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a case of being locked up in my room and kept on bread and water; but something of the sort. I was so much astonished at first, I did not know what to do; and then it became intolerable. I had nobody I could appeal to, for everybody agreed with her. Markham is generally a safe person; but even Markham took her side. So I immediately thought of you. I said to myself: One's father is the right person to protect one. And I knew, of course, that if anybody in the world could understand how impossible it is to live with mamma when she has taken a thing in her head, it would be you.'

Waring kept his eye upon Frances while this was being said, with an almost comic embarrassment. It was half laughable; but it was painful, as so many laughable things are; and there was something like alarm, or rather timidity, in the look. The man looked afraid of the little girl-whom all her life he had treated as a child—and her clear sensible eyes.

'One thinks these things, perhaps; but one does not put them into words,' he said. 'Oh! it is no worse to say them than to think them,' said Constance. 'I always say what I mean. And you must know that things went very far-so far, that I couldn't put up with it any longer; so I made up my mind all at once that I would come off to you.'

'And I tell you, you are welcome, my dear. It is so long since I saw you, that I could not have recognised you. That is natural enough. But now that you are here-I cannot decide upon the wisdom of the step till I know all the circumstances'

'Oh, wisdom! I don't suppose there is any wisdom about it. No one expects wisdom from But what could I do? There was nothing else that I could do.'


'At all events,' said Waring, with a little inclination of his head and a smile, as if he were talking to a visitor, Frances said to herself-'Frances and I will forgive any lack of wisdom which has given us-this pleasure.' He laughed at himself as he spoke. You must expect for a time to feel like a fine lady paying a visit to her poor relations,' he said.

'Oh, I know you will approve of me when you hear everything. Mamma says I am a Waring all over, your own child.'

The sensations with which Frances stood and listened, it would be impossible to describe. Mamma! who was this, of whom the other girl spoke so lightly, whom she had never heard of before? Was it possible that a mother as well as a sister existed for her, as for others, in the unknown world out of which Constance had come? A hundred questions were on her lips, but she controlled herself, and asked none of them. Reflection, which comes so often slowly, almost painfully, to her came now like the flash of lightning. She would not betray to any one, not even to Constance, that she had never known she had a mother. Papa might be wrong -oh, how wrong he had been!-but she would not betray him. She checked the exclamation on her lips; she subdued her soul altogether, forcing it into silence. This was the secret she had been so anxious to penetrate, which he had kept so closely from her. Why should he have kept it from her? It was evident it

had not been kept on the other side. Whatever had happened, had Frances been in trouble, she knew of no one with whom she could have taken refuge; but her sister had known. Her brain was made dizzy by these thoughts. It was open to her now to ask whatever she pleased. The mystery had been made plain; but at the same time her mouth was stopped. She would not confuse her father, nor betray him. It was chiefly from this bewildering sensation, and not, as her father, suddenly grown acute in respect to Frances, thought, from a mortifying consciousness that Constance would speak with more freedom if she were not there, that Frances spoke. 'I think,' she said, 'that I had better go and see about the rooms. Mariuccia will not know what to do till I come; and you will take care of Constance, papa.'

He looked at her, hearing in her tone a wounded feeling, a touch of forlorn pride, which perhaps were there, but not so much as he thought; but it was Constance that replied: 'O yes; we will take care of each other. I have so much to tell him,' with a laugh. Frances was aware that there was relief in it, in the prospect of her own absence; but she did not feel it so strongly as her father did. She gave them both a smile, and went away.

'So that is Frances,' said the new-found sister, looking after her. 'I find her very like mamma. But everybody says I am your child, disposition and all.' She rose, and came up to Waring, who had never lessened the distance between himself and her. She put her hand into his arm and held up her face to him. I am like you. I shall be much happier with you. Do you think you will like having me instead of Frances, father?' She clasped his arm against her in a caressing way, and leant her cheek upon the sleeve of his velvet coat. 'Don't you think you would like to have me, father, instead of her?' she said.

