by a bright light in the centre. On
nearing the light he found that it shone forth from a gin-palace, of
which the mahogany doors opened and shut momently as customers went in
and out. It was the handsomest building he had seen in his walk, next to
that of the cathedral. "The new civilization versus the old," murmured
Kenelm. As he so murmured, a hand was laid on his arm with a sort
of timid impudence. He looked down and saw a young face, but it had
survived the look of youth; it was worn and hard, and the bloom on it
was not that of Nature's giving. "Are you kind to-night?" asked a husky
voice.

"Kind!" said Kenelm, with mournful tones and softened eyes, "kind! Alas,
my poor sister mortal! if pity be kindness, who can see you and not be
kind?"

The girl released his arm, and he walked on. She stood some moments
gazing after him till out of sight, then she drew her hand suddenly
across her eyes, and retracing her steps, was, in her turn, caught hold
of by a rougher hand than hers, as she passed the gin-palace. She shook
off the grasp with a passionate scorn, and went straight home. Home! is
that the right word? Poor sister mortal!

CHAPTER XI.

AND now Kenelm found himself at the extremity of the town, and on the
banks of the river. Small squalid houses still lined the bank for some
way, till, nearing the bridge, they abruptly ceased, and he passed
through a broad square again into the main street. On the other side
of the street there was a row of villa-like mansions, with gardens
stretching towards the river.

All around in the thoroughfare was silent and deserted. By this time
the passengers had gone home. The scent of night-flowers from the
villa-gardens came sweet on the starlit air. Kenelm paused to inhale it,
and then lifting his eyes, hitherto downcast, as are the eyes of men
in meditative moods, he beheld, on the balcony of the nearest villa,
a group of well-dressed persons. The balcony was unusually wide and
spacious. On it was a small round table, on which were placed wine and
fruits. Three ladies were seated round the table on wire-work chairs,
and on the side nearest to Kenelm, one man. In that man, now slightly
turning his profile, as if to look towards the river, Kenelm recognized
the minstrel. He was still in his picturesque knickerbocker dress,
and his clear-cut features, with the clustering curls of hair, and
Rubens-like hue and shape of beard, had more than their usual beauty,
softened in t