present to her mind. Did she love him? him her bright saucy denial, and yet to Antonio would say she had sold herself him it seemed far more ultimate than she for money. No; no. If she accepted had any idea of. Reynolds went on Mr. Reynolds, it would not be for any quietly talking, so quietly that Angelica sordid reason. He must not think such asked herself in amazement whether she reasons influenced her. She would not had dreamed that he had proposed; he 'deceive him, it was out of very truth and showed her one or two pictures, exsincerity that she hesitated, and flaunted plained what pigments he had used for them, and when Lady W. came in from the supper-room with expressive looks and eyes directed curiously upon the two, he waited till she joined them, asked her opinion of his picture, quietly included her in the conversation, and then walked away with her.

her fan.

"But, Mr. Reynolds, you have your art? Is she not your mistress?" said Angelica, coquettishly.

Angelica stood by the picture looking after them in a strange and overpowered state of mind. It was now her turn to

"You know my infirmity. I did not catch your meaning," said Mr. Reynolds, immediately coming back, and when Angelica repeated her sentence, which certainly was scarcely worth the trouble of repeating, he sighed, in answer,"Art may be a mistress that we paint-be agitated. She watched Lady W.'s ers must be content to worship with a hopeless passion. She cannot be a wife, an equal, living friend and helper, answering to the need of human hearts."

His tone was so simple, that it touched Angel very much.

silk dress shining, and Mr. Reynolds' sword swinging as he walked, then they joined some of the company and a burst of laughter reached Angel standing alone by the great easel. All the pictures seemed looking at her reproachfully. › "But why did you then think of me, "What have you done? why have you Mr. Reynolds?" said she, with a slight vexed our good master?" they said. quiver, and a sort of laugh. “I am sure "How kind he was; how considerate; you have repented already, and to let you how manful were his words — what a into a secret, you are right in so doing." true gentleman he is in all his ways If Angelica answered flippantly, it was what have you done? why have you done not because she did not feel his words,it?"

kerchief she had dropped: she found Angel still alone in the studio, and exclaimed, in surprise "Alone! Bless me, my dear, how is this?-what has happened? has Joshua made the offer? With all his faults, child, he will make a good and faithful husband."

"Did he tell you?" said Angel, be

but because some instinctive honesty Little Miss Reynolds came flitting prevent her from letting him imagine through the rooms looking for a handthat she had any deeper emotion than that which she really experienced. Compared to his, her own feeling seemed to her so slight, so worthless, that she was ashamed. She stood looking at him gratefully, with one of her azure looks. "If I marry, as I suppose I must," she said, "I fear my future husband will have to be content with a sec-wildered and longing for sympathy. ond place. With a third," she went on, looking down, and clasping the little velvet at her wrist; "for I have my father's happiness to think of as well as my own. Believe me," she said, smiling gaily, "it will be vastly more sensible to leave things as they are. "If I were to marry you, it would not be you so much as the things you could give me. Those I can do without, my friend I cannot spare. No, Mr. Reynolds," she said suddenly, "No shall be my answer."

Miss Angel had been honest; her conscience gave a secret throb of approbation, but I think, woman-like, she intended him not to be content with such an indefinite reply.

He did not quiver or show much change of manner when Angelica gave

"Tell me-not he, child. He is as mum as the church-steeple to me; sisters play a small part in men's lives. So he has done it, hey? You need not fear telling me. I understand it all don't cry, my dear- don't cry. I have no doubt you spoke very prettily; trust me - it will all come right; and I'm sure I don't know where he could find a sweeter wife," said the little old maid, looking at her with kind eyes.

CHAPTER XIV.

PUT OUT THE LIGHT.

LADY W. liked to wind up her little passing interests with some triumphant catastrophe which flattered her sense of power, and rid her of any uncomfortable

feeling of responsibility. Something had vexed her the night of Mr. Reynolds' entertainment. She was very cross going home, and scarcely spoke to Angel. Was my lady getting tired of her, as she had wearied of so many others?

It was Lady Diana who talked and who praised the supper, the house, the host.

Angel was absorbed in the thought of what had occurred. She could not make up her mind whether or not to repeat it all to her friend.

When she would have said good-night to her patroness at the foot of the stairs as usual, Lady W. responded very coldly. For the first time the gracious lady looked ungracious. She answered the girl's inquiring glance with a cold "Good-night, Kauffmann."

Angelica could scarcely believe the tone was for her. "Are you well?" she said.

that
not

"I am quite well, only sorry to have to speak to you, Kauffmann," Lady W. answered; "but I must tell you that your manner to-night was vastly too free for the society into which I have introduced you. I cannot countenance free manners in my box at the play, and I have been much annoyed by the levity of to-night. My lord observed upon it, and has begged me to remonstrate."

