The Martyrdom of Madeline

r. Marmaduke White whenever he desired perfect solitude, and when the visits of even friends and acqu

the theatre. Some of his less ambitious plays had been acted with no little éclat, and everybody had thriven through them except the author. Others had failed, and these failures constituted his glory. They were really productions of considerable litera

in a studio, with one artist or another for a companion, not because the place was necessary for his vocation, but because he was naturally a Bohemian, and a studio was a thoroughly Bohemian sort of abode. He was forty

Dying penitent, as well as penniless, he confided to White, who watched by his sick bed like a woman, that he had betrayed the girl, and that she had given birth to a child, then about one year old. White promised that he would seek both mother and child, and help them if possible. So after putting his poor friend into the ground, and moving heaven and earth to get a few tender things about him inserted in the newspapers, White betook himself to the lonely seaside village where the widow dwelt

arranged, committed the child to her care. What had been originally only a temporary arrangement presently became fixed and habitual. Years passed away. Madeline remained with the Peartrees, who were childless. White, in a very irregular manner, sent them small sums from time to time; but it had never occurred

roken up the little home and left Madeline helpless on their hands, White was staggered. It was clear that the Peartrees thou

friend, the literary Bohemian. Somehow or other he had always pictured her as a fat little country cherub, with very

ore your time. But you've read his "Ballads of Bohemia"-by Jove, sir, some of them

d. 'Never saw such a likeness in my life-it quite turns me over. She looks a wild little thing, don't she? The man with her is a sort of natural. It was absurd to t

egan to cry. The home was broken up, he said; Aunt Jane's only means of subsistence was to go o

te, there be no home for Madlin now. Our hearts be broke, sir, to part w

er off here than ever

asped the

y; but you're a gentleman born, and can bring her up well-nigh like a lady. I brung her, Master White,' he continued, reverting t

ce for a child, and even if it were she needs a woman's

power of a 'gentleman born,' like Mr. White, was unlimited

clever, Master White. I've heerd schoolmaster say that she can spell like a good 'un, and her writin's as clear as print. I see her write out the Lord's Prayer on

t of repudiating the responsibility altogether, but he was far too good-natured for that. Then he suggested that Luke

y all the house)-'mother said I was to leave her along o' you, cause you was her best friend; and mother said you'd never grudge her the wittles w

at he had any special reason for asking, but becau

, calculating, and after

, 'cause 'twas the year when her cousin Jim he was drowned off Woolwich Pier, after he had deserted and was running awa

own feeble reflections. 'Is there no place where she could be p

ut that White would give the child a welcome, and he was quite incapable of

s a stout little old lady, with a very profound respect for her tenant, who had been useful to her in many ways, as indeed he was almost invariabl

uth dawned upon her, and she burst into lamentation. Clinging to Uncle Luke, she cried

ne, over which we have

e to see Madeline made into a little lady. The child herself was taken care of by Madame de Berny. But she would not depart from the studio until Uncle Luke had avowed posit