EVERSFIELD-ROAD, W., is not an arrangement in bricks and mortar, as Londoners might be apt to expect. It is actually a winding country road still, though distant scarce three miles from the Marble Arch.

The houses in this road are detached, and stand in gardens of their own. The style of their architecture varies considerably, each having been erected according to the fancy of the original purchaser of the plot of ground allotted to him for building purposes.

Hubert Eliot, architect and R.A., had been one of the first 'settlers' in this unconventional road; and at the end of the eighteenth century he had there built a dwelling for himself and family, which bears unmistakable evidences of the refinement, as well as the eccentricity, of his peculiar style.

Hubert Eliot, R.A., was the grandfather of Edith the actress; and the happiest and brightest hours of her life had been spent in this ancestral home.

VOL. XXV.

Before she had completed her twentieth year, Edith had twice changed her name and her estate.

She had been wife and widow.

The first keen agony of grief, and the subsequent period of lassitude, survived, Edith's natural energy awoke, and roused her troubled spirit to new action.

'Not enjoyment and not sorrow Is our destined end or way; But to act that each to-morrow Finds us farther than to-day.' Such was the creed on which Edith pondered, with an ever-increasing conviction of its worth.

With her longing to find oblivion of her yet fresh grief in wholesome action, her latent passion for the stage revived. Her mother had been a successful actress, so the girl's inclination and talent were hereditary.

The recollection of the brief joys of her married life, and the anguish which followed her young husband's death, were put aside with a resolute hand. She was possessed of strong moral courage, and she exerted it to the utmost.

GG

Hubert, her only brother, gladly helped her to obey the wholesome impulse which was urging her on to a life of renewed activity.

With a sudden and desperate effort she flung her weeds and her mourning aside. Half measures

were unknown to her.

Having resolved on her future course, all else was made subservient to her new intention. When

she came forth from her widowed seclusion, she abandoned the name of her husband and resumed that of her maidenhood.

The past was buried, if not forgotten. And at five-and-twenty Edith Eliot could fairly consider herself, as the world bid her, at the summit of her profession.

To elevate the moral tone of the stage by the example of her own pure and simple life; to prove to what perfection art may be brought by unflagging patience and undaunted perseverance,-these were the noble tasks she had set herself; and she gave her life to their fulfilment.

Her debut at a leading London theatre proved a triumphant success. Playgoers had not had time to forget her distinguished mother, and hailed the advent of this young, beautiful, and doubly-gifted Eliot' with enthusiasm. The name became a keynote to the chronicles of histrionic art, and was already considered synonymous with suc

cess.

Flattery, adulation, met Edith Eliot on every side. She counted friends by the dozen, admirers by the score. She acknowledged the former with courteous words and acts; she thanked the latter with pretty bows and smiles; but neither acquaintances nor would-be lovers had power to influence her in any sense; nor could their prophecies or praises distract her attention from the goal she had set herself, and towards which all her enter

prise and all her striving led her.

Hubert, who admired her above all women, devoted himself to her service, and that of the 'good cause' both had at heart.

Being himself an actor of some ability, he readily entered into her scheme of life.

Having successfully fulfilled several engagements in London and in the provinces, Edith consulted her brother, and, acting under his instruction and advice, she resolved to form a company of her own.

That step once taken, she felt she would be in the position she so much coveted; for she would thus be enabled to exercise a direct influence on the stage, and on such members of the profession as came under her immediate notice and jurisdiction.

She had inherited a small fortune from her husband, and, what she appreciated far more, a vast amount of artistic knowledge.

He was a painter, and ambitious. His beautiful young wife had inspired him, and he in turn had inspired her with a reverence for a just appreciation of Art which only a devotee at its shrine can possess.

'Ars longa: vita brevis est.'

The artist was dead, but his teaching remained.

Old Mr. Eliot, the grandfather, was thankful to share his home with his admired and ambitious grandchildren. And whenever Edith and Hubert returned from their tours and engagements, the warmest welcome awaited them in the quaint old house in Eversfieldroad.

At four P.M. on the afternoon following her first meeting with the great actress at the Sphere Theatre, Nell Trevor walked up the neat garden path which led from the outer gate to the door of No. 3.