A whole panorama of the situation, like a landscape, suddenly flashed before Waring's mind. The spell of this caress, and confidence she showed of being loved, which is so great a charm, and the impulse of nature, so much as that is worth, drew him towards the handsome girl, who took possession of him and his affections without a doubt, and pushed away the other from his heart and his side with an impulse which his philosophy said was common to all men-or at least, if that was too sweeping, to all women. But in the same moment came that sense of championship and proprietorship, the one inextricably mingled with the other, which makes us all defend our own, whenever assailed. Frances was his own; she was his creation; he had taught her almost everything. Poor little Frances! Not like this girl, who could speak for herself, who could go everywhere, half-commanding, half-taking with guile every heart that she encountered. Frances would never do that. But she would be true, true as the heavens themselves, and never falter. By a sudden gleam of perception, he saw that though he had never told her anything of this, though it must have been a revelation of wonder to her, yet that she had not burst forth into any outcries of astonishment, or asked any compromising questions, or done anything to betray him.

His heart went forth to Frances with an infi- In like manner, names are often assumed in nite tenderness. He had not been a doting consideration of the accession of property, even father to her; he had even-being himself what though there may be no binding obligation to the world calls a clever man, much above her do so. A comparatively poor man marries the mental level-felt himself to condescend a little, heiress or possessor of extensive estates, who is and almost upbraided heaven for giving him naturally desirous of keeping up the name which so ordinary a little girl. And Constance, it has been associated with power and position in was easy to see, was a brilliant creature, accus- her native county for generations, and accordingly tomed to take her place in the world, fit to the husband takes the surname of his wife, instead be any man's companion. But the first result of giving his to her, as is the usual practice. A of this revelation was to reveal to him, as he man inherits an estate through his mother, in had never seen it before, the modest and true default of male descendants of the old family little soul which had developed by his side from which she traced her descent; and it is without much notice from him, whom he had most natural that he should keep up the ancestreated with such cruel want of confidence, to tral name, with a view to maintaining the preswhom the shock of this evening's disclosures tige which had existed for centuries. In this must have been so great, but who, even in the way many of the proudest aristocracy of our moment of discovery, shielded him. All this land have become the possessors of ancient hiswent through his mind with the utmost rapi- toric names; the most familiar examples, perhaps, dity. He did not put his new-found child away being the transmutation of Sir Hugh Smithson from him; but there was less enthusiasm than into a Percy upon his marriage with the heiress Constance expected in the kiss he gave her. 'I of the ancient family of that name, and the revival am very glad to have you here, my dear,' he said of the Dukedom of Northumberland in the new more coldly than pleased her. 'But why, instead line; and the continuance of the name of of Frances? You will be happier both of you for Churchill in the Marlborough Dukedom, after being together.' it had descended through a female descendant of the celebrated John Churchill of the time of Queen Anne.

Constance did not disengage herself with any appearance of disappointment. She perceived, perhaps, that she was not to be so triumphant here as was usually her privilege. She relinquished her father's arm after a minute, not too precipitately, and returned to her chair. 'I shall like it, as long as it is possible,' she said. 'It will be very nice for me having a father and sister, instead of a mother and brother. But you will find that mamma will not let you off. She likes to have a girl in the house. She will have her pound of flesh.' She threw herself back into her chair with a laugh. 'How quaint it is here; and how beautiful the view must be, and the mountains and the sea. I shall be very happy here the world forgetting, by the world forgot and with you, papa."


NAMES were originally assumed for preventing
confusion, and for the purpose of enabling indi-
viduals to be identified and distinguished from
each other; and this is their principal use even
now. Generally, the surname inherited from the
parents, and the Christian name given by them,
are retained during life. But there are many
exceptions to the rule. Sometimes an estate is
left to a person on condition of his assuming the
name of the testator by whom it was devised.
In case the arms of the deceased are to be assumed
as well as his name, a royal license for the
change of name must be obtained, and entered
at the College of Arms, otherwise known as
Heralds' College.
If the arms are not to be
quartered by the fortunate devisee, the license
may or may not be obtained at his pleasure;
the adoption of the name in pursuance of the
directions in the will, or the issuing of the royal
license, as the case may be, being advertised more
or less extensively, according to the position of
the recipient and his taste for publicity.

