Something strange on the staircase, with a needful reflection or two upon it.

BY this time Colin's resources had become so low that but thirteen shillings remained to him of all he had brought from home; and of that small sum about one-half would be due to his landlady in the course of a few days. Yet he continued his kindness towards the poor singer on the second floor, and only the day previously had exchanged his last sovereign on her account. The feelings with which her appearance had first inspired him he could not wholly shake off; although he had since become acquainted with various circumstances which pointed out to him imperatively the necessity of at once setting such a connexion aside, and forgetting even that it had ever existed. He half formed a resolution to do so; and, in order to carry it the better into effect, made up his mind to quit the house altogether—a step he could the more readily take now, as he had not hitherto so much as even seen Miss Wintlebury except on the stage; and she, on the other hand, could know no more of him than his ever-ready and unassuming kindness might have informed her of. These thoughts crowded his mind as he sat at breakfast, and during several hours subsequently presented themselves under every possible phase to his review. About twelve o'clock in the day, as he was descending the stairs to the street, his sight was crossed on the first landing he reached, by a kind of vision in a white dress, which flitted from Miss Wintlebury's chamber to her sitting-room. Its hair was tightly screwed up in bits of newspaper all over its head, very strongly resembling a clumsy piece of mosaic. Its face was of a horrible cream-colour, and as dry as the hide of a rhinoceros. Its eyes dim and glazy. Its neck and shoulders—with respect to the developement of tendons and sinews—not greatly unlike an anatomical preparation. This surprising appearance no sooner heard Colin's footsteps approaching than it skipped rapidly into the sitting-room, and without turning at the instant to close the door, sat hastily down at a small table, on which stood a black teapot, and one cup and saucer, as if with the intention of taking its breakfast.

Somewhat alarmed, Colin hastened down, and was very glad to find Mrs. Popple on her hands and knees at the door, applying pipeclay to the step. Of her he immediately inquired the nature of the apparition he had seen; and was most shocked indeed when he found by her reply, that he had actually mistaken Miss Wintlebury herself for her own ghost. Still the fact was scarcely credible. Surely it was not possible to patch up such a shadow, into the handsome figure which had first inspired him with love; and the recollection of whose seeming beauties still attended upon his imagination with the constancy of a shadow in the sun.

“Ah, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Popple; “but you ain't any conception what a poor creatur' she is. I can carry her about this house like a doll, she's so light and thin. She walks about more like a sperit than anything substantive—that she do. I often think of turning her out of house altogether, for I 'm afraid I shall never get my rent of her; but then, again, when I 'm going to do it, a sum mut seems to whisper to me, and say, 'Missis Popple—Missis Popple, let her alone a bit longer.' And that is the way we go on.” Saying which, with a heavy sigh, she scrubbed away at the stones. Colin stood mute.

“She's dyin', sir, as fast she can,” added the landlady. “I niver see an indiwidiwal in a more gallopin' consumption in my life. I expect noat no less than having her corpse thrown on my hands every week that goes over my head.”

Could he altogether give up the poor creature of whom this was said? And yet, was it possible he could love her? Colin felt perplexed, puzzled. Like many other gentlemen, therefore, when placed in a similar predicament, he parted company with Mrs. Popple, without saying anything in reply, lest by speaking he should possibly chance—to say worse than nothing.

As the strange shock his feelings had sustained gradually wore off, his previously formed resolutions as gradually grew weaker. Irresistibly inclined to look on the best side only, he began to reason himself into the belief that the lady was not so bad as his own eyes, and Mrs. Popple's tongue, had represented. He had seen her, unluckily, under circumstances sufficiently disadvantageous to reduce to a very ordinary standard even one—as was not very unlikely of the greatest beauties living: and, as for his landlady's remarks, what did they amount to in fact? Since people always magnify what they talk about into a ten times more hideous affair than, according to the natural size of the subject, it would otherwise appear, just as our opticians exhibit monsters a foot lone on paper, which on closer inspection are found too insignificant in reality to be even visible to the unassisted eye. Perhaps Miss Wintle-bury might soon be recovered—soon grow strong again, and eventually be enabled to make a fortune by that voice which now scarcely found her in bread. Thoughts of this nature occupied his mind all day, and until his return home, at about six in the evening.

Shortly afterwards a circumstance occurred no less unexpected on his part than it will prove surprising to the reader; and which, as it finally settled the question of his love for the public singer, as well as another question of great importance to an individual in whom we have felt some concern during the previous part of this history, I shall lose no time in proceeding to relate.