the gaslight, and all was dark as pitch,--howls and laughter,
as of the damned, ringing through the Pandemonium. Out from the black
atmosphere stepped the boy-poet; and the still stars rushed on his
sight, as they looked over the grimy roof-tops.

CHAPTER XXII.

Well, Leonard, this is the first time thou hast shown that thou hast in
thee the iron out of which true manhood is forged and shaped. Thou hast
the power to resist. Forth, unebriate, unpolluted, he came from the
orgy, as yon star above him came from the cloud.

He had a latch-key to his lodgings. He let himself in and walked
noiselessly up the creaking wooden stair. It was dawn. He passed on to
his window and threw it open. The green elm-tree from the carpenter's
yard looked as fresh and fair as if rooted in solitude, leagues away
from the smoke of Babylon.

"Nature, Nature!" murmured Leonard, "I hear thy voice now. This stills,
this strengthens. But the struggle is very dread. Here, despair of
life,--there, faith in life. Nature thinks of neither, and lives
serenely on."

By and by a bird slid softly from the heart of the tree, and dropped on
the ground below out of sight. But Leonard heard its carol. It awoke its
companions; wings began to glance in the air, and the clouds grew red
towards the east.

Leonard sighed and left the window. On the table, near Helen's
rose-tree, which he bent over wistfully, lay a letter. He had not
observed it before. It was in Helen's hand. He took it to the light, and
read it by the pure, healthful gleams of morn:--

IVY LODGE.

Oh, my dear brother Leonard, will this find you well, and (more
happy I dare not say, but) less sad than when we parted? I write
kneeling, so that it seems to me as if I wrote and prayed at the
same time. You may come and see me to-morrow evening, Leonard. Do
come, do,--we shall walk together in this pretty garden; and there
is an arbour all covered with jessamine and honeysuckle, from which
we can look down on London. I have looked from it so many times,--
so many--trying if I can guess the roofs in our poor little street,
and fancying that I do see the dear elm-tree.

Miss Starke is very kind to me; and I think after I have seen you,
that I shall be happy here,--that is, if you are happy.

Your own grateful sister,

HELEN.

P. S.--Any one will direct you to our house; it lies to the left
near the top of the hill, a little way down a