ture will not be finished for a long time yet, and you
must not look at it until I say it is ready. Mr. King wouldn't like you to
see that picture, I am sure. In fact, he doesn't like for any one to see
the picture he is working on just now."

"How funny," she said, with a puzzled look. "What is he painting it for? I
like for people to hear my music."

The man answered before he thought--"But I don't like people to read my
books."

She shrank back, with troubled eyes, "Oh! is he--is he _that_ kind of an
artist?"

"No, no, no!" exclaimed the novelist, hastily. "You must not think that. I
did not mean you to think that. If he was _that_ kind of an artist, I
wouldn't let you go into the studio at all. Mr. King is a good man--the
best man I have ever known. He is my friend because he knows the secret
about me that you know. He does not read my books. He would not read one
of them for anything. It is only that this picture is not finished. When
it is finished, he will not care who sees it."

"I'm glad," she said. "You frightened me, for a minute--I understand,
now."

"And you promise not to look at the picture on the easel?"

She nodded,--"Of course. And when I come out I'll lock the door and put
the key back on the gate again; and no one but you and I will ever know."

"No one but you and I will know," he answered.

As he spoke, Czar, who had been lying quietly in the doorway of the arbor,
rose quickly to his feet, with a low growl.

The girl, peering through the screen on the side toward the house, uttered
an exclamation of fear and drew back, turning to her companion
appealingly. "O please, please don't let that man find me here."

Conrad Lagrauge looked and saw James Rutlidge coming down the path toward
the arched entrance to the garden, which was directly across from the
arbor.

"Stop him, please stop him," whispered the girl, her hand upon his arm.

"Stay here until I get him out of sight," said the novelist quickly. "I
won't let him come into the garden. When we are gone, you can make your
escape. Don't forget the music for me, and the key at the gate."

He spoke to Czar, and with the dog obediently at heel went forward to meet
Mr. Rutlidge, who had called for Mrs. Taine and Louise.

But all the while that Conrad Lagrange was talking to the man, and leading
him toward the door of the studio, he was wondering--why that look of fear
upon the face of the girl in the garden? What had Sibyl Andres to do wi