hing
diadem is dulled and dim. Yet on the fairy queen there lowers no
shadow of change, there threaten no symptoms of decay.

Bathed in the halo of a true though hapless love, she is still
the same as when he first saw her all those seven long years ago,
glistening in immortal charms, and knelt to her for the queen of
heaven, where she rode--"under the linden tree."

It is obvious that on her countenance, besides the stamp of exceeding
beauty, there must appear sorrow, self-reproach, fortitude, majesty,
and undying tenderness. All these the painter thought he read in Nina
Algernon's girlish face.

So she sat to him dutifully enough for a model of his fairy queen, and
if she wearied at times, as I think she must, comforted herself with
the remembrance that in this way she helped the family who gave her
bread.

For the convenience of sitters, Simon Perkins had his painting-room in
Berners Street: thither it was his custom to resort in the morning,
by penny steamer or threepenny omnibus, and there he spent many happy
hours working hard with palette and brush. Not the least golden seemed
those in which Nina accompanied him to sit patiently while he studied,
and drew her, line by line, feature by feature. The expeditions to and
fro were delightful, the labour was pleasure, the day was gone far too
soon.

A morning could not but be fine, when, emerging from an omnibus at
Albert Gate, Simon walked by the side of his model through Hyde Park
on their way to Berners Street; but about this period one morning
seemed even finer than common, because that Nina, taking his arm as
they crossed Rotten Row, thought fit to confide to him an interview of
the day before with Aunt Jemima, in which she extorted from that dear
old lady with some difficulty the fact of her own friendless position
in the world.

"And I don't mind it a bit," continued the girl, catching her voice
like a child, as was her habit when excited, "for I'm sure you're all
so kind to me that I'd much rather not have any other friends. And I
don't want to be independent, and I'll never leave you, so long as
you'll keep me. And O, Simon, isn't it good of your aunts, and you
too, to have taken care of me ever since I was quite a little thing?
For I'm no relation, you know--and how can I ever do enough for you? I
can't. It's impossible. And you don't want me to, if I could!"

Notwithstanding the playful manner which was part of Nina's self,
there were tears of real