A faint sound from my lord was heard, but it died away, and he suddenly disappeared by some back stairs.

My lady was fluttering her fan in some agitation. Lady Diana, and the footmen, and the maids were all round about.

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but to bring Mr. Reynolds to her feet, but his good sense evidently kept him back.

Poor Lord W. knew of old that it was hopeless to try and stem this torrent; he set his watch a few seconds wrong in his perplexity, gave precise directions to his valet about being called in the morning, and as to the preparation of a pot of glue he should require to complete a little nest of boxes he was engaged upon.

An

Poor Angel! coldness from those she loved chilled her and pained her as much as their love vivified and warmed; and she loved Lady W., whose kindness had been unending, and whose praises had been very sweet to her. Was it possible that people spoke truly when they said that people changed? Ah! no, she could not believe it, never, never. gelica was not yet old enough to stretch her interests beyond the radius of her own longings, and of those who loved her; that is the gift of later years, and perhaps the one blessing that supplements their emptiness. No one had ever in her recollection been unkind to her before. She was half-amazed, half-indignant; could it be true? Had she been free? Had she forgotten what was becoming to her station? What had she done?

She dismissed Mrs. Betty with the curious eyes, tore off her rosebud dress impatiently, and flung it on the floor in a heap; then she put on an old dressinggown she used to wear in Italy. That, at least, was her own; little else. The very fire which warmed her resentment was given to her by the person who had insulted her; the person whom she loved, and whose unkindness cut all the more cruelly because she loved her. Lady W. had been unkind, and they seemed suddenly parted. Mr. Reynolds had been too kind, and they seemed parted too; it was all utterly bewildering. Had she shown herself ungrateful to him? Was she being punished now for the pain she had inflicted on another? Was this a warning not to be neglected by her? Was it too late to undo the past?

Angelica turned pale, stood silent, justly wounded, and then said, with simple dignity, "I will speak to you to-morrow, madam, in private, not now," and she walked away to her own room, trembling, with beating pulse, bewildered, offended. A fire was burning, and candles had been lighted, by Mrs. Betty, unaware as yet of the favourite's disgrace, but the maid immediately began to suspect something amiss when Angelica burst into tears. As I have said before, it was not the first time such scenes had occurred. Lady W. rustled up with her beautiful twinkling satin feet, feeling immensely virtuous and superior: she discoursed to Lord W. for an hour on Angelica's enormities, suddenly remembering, as vexed people do, many others which had never occurred to her till that moment. The "I wanted to talk to you," said she, in girl's manner to Henry Belmore was her abrupt voice, and putting down the most flippant and unbecoming, her ways light that she was carrying. were unendurable. She had used her

Angel was still sitting there, broken and overcome by the different emotions of the day, when some one knocked at the door, and, to her surprise, Lady Diana came in.

She came up to the fire, and stood

leaning against the tall chimney, silent me all my life, and even Judith is dearer for a moment; a little round glass over- to me a thousand times than I am to her, head reflected the two, in their flowing but I am a cold-hearted woman, and I robes and emotions. Lady Diana also did not come to talk of myself," she said, had assumed a loose chintz morning- blushing up. "I came to talk to you, robe, all her hair was falling about her and to say, will you let me help you to pale face, which was brightened with choose a home, where you may be indesome unusual look of sympathy and pendent and free? and will you let me interest. lend you enough money to pay your rent this year? You shall pay it back as you like and when you will;" and she held out a pocket-book. "This is a hundred pounds. You can have as much more if you will. I scarcely deserve that you should take it from me."

"I hardly know how you will like what I am going to say, but it is well meant, although you may not think so," she began in her abrupt voice. "I thought I should find you distressed; I could not help coming to speak on what has happened."

"I am foolish, perhaps," said Angel, beginning to cry again. "I don't wish to trouble any one. I don't ask she could not finish the sentence.

Lady Diana began walking up and down the room, then stopped suddenly.

"After what has occurred, the sooner you are able to establish yourself in a home of your own, the better chance there will be for the continuance of your friendship with Judith. But it is not at once that the remembrance of such scenes passes away."

"I should be the most ungrateful of women if anything ever made me forget my grateful friendship for Lady W.," cried Angelica, looking up with her overflowing eyes, and then, to her surprise, she saw that there were tears in Lady Diana's eyes - real tears.

"But do you indeed think I ought to leave?" faltered Angelica, reluctant and shrinking from such a desperate measure, although a few moments ago it had been what she wished.

"Believe me, indeed, it will be best for all our sakes," said Lady Diana, gravely. “I know this house better than you do. I have made up my mind and paid my price. I am content to be discontented; surely you would never be satisfied with that."