Miss Eliot was seated by the

open window of her study, and, seeing Nell approach, admitted her visitor, whom she greeted with an encouraging smile.

'How could I have found a resemblance to Rosamond in this wonderful face?' Nell thought, looking well into it.

'My face reminds you of some other that you know?' queried the actress, smiling as she read the confirmation of her sudden thought in the guilty blush which actually mounted to Nell's temples.

'It was rude to look-to stare as I did. Forgive me, Miss Eliot,' stammered poor Nell; 'my excuse lies in the fact of the fascination your face possesses.'

'You are a strange child,' said the actress, smiling again. Then she took Nell's hand and led her to a low chair by the window. 'And of whom do I remind you?' asked Miss Eliot presently, and sank back into the cushioned armchair she had occupied when Nell first saw her.

'She always makes a beautiful picture, standing, moving, or resting,' thought Nell. Her name should be Grace, for she is grace. The very light adapts itself to her. It gilds the brightness of her hair; it loses itself in the deep shadows of her wonderful gray eyes. It plays over her pale face and white throat; it mellows the soft graygreen of her simple gown, and loses itself in the graceful folds of it.'

Nell's mental comments may not have clothed themselves in elaborate phrases, but such was their gist.

'There is a likeness between you and a very lovely lady I have met,' she said, finding that her companion required an explanation; but it is the wonder of so much resemblance existing with so startling a difference which perplexes me.'

'This is interesting, child. Now I want to know more,' said Edith.

'I scarcely know how to explain,' answered Nell. 'I can think, and I feel things; but when I would like to put my ideas into words, I am often quite at a loss.'

it

'Let me help you,' said Edith. 'You have certain thoughts which I want to learn, so I must make my business to discover them.' 'I believe I can explain myself better since I have been watching you, Miss Eliot,' said Nell; 'more especially since I am sure you will not think I am rude in doing so. The lady who is something like you is very young, and I don't think she has thought much about things yet. She is rich; she has a beautiful home, and no trouble of any kind. Her eyes are large, and have long lashes like yours; but they are blue eyes, not gray; perhaps the colour makes the difference. Yours are so muchmuch deeper. When I first saw you yesterday, the outline of your face, and the golden hair that is like a halo about it, reminded me of that other lady; her name is Rosamond. But since then I have thought about your face and hers, and to-day has taught me where the difference is. Hers is the beauty of form and colour only. In your earnest eyes, and in your firm lips, mental power asserts itself.'

'You speak like a book, you dear, quaint little woman,' said Edith. She was not only surprised, but gratified and interested also. 'You quite intrigue me; I must adopt a French expression, for it renders my meaning exactly, and we have no equivalent. Do you read much, or how do you employ your leisure time?'

'I have very little leisure,' said Nell. My mother is an invalid; and so the housework and the sewing are all under my charge, of

course. We live in a house in Alpha-street. The furniture of our rooms belongs to us, and we wait upon ourselves. Once a week a charwoman comes to scrub the floors and the stairs. My mother does not like me to do the rough work, you see.'

Nell finished her sentence in a tone of apology. John Hall had taught her to look upon her mother's restrictions as affectations. It was not likely that he would sympathise with 'fine ladies' fads.'

But Miss Eliot evidently agreed entirely with Mrs. Hall's views of the subject.

'You do rough work? I should think not, indeed!' she cried hastily. 'And with those mites of hands of yours, poor little soul !'

'Indeed, I am not a bit to be pitied,' declared Nell earnestly. Her conscience smote her; it seemed as though she had in some sort depreciated the care given her at home. Since I have been engaged at the Sphere my life has been a very happy one, and I shall try hard to get on. I think you were in front last night. Would you mind telling me if I did pretty well? Mrs. Powell and the stagemanager, and-others in the theatre were pleased, I think; but father is away, and so I have not had one opinion from the lookers-on.'

'My brother and I were both delighted with you,' answered Miss Eliot eagerly. So much delighted that Here she paused, suppressed the remark she was about to make, and substituted another. 'You really must accept my heartiest congratulations. Your part is very small; but it was played with such intelligence and feeling that I am convinced you have a great career before you.'