Again, a man may wish to change his name for reasons personal to himself. Thus, the noted Bugg, who assumed the surname of Norfolk Howard, is too well remembered to require more than passing notice. Less ridiculous was the change from Pigg to Theobald, effected by several members of a respectable family, some of whom had found the inconvenience in business of the porcine appellation, and who had some claim upon the assumed name through their mother, who had been born a Theobald. In fact, if the proposed change is not intended to be made for purposes of fraud, there is no legal objection to a man changing his name; though it would be inconvenient if he were to change it repeatedly. There is no obligation for a person to go through life with the appellation by which his father was known; and if he does not get his name changed in his boyhood by being brought up with a family who are not his brothers and sisters, he may on arriving at mature age take upon himself a new surname ; although it would be imprudent to take this step without preserving legal evidence of the fact; as otherwise, the change might lead to doubts as to his identity, and thus throw difficulties in the way of his children, if they should become entitled to property as heir-at-law or next of kin of an intestate, after the decease of their parent, who alone could in many cases supply the missing link in the evidence of relationship.

The best evidence of identity in such a case is undoubtedly a Deed-poll under the hand and seal of the person who has assumed a new name; and enrolled in the High Court of Justice. In case of the necessity arising for tracing and proving the pedigree, this would of itself establish the identity of the person under his original and assumed names. The fact of such a document having been executed and enrolled ought to be advertised in one or more of the London daily papers, and also in the local newspapers circulating in the locality where the individual

resides. If he be in business, it is also desirable that the alteration in his name should be advertised in the trade journals of the business carried on by him; though this may be dispensed with if the firm under which he trades will not be affected by the change. But a tradesman carrying on business alone and in his own name should do this, and also send a circular to each of the wholesale houses with which he deals, so that there may be no opportunity of mistake, or pretence for alleging that any concealment has been practised. When there is no reason to look forward to any accessions of property through the death of relatives, it may be sufficient to rely upon advertisements and circulars alone; but we do not advise this course. The cost of an enrolled Deed-poll is not very heavy, and it is often impossible to tell that it may not be required when least expected.

Some persons change their names very frequently; but this is seldom done except for the purpose of facilitating the commission of fraud. In such cases, of course the object aimed at is concealment, not publicity; and as a general rule, when a man takes various names without any intimation of his identity under the several designations, if he be charged with any offence against the laws, his mystification in the matter of names will go against him. Not that the assumption of any number of names is an offence in itself; but when conjoined with other circumstances, it may become evidence of fraudulent intentions.

The case of the use of an old established name when it has been associated with a certain business for generations does not come strictly within the scope of our present subject; but as it is allied thereto, no apology is needed for glancing at it. A business which has long been successfully carried on under a style or firm extensively known in the trade to which it belongs, may still be carried on under the same style by persons whose names are different altogether; and any other persons assuming that name would be restrained by the courts from continuing to do So. The case of Day and Martin the celebrated blacking makers may well be cited to illustrate this point. In that case, the name of the firm had acquired a distinct value; and there being no persons of the original names or either of them left in the firm, a Mr Day and a Mr Martin took premises, commenced business, and advertised as Day and Martin, using labels and wrappers similar to those used by the original firm, their object being to trade upon the reputation which had been acquired without any help from them. The court, however, held that this could not be permitted.