"Content with discontent? no, indeed," said the young painter. "Why should any one accept such a fate? Perhaps you are waiting for something," she added, simply, looking at her visitor, who now for the first time seemed to her capable of interesting, and of being herself interested.

"I tell you this is my fate," said Lady "Are you sorry for me? How good Diana, impatiently; "and I expect nothof you! I was feeling so lonely as you ing and ask nothing. Count De Horn came in; I was longing for mamma, for would have married me for my money at my father; longing for Antonio, for Venice. Judith was very angry when I some one to advise me," cried quick refused him. She cannot understand, little Angelica, meeting this unexpected she who values money and position so sympathy, and then as quickly she drew much, how a woman, placed as I am, back frightened again, suddenly remem- lonely and insignificant, can be better bering Lady Diana's long and many un-content with such a fate as mine than kindnesses that she had forgotten for a

moment.

"I don't wonder you mistrust me," said Lady Diana, who seemed to read her heart. "I have been cold and unkind, and you must forgive all that; and if I mean to try and be kind to you now, be generous enough not to repulse me," said the elder woman. "You must remember that I have loved these people all my life, and that I saw you come suddenly into my place, absorb my rights, my words, my looks, and my home happiness. Was it not natural that I should feel hurt and wounded? My happinesses are few enough. I love these children; and my cousin W. has been a brother to

she is herself with her own fortunes. She cannot forgive a refusal. Good-night, you poor little thing," said Diana, taking Angelica's hand. "I shall like to come and sit to you in your new painting-room, and I will bring my friend Anne Conway to you, and while you stay here remember that Judith has a right to be first in her own society."

"Yes," said Angel, "I will try. I fear you have made me too happy; I have forgotten my own position."

Lady Diana looked hard at Miss Angel as she spoke. "You might remember if you chose that a very good and high position may be yours, one that many of us would not refuse," she said.

Angel blushed up. How lovely she looked, all softened by tears and then brightened by emotion !

"It is too late," she faltered. "That I have not accepted; but the hundred pounds I will take gladly from you, if you will never be unkind to me again."

"Here, child; good-night!" said Lady Di, kissing her shyly, and running out of the room.

he been about? He was a "working man," as old Johnson had called him one day in jest. He was no professed lover or squire of dames. She had been right as regarded him, though perhaps wrong as to herself, thought the painter with some natural bias; and for one moment a thought of her as she had looked, standing there by the easel smiling in her shining silks, nearly overcame his resolve; a fancy of Angelica went to bed somewhat com- her there, among them all, cherished and forted; but all night long strange horrors tenderly appreciated, and faithfully loved and dreams haunted her comfortable al-... The brush fell idly as he painted cove; dreams and terrors that not all the this picture with certain colours, more counterpanes and eider-downs could fleeting still perhaps than his olios and keep away. She saw Mr. Reynolds inceras. Fate had decided otherwise. He trouble, and some one seemed hiding be- felt certain that she had no feeling for hind one of the pictures, and then came him. Without it, it would be folly for her a scream, and she awoke. She herself to marry one so much older, so little had screamed, but there was no one to suited. Something had gone out the hear her. She was thankful when morn-night before when the house had been ing light came, and Mrs. Betty with a cup lighted so brilliantly. He was surprised of chocolate. Here was the morning; to find now how easily this blow had falwas everything as it had been before? Notwithstanding cockcrow and morning light, Lady W.'s coldness continued.

Angelica's portrait was not yet sent home. She had begged Mr. Reynolds to keep it for her until she moved into her own house. It had been taken out of the studio the night of the supper, and carried into the painting-room where Marchi used to work upon his master's pictures. The next morning, when Mr. Reynolds walked in as usual, the picture had been replaced. There it stood, facing him, with its half conscious, half unconscious, witcheries. His heart sank very much when he walked up to it, and for an instant he felt almost inclined with his long-stocked brush to paint the whole canvas over, for it seemed when he came up to smile at him as Angelica herself had done the night before; but painting out a picture could make no change in his feelings towards her. If feelings could be so easily displaced the world would be far less furnished than it is at present. Painting pictures of other people would be more to the purpose, thought the workman with a sigh. Some little details were still to be finished upon this one: the fur on the cloak, the shadow of the throat, and while he added what was wanting, the man became a painter again.

len. He was very sad, very much preoccupied; but he felt that on the whole circumstances had fallen out better than he had sometimes expected, less well perhaps then he had hoped.

For some little time past all his future had seemed suddenly illumined by new interests and by a new light. Now nothing of it was left it was extinguishedthat was all. No ray seemed left, absolutely none; and he saw things once more in the old bald daylight.

