uelled by an entreating motion of silence.

But the painter went on painting; he saw nothing, thought of nothing,
save his "Alcestis." He was indeed an enthusiast. Olive watched how,
beneath the coarse, ill-formed hand, grew images of perfect beauty; how,
within the body, almost repulsive in its ugliness, dwelt a brain which
could produce the grandest ideal loveliness; and there dawned in the
girl's spirit a stronger conviction than ever of the majesty of the
human soul.

It was a comforting thought to one like her, who, as she deemed, had
been deprived of so many of life's outward sweetnesses. Between herself
and Michael Vanbrugh there was a curious sympathy. To both Nature seemed
to have said, "Renounce the body, in exchange for the soul."

The sitting had lasted some hours, during which it took all poor Mrs.
Rothesay's gentle patience to humour Olive's enthusiasm, by maintaining
the very arduous position of an artist's model. "Alcestis" was getting
thoroughly weary of her duties, when they were interrupted by an
advent rather rare at Woodford Cottage, that of the daily post Vanbrugh
grumblingly betook himself to the substitute of a lay figure and
drapery, while Mrs. Rothesay read her letter, or rather looked at it,
and gave it to Olive to read: glad, as usual, to escape from the trouble
of correspondence.

Olive examined the superscription, as one sometimes does, uselessly
enough, when breaking the seal would explain everything. It was
a singularly bold, upright hand, distinct as print, free from all
caligraphic flourishes, indicating, as most writing does indicate in
some degree, the character of the writer. Slightly eccentric it might
be, quick, restless, in its turned-up Gs and Ys, but still it was a good
hand, an honest hand. Olive thought so, and liked it. Wondering who the
writer could be, she opened it, and read thus:

"Madam--From respect to your recent affliction I have kept
silence for some months--a silence which, you will allow,
was more than could have been expected from me. Perhaps I
should not break it now, save for the claim of a wife and
mother, who are suffering, and must suffer, from the results
of an act which sprung from my own folly and another's
cruel---- But no; I will not apply harsh words towards one
who is now no more.

"Are you aware, madam, that your late husband, not two days
before his death, when in all human probability he must