awhile, A'll ha' it ready foor Thursday."

"Ah weel," said John; and, turning, he encountered Mistress Crossman, who was now in the street, and alone. Here was an opportunity to glean some news for the gossips of Blaswick. The good old lady came from Allandale, where she lived at her son's farm. In her early days she had been nursery-maid at "The House"-she was Lizzie Robinson then --and when the young ladies grew up she still stayed with them.

She could remember Mr. Mark Douglas as a lad at school, and had played with Miss Mary and Miss Elizabeth. She had been a great deal with the family; old Mrs. Douglas was very kind to her. She had travelled about with them on the Continent, and well could she recollect the time when Mr. Mark first began to show his wild ways, and the distress it occasioned his good mother. Alas! he did but follow in his father's footsteps, and chose the way to ruin with his eyes open. They were in Germany at the time the news of his wild doings reached them, and they immediately set out for England. Mrs. Douglas had led a sad life with her husband, but she managed to keep up a tolerable appearance to the world. The old "House" had seen many unhappy marriages, and now, when better things might have been expected, the young heir fell into bad ways, and threatened to ruin everything.

DIANA OF POITIERS.*

IT is the privilege of Diana of Poitiers that her name, like that of the Marchioness of Pompadour, should be intimately associated with an epoch of renovation and grandeur in the arts. The memory of Leonardo da Vinci, of Rosso, of Primatice, and of Benvenuto Cellini, attaches itself to that of Diana of Poitiers. To the present day, upon the frontispieces of the monuments of the early epochs of the Renaissance, upon the channelled columns of Anet, upon the elaborate doorways of Amboise, over the artistic chimney-pieces of Chambord, Fontainebleau, and the Louvre, the cypher of Diana of Poitiers and of Henri II. are to be seen interlaced, for it was especially during the brief reign of Henri II. that Diana dominated; under Francis I. her power was soon effaced by the cold and

*Les Reines de la Main Gauche: Diane de Poitiers. Par M. Capefigue. Paris: Amyot.