A WHITE HAND AND A BLACK THUMB.

IN THIRTEEN CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER VII.

ON the day after Miss Polly-my-Lamb
Humpage's little indisposition, that young lady,
discovering that her lace required no further
examination, repaired to the drawing-room about,
nay, peradventure a little before, the noontide
hour. Such an odd little face looked out at
her from the great mirror! It was like that of a
spoiled school-pet, who, having played truant,
steals into her place, half penitent, yet exultingly
convinced of foregone forgiveness. Polly-my-
Lamb smiled, and, smiling, looked so pretty,
that she pardoned herself on the spot.

Twelve. Miss Humpage had resolved not
even to glance by accident at the window till
the clock had fairly struck; but she would
do something to show her interest; and, accordingly,
at the second stroke, turned and glided
to the window. What did she behold? A
broad black velvet back and shoulders, a head,
with golden curls, slightly inclining towards the
right shoulder, as though studying an effect, the
edge of a palette, and the top of an easel. Mr.
Haggerdorn was at work — at work upon a battle-
piece!  Yes, it was evident, from the fury with
which he every now and then returned to the
assault, that it was a martial subject, the glow
and passion of it mounting, like a blush, visible
across the street, to the very brow of the
canvas. For two full minutes Polly remained
rooted to the spot, her pretty lips half opened,
and her soft brown eyebrows raised. Then,
recollecting herself, she moved quickly away,
still, however, observing— how could she help it?
as she idled busily about the room— that the
work went eagerly forward, and never ceased,
until the clock struck one.

And now, remarked something within Polly's
breast, the gentleman will perhaps turn round;
but it's rather of the latest, we imagine!

Mr. Haggerdorn doubtless thought so too; for
though that gentleman did revolve, and, pretending
to draw down the blind, was at especial
pains to untie a knot in the cord, he never so
much as glanced across the road, but adjusted the
blind to his fancy, and withdrew to dinner.

The next day, and the next, presented the like
phenomenon of professional abstraction, and
total indifference to neighbours, on the part of
the black velvet body; and, during this period
Polly-my-Lamb passed through such a variety
of mental conditions as filled her with astonishment.
Surprise, anger, regret, impatience,
disappointment, love, assailed the poor little heart
in turn— sometimes all together— so that none
could tell what might have been the result, had
not this conflict of parties ended, as is generally
the case in wider revolutions, by the sudden
triumph of one. Of course, the new fetters
galled a little, and Miss Humpage, from the
liveliest and sweetest of companions, became silent,
cold, inclined to solitude, nay, touching so nearly
upon the morose, that poor Miss Serocold,
extremely puzzled, decided upon leaving the matter
to cure itself, and passed the greater portion of
her time in her own chamber.

Whether the tidings were conveyed to Mrs.
Goodall, nurse, in the course of some return
"pop-over" on the part of Mrs. Ascroft, or to
what other little bird is due the carriage of this
matter, was never clearly ascertained. Certain
it is, that it quickly became known at number
twenty-seven, with singular circumstantiality,
that Mr. Haggerdorn had received a commission
from a wealthy Portuguese merchant to execute
an important family historical picture.

This, by far the most ambitious of the young
artist's attempts, was to be called the Battle at
the Bridge, and was illustrative of a passage in
the life of a beautiful ancestress of Señor Torre-
Diaz, who had been abducted (voluntarily) from
her father's castle by her lover and a band of
chosen cavaliers.

A couple of hundred of the friends of the house
assembled with an alacrity only permissible on
canvas, pursued the fugitives, and overtook them
at a bridge (without a parapet, as in all bridge
battles, for greater convenience in flinging over),
upon whose slippery surface five noble cavaliers
took post, to abide the onset. The moment
grasped by the painter is that in which the
young lady hesitates for an instant whether to
continue her flight, or avert the bloody struggle
by returning to her officious kin. No wonder
our young enthusiast was enthralled by such a
subject! The picture was, moreover, to be
completed in nine days, and, as yet, he had not
touched the heroine's face, which, to do anything
like justice to, must be of surpassing loveliness.