ering but sorrowful gaze he read the tragedy which he
had long since suspected.

Neither spoke for a moment; he held out both hands; she laid hers in
them, and her gaze became remote.

After a while she said in a low voice:

"Let me be with you now and then while he's away; will you, Kelly?"

"Yes. Would you like to pose for me? I haven't anything pressing on
hand. You might begin now if it suits you."

"May I?" she asked gratefully.

"Of course, child.... Let me think--" He looked again into her dark blue
eyes, absently, then suddenly his attention became riveted upon
something which he seemed to be reading in her face.

Long before Sam and Harry had ended their puppy-like scuffling and had
retired to woo their respective deputy-muses, Rita was seated on the
model-stand, and Neville had already begun that strange and sombre
picture afterward so famous, and about which one of the finest of our
modern poets wrote:

"Her gold hair, fallen about her face
Made light within that shadowy place,
But on her garments lay the dust
Of many a vanished race.

"Her deep eyes, gazing straight ahead,
Saw years and days and hours long dead,
While strange gems glittered at her feet,
Yellow, and green, and red.

"And ever from the shadows came
Voices to pierce her heart like flame,
The great bats fanned her with their wings,
The voices called her name.

"But yet her look turned not aside
From the black deep where dreams abide,
Where worlds and pageantries lay dead
Beneath that viewless tide.

"Her elbow on her knee was set,
Her strong hand propt her chin, and yet
No man might name that look she wore,
Nor any man forget."

All day long in the pleasant June weather they worked together over the
picture; and if he really knew what he was about, it is uncertain, for
his thoughts were of Valerie; and he painted as in a dream, and with a
shadowy splendour that seemed even to him unreal.

They scarcely spoke; now and then Rita came silently on sandalled feet
to stand behind him and look at what he had done.

The first time she thought to herself, "Querida!" But the second time
she remained mute; and when the daylight was waning to a golden gloom in
the room she came a third time and stood with one hand on his arm, her
eyes fixed upon the dawning mystery on the canvas--spellbound under the
sombre magnificence already vaguely shadowed forth from infinite depth
of shade.