Some merchants and tradesmen are whimsical in respect to names, and without any fraudulent intention, will assume several of such names as they may fancy, trading as A. B. & Co. at one place, and as C. D. & Co., E. F. & Co., G. H. & Co., and various other appellations, elsewhere. This is optional, and so long as the business is carried on properly and honestly, the law will not interfere. But when all these establishments, which are really one concern, are represented as being distinct, and they draw bills upon one another in order to create fictitious capital, even if there be no criminal charge established against the

moving spirit, the latter might fare badly if he were to become bankrupt, as often happens. Generally, if there be no substantial reason for a change of name, it ought not to be changed; and the individual should be content to pass through the world with the names given to him by, and inherited from, his parents. One of the reasons which might justify a change would be the undue prevalence of his name in the place where he lives, and the occurrence of frequent mistakes in consequence thereof. When there are several John Smiths in a small market town, it might be convenient if one of them would assume a more distinguishing appellation. We often wonder how business is carried on in Wales, where Thomas Thomas, John Jones, Evan Evans, and similar names abound to such an extent as to be most bewildering to an Englishman not to the manner born. However, we suppose the natives are accustomed to it, and custom reconciles us to many things.



IT was a rough winter's night. A slight sou'wester had been blowing all day long; but since the sun had gone down and it had grown dark, heavy gusts fled boisterously up and down the narrow old streets of Marseilles, as though they had lost their way. Many of the principal thoroughfares appeared comparatively deserted, as if the storm had driven most people home. Those who yet remained out of doors seemed to be bent upon reaching their domiciles with all possible speed. There was one solitary exception-a tall, powerfully built man; and upon him a gust of wind had little more effect than upon a solid rock. Enveloped in a thick black cloak, with a military cap drawn down tightly over his forehead, he walked along at a slow, measured step. He never once turned his head, even when the wind cast a stinging splash of rain full in his face. He was so erect, and strode forward in such a steady manner, that one would have supposed the weather absent from his thoughts. When he reached the quay, he crossed the road and stepped along the gangway, so close to the edge of the basin that by stretching out his hand he could have touched the rigging of large vessels as he passed. The danger, even in broad daylight, when walking so close to the edge, would have been great; but upon this pitch-dark, windy night, a false step meant certain death in the dock below.

Presently, a small boat, dimly visible by the light from a lantern attached to the bow, came slowly towards a landing-place several yards ahead. When the boat touched the wall of the basin, the man quickened his pace, and on reaching the spot, looked down, and demanded: 'Who goes there?'

'Prosper Cornillon,' replied a voice. The voice appeared to come from a figure in the boat which resembled a black shadow in the darkness. 'Is your boat for hire?'

'Yes, monsieur.'

There was a short pause. Then the stranger, with a soupçon of command in his tone, said: 'I shall want you to-night; but not yet.'


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Prosper Cornillon led the way, holding the lantern so that the light was thrown directly in their path.

The Café Cornillon stood in the centre of a row of houses facing the quay. The frontage was one large window with small panes of glass, like a conservatory. Through the clean, white muslin curtains a light was shining, which illuminated a limited space of the roadway. Stepping forward, Prosper held open the door of the café for the stranger to enter. It was a snug, unpretending little café; long, narrow, and lowpitched, like a cabin on board ship, with small wooden tables and chairs arranged against the walls. Some half-dozen persons, who looked like fishermen, were seated near the window, drinking coffee and cognac, and playing at dominoes. They glanced up for a moment, and returned the stranger's salute, and then continued their game. At the further end of the café was an open hearth, with a fire burning brightly in the centre; near this hearth, engaged in some culinary operations, stood a young girl. She turned when the door opened; and an expression of surprise, mixed with curiosity, gathered in her face as the stranger advanced and politely raised his cap.

'Nina,' said Prosper Cornillon, looking from the girl towards the customer, this gentleman has hired the boat; but he wishes for a little supper before starting.'

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The stranger nodded approvingly. Before sunrise, I must be on board.'

'The name of the ship, monsieur?' asked Prosper, stroking his dark beard and looking with keen eyes into the stranger's face.

"The Livadia,

The girl looked up with a distant, dreamy expression in her eyes. That ship,' said she, as though speaking her thoughts aloud, rather than addressing herself to any one-that ship is bound for some Greek port.'

For Syra,' said the stranger promptly, while at the same time he removed his cloak and sat down at a table near the hearth.

Prosper Cornillon turned away and joined the fishermen at the other end of the café. Like a true cafetier, he was soon laughing with the customers, taking a hand at dominoes, and calling to his sister Nina to serve him, as though he were a customer too.

