o-a window opening out to a broad balcony and commanding one of the most enchanting vie

n which certain passages occurred which caused him some uneasiness. On leaving England he had asked her to write regularly, giving him all the news of Innocent, and she had readily undertaken what to her was a pleasing duty. His thoughts were constantly with the little house in Kensington, where the young daughter of his dead friend worked so patiently to bring forth the fruits of her genius and live independently by their results, and his intense sympathy for the difficult position in which she had been placed through

ington the other afternoon-I think you know him-and he seemed quite to think with me that she is over-working herself. He suggested that I should persuade her to go for a change somewhere, either with me or with other friends. I wonder if you would care for us to join you a

f the letter r

is finished now, and I and a few friends went to see it the other day. It is a most beautiful portrait, but very sad!-and it is wonderful how the likeness of her father as he was in his y

nevertheless managed to win the world's hearing through the name she had made for herself-yet now-yes!-now there was the cruel suggestion of a shadow-an ugly darkness like a black cloud, blotting the fairness of a blue sky,-and Blythe felt an uncomfortable sense of premonition and wrong as the thought of Amadis de Jocelyn came into his head and stayed there. What was he that he should creep into the unspoiled sphere of a woman's opening life? A painter, something of a genius in his line, but erratic and unstable in his character,-known more or less for several "affairs of

ollow it up by a letter to the child herself, urging her to join me. The change and distraction will perhaps save her from too much associa

or a few francs. He was not young-his white hair and grizzled moustache marked the unpleasing passage of resistless time,-yet there was something lissom and graceful about him that suggested a kind of youth in age. His attire consisted of much worn brown trousers and a loose white shirt kept in place by a red belt,-his shirt sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, displaying thin brown muscular arms, expressive of energy, and he wore a battered brown hat which might once have been of the s

those women have finished with him I'll get him to do a sketch for me to send to Innocent-just

ful of silver coin. Something in the bearing and attitude of the man as he rose from the step where he had been seated and lifted his shapel

ht. "In Venice, perhaps-or Florence-these fellows

ely earned francs into his trouser pocket. Several sample drawings were set up in view beside him,-lovely little studies of lake and mountain which would have done honour to many a Royal Acade

in Italian of which he was a master. "Your drawings are worth much

he!" was the half-laughing answer, given in per

ndsome face, worn with years and privation, but fine and noble-featured and full

ght at the handrail of the landing

You! You, of all men i

e Arm

The artist in brown trousers and white shirt straightened himself, and instinctively sought to assume a

is peripatetic style! It's a nice life-better than being a pavement artist in Pimlico! You mustn't be afraid! I'm not

close warm grip. "Never say that, Pierce! You know me bette

held with unconscious fervour, tears springing to his eyes. The tw

ar blue sky to hide and to master his own emotion-"I believe we feel like a c

k him by the arm, regardless of the curious observation of some of

imagine. Put away all those drawings and come inside the hotel-to my room-" "What? In this guise?" and Armitage sh

ou mean?" demanded Blythe

ge hes

," he said

him steadily

fe is

er's hold, and stood inert as though he had re

ords Blyth

portfolio. His face was pale under its sun-browned tint,-his expression almost tragic. Lo

aid, in a low tone-

urned on h

know?-Wha

r-was not so blameworthy as her wrong to you! But I have something to tell

and Armitage started as

I couldn't make enough to send money for i

eyes had a strained lo

he people at the farm had a good name

pped him b

ny an R. A. cuts a worse figure than you do for the sake of 'pose'! You are entirely picturesque"-and he relieved his pent-up

y to the artist, whom he had seen for several seasons selling his work on the landing, and made a good-natured comment on his "luck" in having secured the patronage of a rich English "Milor," but o

rs and pushing him towards a chair. "Why, in heaven's name, did you never le

f his cap, passed his hand throu

h a place as London existed. I was sick to death of it!-of its conventions, and vile hypocrisies-its

, with an ab

you say?" he went on aft

answered Blythe quietly-"After a

think they know when they are loved. I loved her-much more than she knew,-she seemed

asked

t she loved me as I loved her-and if she had married me, as I begged her to do, I believe I should have done something as a painter,-something great, I mean. But she got tired of my 'art-jargon,' as she called it-and she couldn't bear the idea of havi

used?" inter

e declared that if I ever loved her at all, the only way to prove it was to get rid of

e a gestur

hat, man! Do

age s

think of,-took the child away and placed it with kind country folks-and removed myself from England and out of Maude's way altogether. The year after I came abroad I heard she had married you,-rather an unkind turn of fate, you being my oldest friend! and this was what made me resolve to

d rather

hould have won something of a reputation. But-you see, I really loved Maude-in a stupid man's way of love,-I did

k of the child?" inter

ge loo

with him-one stormy night in autumn-saying I would come back for it-of course I never did-but for twelve years I sent money for it from different places in Europe-and before I left England I told Maude where it was, in case she ever wanted to see it-not that such an idea would ever occur to her! I thought the proba

he held u

n the story I already knew in part-but one thing yo

slight, weary gesture. "Life and love have both disappointed me-and I su

disappointed a goo

more than men. And one

ppointment-one who

ou any idea wh

essly,-a slight flus

his eyes with one hand, and a visible tremor shook him. "Somehow I have always fancied her as young as ever and endowed with a sort of earthly immortality! She was so bright, so imperious, so queen-like! You ask me why I did not let you

know and honour her! And-yo

ge spr

Lavinia! No!-impo

ou know the lines-'There's a divinity that shapes our ends, rough-hew them how we will'? Divinity has worked in

he was greatly agitated,-and his eyes were fixed

speaking, Dick!" he said. "Let me kno

ius-of the sudden and brilliant fame she had won as "Ena Armitage"-of the brief and bitter knowledge she had been given of her mother-of her strange chance in going straight to the house of Miss Leigh whe

er father!-and you may well be proud of such a daughter! And there is a duty staring you in the face-a duty towar

ill! I can declare she was born in wedlock, now Maude is dead-for no one will ever know. The real identity of her mother"-he pa

mitage's mellow musical vo

to be a wandering scamp on the face of the earth!-I must try to be worthy of my fair and famous daughter! How strange it seems! Little Innocent!-the poor baby I left to the mercies

great tears in his eyes.

the spoke in

t here with Innocent as soon as possible. I won't break the news of YOU t

?" asked

ed Blythe. "Hers i

a moment-t

do to blurt the whole thing out at once. I'll tell Innocen

ad little laugh. "The discovery of a tramp father with only a co

e come back from death, as it seems, just when your child may need you-she DOES need you-every young girl needs some protector in this world, especially when her name has become famous, and a matt

ere, to wait. Armitage went off for two days to Milan, and returned transformed in dress, looking the very beau-ideal of an handsome Englishman

t, he had gone over every detail he could think of which related to her life and literary success-"When she comes she will give you all her heart, Pierce

or the joy of others, h

de Jo