the conventional New York house, conventionally furnished and decorated. It had white walls, black walnut wood-work, a gaudily stenc

en.. Years ago, or only months? In summer, or winter? Morning or afternoon? What of moment was happening then? Who was President? Where was I, and what doing? Perhaps-it was such an old-fashioned clock-perhaps I had not yet been born. In the corner furthest from the window there was a square piano, closed, and covered by a dark brown cloth, like a pall. Just above it, so that they could not be reached except by standing upon it, some book-shelves were suspended. These contained the "Arabian Nights," "The History of the Bible," Cooper's novels, and an old edition of the "New American Cyclopedia." Beneath the ch

dressing-gown and slippers. He car

When it was finished, Elias thanked the old man, and began to make his adieux. Then, abruptly, as though the question had but just occurred to him, "Oh, by the

look, scratching his chin, and knitting hi

olden hair. You were talk

ok gave way to an intelligent and slightly q

ed Elias; "the finest I've seen this long while. I

Rather a high offe

not much danger of

Redwood, reflective

ble did duty for expletive and

ght be managed." Breathlessly

ias too good and too surprising to be true. So he chose

ng about? But she might

y so? Are you

acquainted, she and I. I

ut is there any likelih

she'd consent-that

u will urge h

rled his mustache. "Hum; that depen

nd somewhat shocked, at discovering old Redwood

s I want the picture. You must m

that's un

t hand I shouldn't have much use for tha

'll pay a fair price, though. N

just d

that's ri

she never'll sit for you at all, unless I advise her to. She sets great store

eat deal. It's as

hen say no mo

ut

hing, I mean it. You'll only waste your breath, trying to

c of her laughter; the prospect that old Redwood held out was such an unexpected and

ake on it." After they had shaken ha

s soon as

er to fix a

Is there no chanc

afraid of? The sittings, of course, will b

she chooses about that

ughed. "Bless you, no! What

she might be. But her name-

se me a minute

ead into the hall, and called at th

es

ed musically i

re to the par

, fa

inordinately dense, not to have guessed their relationship from old Redwood's assurance in answering for

u acquainted with my daughter, Miss

He heard her bid him a silvery good-evening. Then he stol

Redwood. "Quite a surpr

one, I'm sure,"

There, now we can proceed to business. Chris, Mr. Bacharach here, an old customer of mine,

se tint deepening a little in her cheeks; "are you the Mr. Bacharach wh

ind himself thus recognized by his work; especially flattered, because he spoke sincerely when h

I think you made it wonderfully vivid. I remember how she bent over the fire, and how fierce her eyes were, and how her hair streamed down her br

on't see as there was much use of my introducing you. But what I s

hristine, laughing. "The heroi

d man, with an inflec

d?" Elias asked. "I noticed you had hi

l. But I don't know any body else that agrees with me-unless you do. Now, my father, for instance. I was reading one of the son

dwood. "I can't get the hang of

that's my fault, not his. Sometimes he's so very deep. But the sonnet I read to you to-night-it was the one about w

e parlor table. Think, s's I, I'll open it, to put in a little surprise. By George, sir, it was stuffed out to bursting with slips of poetry cut from the newspapers! And then, aestheticism! Oscar-Wildism, I call it. She's caught that, I don't know whe

f pronouncing "are," when

, literature, politics, art, and every thing else except costumes. In t

g is a branch of archaeology. So that don't count. But look at here, Chris

can't guess.

ut y

M

ou

nothing bad about

now. We were talking about having your portrait painted. I've made

r brown eyes opened wide, and

ood pursued, "when will you

s for you to

morning. How does that s

be agreeable to m

hall we make it

s you p

, December third. I suppose you'd better send your a

send them

ere, he came in; and he-" And to the unutterable confusion of Elias, the merciless old man proceeded to tell his daughter the whole story. He wound up thus: "And, actually,

ealed to

ery cruel, isn't

nd looked earnestly into Elias Bacharach's face. That look caused him a sensation, the like of which he had never experienced before. His lip tremb

n he took

bare, sombre and silent within. Elias had converted the front room on the top floor into a studio. Thus he had a north light and a wide view. In his childhood this room had been his play-room. During his boyhood it had been his bed-room. Now it was his work-room-consequently his living-room, in the most vital sense of the word. Its four walls had watched him grow up. The view from its window had been his daily comrade, ever since he had been old enough to have any comrade at all. In a manner, it had been his confidant and his couns

e been told. They were very vague, very strange, very different from any thing that he had ever experienced before, and very, very pleasant. As often as he went over the events of the evening, recalling Christine's appearance, and her manner, and the way she had looked at him, and the words that she had spoken, he became conscious of a sudden, delicious glow of warmth in his breast. Then, when he went forward into the time yet to come,