He was not shaken or distressed, but changed somehow. It seemed to him as if the Angelica he had loved had died the night before; and as if he had now to learn to live again without her. And this old stock phrase is full of meaning to those souls new born, into this hackneyed old life through pain and secret pangs.

It is not for any one to say how far Mr. Reynolds was right or wrong in his determination henceforth to rule his life, not to be ruled by the chances of it. Such things are ordered by the forces of each individual nature. People will be true to themselves whatever part they may determine upon; only the difference is that some try to play a higher part and fail perhaps, and are ashamed, and others try for a smaller part and succeed, and are content.

Mr. Reynolds was still turning over He was able to think calmly, and to these things in his mind, when Miss Reymake deliberate resolutions. Henceforth nolds, the little lady in the dressinghe would never again be faithless to his gown and morning wrapper, peeped into life's true interest. This had been an the room. She saw her brother standing extraordinary phase, utterly unexpected, there, listless, unoccupied. The penello a phase which was over forever. What had | volante, so rapid, so assured in its flash,

hung idly by his side. She could see his face reflected in the looking-glass from which he used to paint.

A very strange expression of pity and regret appeared in his looks. Were tears in his placid eyes? No! that was not so; for he started and turned quickly, and seeing her, asked in his usual voice what she wanted?

"I want my pocket-handkerchief, brother," said Miss Reynolds, startled. "I forgot it last night;" and then she took courage, and went up to him and took his hand, paint-stock, and all, and held it in both hers, and looked at him beneath her big cap-“I should wish you happy, brother," she said; "I saw a certain lady in tears, standing in this very spot, a few hours ago; at least, if not here, it was there by the great easel; or, no! they have moved it, and put the little one in its place; and oh! brother, you are still a young man and much admired by many; do not trifle with a sweet girl's happiness, to say nothing of your own, not that any one can judge for you, but one can't help one's hopes; and happiness is such a blessing, and must add so much to one's life, at least, so I should imagine."

"Thank you, Frances," said Mr. Reynolds, both touched and vexed by her agitation, as he always was. "Thank you, my dear; I hope we shall all be happy."

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has rendered the word a terror. In the course of time the wiser Florentines learnt to think of taking shelter from the tyranny of faction under the rule of a single prince. Nor, during the greater portion of the fifteenth century, was there much doubt as to whence that prince was to come. Such influence had been acquired for the house of Medici by its great wealth and a succession of singularly able chiefs, that all the errors of the son of "the Magnificent" merely delayed for a generation the recognition of his family as the hereditary lords of Florence.

With the attainment of supremacy in their native city, the Medici seem to have lost for a while their commanding ability. Clement VII., the head of the family A.D. 1521-34, perpetrated many gross political mistakes. He selected for successor a youth of birth as questionable as the heir of Olivarez, and thus alienated his relatives. He endeavoured to rule as a prince rather than as a party chief, and thereby drove the aristocracy into fierce opposition. His necessities compelled him to impose heavy taxes, and this lost him the affections of the masses. Finally, his character, no less than his cloth, rendered him averse to severity, and thus, while abundantly hated, he was not at all dreaded.

The capture of Rome by the followers of Bourbon was followed at once by revolution at Florence. Not a voice was raised in favour of the Medici, for the leaders of the movement were all noble. Eventually these leaders had no great. reason to congratulate themselves on their handiwork. Like all men of high birth, they proved but indifferent demagogues, and disgusted the people from the outset by their moderation. Their popularity, therefore, and with it their share of power dwindled rapidly to nothing.

"She seemed sadly disturbed," said Miss Reynolds, "" a little bird. "Thank you, my dear," said her brother again, patting her shoulder. "Leave me now, I must go to my work, or I shali | be sadly disturbed." Miss Reynolds opened her mouth to say more, but her courage failed. She was never at ease with her brother, and yet her kind heart yearned towards him, and she longed to say something to comfort him in his evident depression. She was beginning another allusion to an old adage which she Thanks to the events which disabled thought applicable to the present state of the pope and drew the attention of things; but he again signed to her to Charles V. to other quarters, the Florenstop, and Marchi, who had followed her tine revolt was allowed full swing for the into the room, now announced an early next two years, and innumerable were its visitor. Miss Reynolds, suddenly con- fantastic pranks. The most astonishing scious of her petticoat and dressing-jack-experiments were tried with the maet, turned and fled.

From The Cornhill Magazine.
THE SIEGE OF FLORENCE.

MEDIEVAL Florence was the scene of endless revolutions, attended by all that

chinery of government, and the most startling laws enacted. Conspicuous among the latter were the religious ones. Capponi, the leader of the primary revolutionists, being a man of decidedly serious views, took it into his head, at an early period, to make the whole community as sternly moral as himself - by statute. The time was not badly chosen.