The Martyrdom of Madeline

ain, and, clutching Uncle Luke's hand, moved along

He took off his high hat, and scratched his head; and this appeared to remind him that he had a paper carefully t

ke Whit

e

wtree

ohn's

n, who happened to be good-natured, informed him that he must walk across London Bridge, and make the be

ity Hatlas"-you'll see "City Hatlas" wri

along with the traffic that sets all day from London Bridge Station over the great Bridge

tered a cry, and would have stopped to gaze, but her Uncle pulled

little man had quite forgotten the policeman's directions. Madeline, however,

s paper to t

said that wor

e innumerable horses and vehicles, and the people ever coming and going, like waves of a sea. She thought it beautiful, a kind of terrible Fairyland, and it would have given her perfect pleasure if her heart h

he situation; he held her hand tight, and fixed his poor sad eyes on vacancy, seeing and hearing nothing, only consci

ther side of the road. Here the omnibus stopped, and the conductor told Uncle Luke to alight, announcing that they were at the corner of Willowtree Road, and th

ed at two of the corners by public-houses. It was very quiet and suburban, and as all the trees

he road was quite deserted, and there was no one whom he could consult. At last he came against a teleg

t house with the verander? Well, you don't go up the front steps, but walk round to

hesitation, he rang. Scarcely had he done so, when the door opened as it were of its own accord, and he found himself in a dilapidated garden, face to face with a small building which looked like

of town. Back

ay week' was curiously indefinite, particularly as the paper showed signs of having been there for a considerable time already. While he stood gaping and

t' cried this wo

o you

and handed over the paper. Strange to sa

in next week. If it's a summons, nobody ai

hite,' said Uncle Luke, tim

a fierce sense of grievance. 'He ain't at home

ackground, and a pair of human eyes seemed rapi

ht, Judas. Le

from above, and full of all the paraphernalia of an artist's workshop-several easels, two or three lay figures, paintings in various states of completion. In one corner stood a stove, on the top of which was a lo

ght moustache, a watery blue eye, and a large amount of unkempt flaxen hair. He grasped a pal

ou?' he said, with a rather va

adlin, here. Haven't I, Madlin? If so be he's away, can't some one fetch him, and tell him Luke Peartree wants him, and tha

m and began crying too. The young man looked at them in astonishment for some min

e, W

ce answered

s the

o see you-c

ons, combined with inarticulate groans. After list

to him. 'He's writing in bed, and he won't rise. You'd better go

ll chamber, furnished as a bedroom; that is to say, it contained an iron bedstead, a washstand, a table, and other conveniences. A chest of drawer

e, whose heart was full and overflowed at the sight of one whom he believed to be a friend of the family, trotted over to the bedside and took his hand, crying like a child, he dropped his notebook and seemed aghast. Then, recognising h

e's a-going back. Oh, Mr. White, be a father to her! She ain't got ne'er another, now her Uncle Mark's dead.'

rousers,' he sai

of yolk of egg, and his face, which was otherwise kindly and good-humoured, looked parboiled. Seizing a brush, he went through the formality of brushing the very minute bunches of hair which ornamented his bald head, and then, after a momentary struggle with his whiskers, led the way into the 'st

, running to him and pointing

ed upon the artist in pathetic admiration. Meantime White stood blinking benignly through h

n,' said Uncle

ly, and gave a country curtsey, as she had been

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