othing but death shall separate us now!"

Barret smiled, and was about to make some rejoinder, but he checked
himself and changed the subject.

"How is your sister?" said he, "I have not heard of her for a long
time."

"Not well," answered Fred; "the doctors shake their heads and speak of
the shock having been too much for her. Dear Loo, she never was strong,
and I'm afraid that she has received fatal injury on the night of the
fire. I'm told that my poor father is sadly cut up about her--attends
on her night and day, and humours her every whim. This is so unlike him
that it fills me with anxiety on account of dear Loo, whom I have not
seen since I went to live at Kensington."

"Kensington, Fred? I did not know you had gone to live there."

"I was just going to mention that when we came in. I have got a very
comfortable lodging with--who do you think? you'll never guess--Mrs
Willders, the mother of our young friend Willie who works with old Tom
Tippet upstairs. You may well look surprised. I came upon the lodging
quite accidentally, and, finding that it suited my inclinations and my
purse, I took it at once for a few weeks. It's in a very poor locality,
no doubt, but you know a man must cut his coat according to his cloth,
and my cloth is not broad at present. But then," continued Fred, with
sudden animation, "it's a splendid place for a painter! There are such
picturesque regions and bits near it. Why, Kensington Gardens are
sufficient to make the fortune of a landscape-painter--at least in the
way of trees; then an hour's walk takes you to rural scenery, or canal
scenery, with barges, bridges, boats, old stores, cottages, etcetera.
Oh! it's a magnificent spot, and I'm hard at work on a picturesque old
pump near Shepherd's Bush Common, with a bit of old brick wall behind
it, half-covered with ivy, and a gipsy-like beggar-girl drinking at it
out of her hand; that--that'll make an impression, I think, on the Royal
Academy, if--if _they take it in_."

"Ah! _if_ they take it in," said John Barret, smiling.

"Well," retorted Fred Auberly, "I know that is a point of uncertainty,
and I'm not very sanguine, because there is great lack of room.
Nevertheless, I mean to send it. And you know, John, `faint heart never
won fair lady,' so--"

At this point the conversation was interrupted by a shrill whistle at
the top of the house, which, as it drew nearer, became identified with
the air of "Rule Britannia!"