claimed Cornelius Peach, with great unction, when
Helen told him the story, "would that I had been born in some strange,
half-barbarous land! These great towns kill all good customs. Even
what little carol-singing there is, is a mere trade."

Christmas passed, and the new year was destined to introduce Helen to
another order of singing. Thirty years ago the London season began
earlier than at present. January was not over, when a note from Mrs.
Winter invited the brother and sister to accompany her to the opera. A
vague excitement rose in Helen's breast, and sparkled in her eyes, as
she gave the note to Randolph. She felt that she should like to go,
but a certain shyness made her timid. She watched her brother's face
while he glanced over the invitation, and saw with some regret that he
did not partake her anticipations. But he said that it was very kind
of Mrs. Winter, and that of course they would go.

On the appointed evening the lawyer's carriage called for the orphans,
and they joined him and his wife. It was a gloomy ride. The night was
foggy and dark. The mist condensed on the windows, and permitted
nothing to be seen but the general glare of the lamps. This sort of
isolation, and the continuous rumble of the carriage, suited
Randolph's mood. He was haunted by forebodings of evil. He was angry
with himself for accepting the invitation. He felt an indefinite fear
of the crowd with which he was about to mingle. It was not as Morton
that he ought to appear in public. Yet should his selfish pride debar
Helen of the offered amusement? He leant back in his corner of the
carriage, abstracted and silent.

His sister on the other hand was gay and excited. She kept up a
lively conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Winter, and peered through the
window at what was to her an unknown world. So it was until the
carriage turned a corner, and entered a broader and better-lighted
thoroughfare than those it had traversed previously. Its speed abated:
it even stopped--were they there? No, it moves again: papers are
pressed against the glasses: another pause, and another advance: and
now Mr. Winter has lowered his window, the door is opened, the steps
let down, and before Helen has time to think, she finds herself
leaning upon his arm, and ascending a spacious staircase. She looks
round, and sees her brother and Mrs. Winter close behind.

A few minutes more, and she stood in the front of a box, and gazed on
a vast area, dimly lighted b