d charming as she is now, restored to health and
consciousness--charming above most young ladies with her sweet
intelligence and most lovable nature--the inexpressible witchery I
have tried to describe has vanished, otherwise I don't know how I
should have borne what I now have brought myself to bear, parting
from her.

I seemed to have no time to think about prosecuting inquiries in
regard to her identity. I am afraid there was much selfishness in
this, but I have never pretended to be an unselfish man.

The one drop of bitterness in my cup of pleasure was the recurrence
of the terrible paroxysms to which she was subject.

I was alarmed to find that these became more and more frequent and
more and more severe. I felt at last that her system could not stand
the strain much longer, and that the end of her life was not far
distant.

It was in a very singular way that I came to know her name and also
her relations with you. In my original perplexity about finding a
model for my Zenelophon, I had bethought me of Sinfi Lovell, who,
with a friend of hers named Rhona Boswell, sat to Wilderspin, to your
cousin, and others. I had made inquiries about Sinfi, but had been
told that she was not now to be had, as she had abandoned London
altogether, and was settled in Wales.

One day, however, I was startled by seeing Sinfi walking across the
meadows along the footpath leading from the station.

She told me that she had quitted Wales for good, and had left you
there, and that on reaching London and calling at one of the studios
where she used to sit, she had been made aware of my inquiries after
her. As she had now determined to sit a good deal to painters, she
had gone to my studio in London. Being told there that I was at
Hurstcote Manor, where she had sat to me on several occasions, she
had taken the train and come down.

During our conversation the model passed through the garden gate and
walked towards the Spinney, and stood looking in a rapt way at the
sunset clouds and listening to the birds.

When Sinfi caught sight of her she stood as if petrified, and
exclaimed, 'Winnie Wynne! Then she ain't dead; the dukkeripen was
true; they'll be married arter all. Don't let her see me suddenly, it
might bring on fits.'

Miss Wynne, however, had observed neither Sinfi nor me, and we two
passed into the garden without any difficulty.

In the studio Sinfi sat down, and in a state of the deepest agitation
she told me much of