it is a copy from a fresco by one of the old masters.'

'What a calm grave face! what strange stiff drawing!--and yet it suits
it: it is so solemn, with that matronly dignity. That other, too--those
apostles, with their bowed heads and clasped hands, how reverent they
look!'

'They are from Cimabue,' said John: 'are they not majestically humble in
adoration?'

Between, these two hung that awful dark engraving from Albert Durer.

'These have been my companions,' said John.

'Through all the long months that you have been shut up here?'

'My happiest times.'

'Ah! that does, indeed, make me ashamed of my discontent and
ingratitude,' sighed Violet.

'Nay,' said John, 'a little fit of fatigue deserves no such harsh
names.'

'When it is my besetting sin--all here speaks of patience and
unrepining.'

'No, no, said John--'if you cannot sit still; I have sat still too much.
We have both a great deal to learn.'

As he spoke he unlocked a desk, took out a miniature, looked at
it earnestly, and then in silence put it into her hand. She was
disappointed; she knew she was not to expect beauty; but she had figured
to herself a saintly, spiritual, pale countenance, and she saw that of a
round-faced, rosy-cheeked, light-haired girl, looking only as if she was
sitting for her picture.

After much doubt what to say, she ventured only, 'I suppose this was
done a long time ago?'

'When she was quite a girl. Mrs. Percival gave it to me; it was taken
for her long before. I used not to like it.'

'I did not think she would have had so much colour.'

'It was a thorough English face: she did not lose those rosy cheeks till
want of air faded them. Then I should hardly have known her, but the
countenance had become so much more--calm it had always been, reminding
me of the description of Jeanie Deans' countenance--I cannot tell you
what it was then! I see a little dawning of that serenity on the mouth,
even as it is here; but I wish anything could give you an idea of that
look!'

Thank you for showing it to me,' said Violet, earnestly.

After studying it a little while, he restored it to its place. He
then took out a small box, and, after a moment's hesitation, put into
Violet's hands a pink coral cross, shaped by the animals themselves, and
fastened by a ring to a slender gold chain.

'The cross!' said Violet, holding it reverently: 'it is very kind of you
to let me see it.'

'Would you like to keep it, Violet?'

'Oh!