Meanwhile, the stranger sat in silence, waiting for his supper, with his back leaning against the wall and his legs stretched out towards the fire. He was dressed in the uniform of a French colonel, though only a man of twenty-eight or thirty at the utmost. He had a handsome expressive face, his eyes frequently brightening with some passing thought. But when he turned his glance upon Nina, his look grew serious and sympathetic.

Few could have resisted studying the face of

Nina Cornillon, not merely on account of its beauty, but because some trouble, sustained with brave resolution, was portrayed in every feature. That dreaminess in the eyes, already referred to, which seemed to indicate that her thoughts were wandering far beyond the port of Marseilles, was seldom suppressed except when she was spoken to; and when the conversation ceased, her look appeared to sink away again into the distance, while a smile would break pensively upon her lips, and tears glisten upon her long black lashes.

Scarcely a word passed between the stranger and Nina Cornillon until the supper was cleared away, when 'monsieur' lit his cigar and drew his chair closer towards the hearth. But when the girl had served the customary cup of coffee, and was pouring out the petit verre, the gentleman remarked: Shall I tell you, mademoiselle, where your thoughts are travelling?'

The girl looked with a puzzled expression into the stranger's face. 'You would indeed be a magician,' said she, if you could.'

Your thoughts,' said he, 'are travelling along the shores of Greece.'

Nina started and changed colour. For a while she seemed too troubled to speak. Seating herself in front of the hearth, she looked thoughtfully into the fire.

'If mademoiselle will trust me,' the stranger presently remarked in a soft tone, even though she might wish a message taken to a lover, I will promise to execute any errand faithfully.'

The girl glanced up with a touch of indignation in her face. But suddenly dropping her eyes, she said, with a deep blush on her cheeks: 'I have no lover.'

The stranger looked grave; and as though conscious of having made a blunder, he hastened to change the subject. 'I will not try any further to read your thoughts.-But tell me,' he added, why does your brother keep a boat for hire in the harbour, when he has such an excellent little café to attend to? It seems to me that the work is too severe for you all by yourself.'

Ah, monsieur, you would not say that,' exclaimed Nina, if you only knew how anxious we both are to make money!'

The stranger could not conceal a look of surprise. Such sentiments, uttered in such an avaricious tone by a homely girl like Nina, appeared inconsistent. You mean, perhaps,' he hinted, that you do not find it congenial work to keep a café, and that you will be glad when you can afford to retire from business?'

'O no, monsieur! That is not what I meant. When we have accumulated ten thousand francs, we shall part with the money; and then '

"Then, mademoiselle?'

'We shall begin again,' continued Nina, 'with light hearts; for if we ever save that sum, we can purchase our father's liberty.'

'What!' cried the stranger, greatly moved. 'Is it possible that'

Hush!' Nina whispered, with her finger to her lip, as she glanced round at the table where her brother and his companions were seated over their game. Whenever Prosper hears this subject mentioned, he is like a madman. If it interests you, monsieur, this terrible disaster which has befallen us, draw your chair closer, and I

will tell you in a few words how it all happened.'

The stranger came nearer to Nina's side, and leaned forward in a listening attitude. His face assumed an expression of intense concern as she proceeded.

In a low voice, frequently choked by tears, the girl confided to the sympathetic stranger her sad story. Always anxious to assist his family,' Nina began, 'it one day occurred to father to buy a vessel, for the purpose of trading along the coast of the Adriatic. So he collected together all that he was worth, made a capital bargain, and set sail in his little ship, confident that his venture would be successful. He had traded in the Adriatic for others for many years, and was well known as a brave and honest captain in these seas. But not many weeks passed before news reached us that all was lost.' Her utterance became thick with sobs. But speedily overcoming her emotion, she continued: 'A letter came from father; it told us only too plainly what misfortune had overtaken him. One morning, when least expecting such a mishap, he was attacked by pirates. He made a desperate resistance, but was eventually overpowered and taken prisoner. They carried him to Tripoli. The sum which is demanded for his ransom is so exorbitant that it will be impossible for him ever to raise it. In his letter, he adds that we must therefore relinquish all hope of ever seeing him again.' The girl's eyes were blinded with tears, and for some moments she could not speak; but by a painful effort, she succeeded at last. "We are striving by every honest means in our power to collect the money. It is a hard fight. This is only a very modest little café, and our profits are very small. Prosper gains a few extra francs every week with his boat in the harbour. But many more years must pass before we can hope to accomplish this trying task.'