'You say that! And, O, your face tells me that you mean it!' cried Nell. 'If you are right, and I can prove to others that you are so,

what peace and happiness may yet be in store for me!'

She was very earnest; her face was lit up with a holy fire.

'Ambition is the germ from which all growth of nobleness proceeds,' exclaimed Edith, rising, and bending over to kiss the sweet little flushed face so earnestly looking up into hers.

You asked me if I read much, Miss Eliot,' said Nell, glancing at the well-filled bookshelves, which occupied one entire wall of the study. I wonder if you would lend me a few books. I should be so very grateful to you; for next to studying for or being on the stage, I know no greater pleasure.'

'Of course I will lend you whatever you like to carry away, child,' said Miss Eliot kindly. I also enjoy reading much; but the study of living books interests me more than the wisest tomes that ever were penned or printed. To confess this is rank heresy, I know; but I just whisper the fact to you in confidence. There is but one drawback to my perfect enjoyment of this human literature. times happens that I find myself at a loss without the key; and if I dare not ask the owner for it, my study proves unsatisfactory. Am I puzzling you with my odd talk, child ?'

It some

'I think I can understand you; but I am not quite sure,' said Nell shyly; and she glanced up with such a pretty questioning look in her soft brown eyes that Miss Eliot exclaimed,

'I have been studying you very attentively, you must know, and have come to the conclusion already that you are a darling. Now I am sure that you will so far confirm the good opinion I have formed of you, that you will not hesitate, when I ask you to aid me in my perusal of the tempting little volume called Nell Trevor, to tell

me something of her private history. I know about your own father and Mr. Hall and your mother. Those are not the details I want to hear from you. I should like you to tell me all about the inner life-your likes and dislikes, your ambition, your best friends, and possibly your

She broke off suddenly, and watched her visitor's face curiously.

Nell's eyes were hidden by their lashes, in which tell-tale tears were glistening.

'My poor little girl, have I hurt or offended you?' cried Edith, in very evident distress. 'Will you forgive me, dear?' she added. I

have been over-anxious and too abrupt. I forgot that you must still look upon me as a stranger. It seemed to me yesterday, when you were on the stage, and this morning also, as if you had some secret trouble wearying you, and interfering with your calling. I know-I am quite sure-that you did not sleep last night, in spite of your day's hard work. And I be lieve I fear you had been crying your little heart out before you came to see me to-day. If you think me indiscreet, or are in any sense vexed with me for prying into your affairs, tell me so honestly, dear little girl, and I shall feel that you have a right to rebuke me. But if you will, if you can, make up your mind to trust me, I shall be glad, and grateful too; and I may be able to give you some sort of help or comfort. In any case I can safely assure you that you shall never have cause to repent putting, your trust in me. Why, I am quite an old woman compared to you, my child'! I have seen so much, so very much of life already, both of its pleasantness and of its pain. I like you, little Nell; and some day, if you care to listen to the story of my life, I will tell it to

you, because I feel I can trust you—'

'As I do you entirely, dear kind Miss Eliot !' cried Nell, snatching at her companion's extended hands, and covering them with kisses.

No one had ever spoken to her like this before. There was no mental reservation this time. Even Jack's honeyed words and musical tones were forgotten as Edith's tender appeal fell on Nell's ear, rousing and encouraging her. She turned her tear-dimmed eyes upon her beautiful companion as she stood silent, sympathetic, and expectant. Her hands were loosely clasped. They were not small; but exquisitely formed, white, strong, and capable of much expression: Nell had already gained sufficient stage experience to know what wondrous aids a pair of shapely nervous hands are to the clever histrion.

What a friend such a woman as this would prove herself! How firm and strong she appeared! What noble resolution was in her proud face; what gentleness in her caressing touch and softly modulated tones!

Nell stood for a moment lost in thought. Scarce knowing why or whence they came, some verses recurred to her.

She had learned them at Miss Plunkett's school years ago as one of the exercises for the elocution classes.

The present moment, which seemed one of inspiration, linked itself with an appropriate memory of the past; and shyly, but with a full knowledge of their import, Nell once again repeated Wordsworth's lines:

'The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command.'

'That must have been written for you cried Nell, with the in