'How long,' the stranger asked, 'has your father been a prisoner?'

'Ten years.' 'Is it possible?'

'I was fifteen when he went away. At parting, he kissed_me on both cheeks,' continued Nina, smiling thoughtfully. 'Now, I am twenty


'Poor child!' said the stranger, with great tenderness.

'During these years, we have managed to save nearly three thousand francs. Perhaps, in ten more years, if we are very fortunate, we shall be able to complete the sum; and father will be sitting in the old corner, where you are seated now, as I remember seeing him when I was a child.' While she was still speaking, that dreamy look which the stranger had observed already began to reappear in her dark eyes, and she seemed gradually to lose herself in thought.

The stranger, who felt that his presence at her side was forgotten, rose from his seat with a suppressed sigh, and crossing to where Nina's brother and the fishermen still played at dominoes, he placed his hand upon the boatman's shoulder. 'Monsieur Prosper,' said he, it is almost time we started. But before we go, let us drink a glass together.-If,' he added, looking round-if your friends will join us, so much

the better.'

The fishermen expressed themselves agreeable. So Prosper filled glasses all round. Every one rose and clinked' with the stranger, at the same time wishing him bon voyage.

Then Prosper Cornillon assisted 'monsieur' to envelop himself once more in his cloak; while Nina came timidly forward to take his proffered hand and to bid him adieu. And then out they stepped into the wind and rain, followed by the fishermen, leaving Nina all alone in the café, with her hands clasped, and a wistful look in her eyes.


It was still stormy at Marseilles. For some weeks, owing to the gales which had visited the Mediterranean, the port had been crowded with vessels, driven in by stress of weather. In times like these, Prosper Cornillon reaped a harvest; for his boat was in demand from morning till night. It was tiring work; but a generous impulse gave him energy. He was toiling with the direct object of obtaining his father's freedom.


One evening, worn out with his unremitting labours, Prosper had thrown himself down, with his elbows on the table, in a corner of the café near the hearth; and soon his head had sunk upon his arms, and he had fallen asleep. front of the fire was seated his sister Nina, with a weary look too upon her face; but her great dreamy eyes were wide open; for although late in the evening, it was not yet the hour for closing the Café Cornillon. At any moment, a customer might enter; and some customers, if Nina was not very wakeful and attentive, were apt to grow impatient; indeed, she had scarcely less peace and quietness during the twenty-four hours than her brother Prosper. At the moment when it became so late that Nina was on the point of rising to turn out the lamps and lock up for the night, the door was slowly opened. An old sailor in a rough coat, the collar of which was turned up about his neck, mysteriously entered the café. He touched his slouching hat with his sunburnt, horny hand in a feeble, hesitating manner; then choosing a table near the hearth, opposite to the one upon which Prosper's head was resting, he sat down and began to stroke his long white beard thoughtfully without raising his


'With what, monsieur, can I serve you?'

The old man answered in a low voice, with his head still bent: 'Café noir.'

Nina hastened to place a cup of coffee before him; and when she had filled a little glass with cognac, she resumed her seat before the hearth. The girl's chair was placed with the back towards the door. On one side of her was the table at which the old man sat sipping his coffee ; and on the other side was Prosper, still fast asleep. Looking dreamily into the fire, Nina seemed to have forgotten the presence of both these men, so deeply was she absorbed in her thoughts.

"This is the Café Cornillon-is it not?' asked the old man.

Nina started as though the voice had awakened her. 'Yes, monsieur,' answered the girl, recollecting herself and looking up quickly-'the Café Cornillon.'

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