o everything. She was quite certain that this plan of Michael's
would turn out for the good of both.

"And as for the poor old cottage, when you return to London you will
come and see it sometimes, and write me word how it looks. You can send
a bit of the clematis in a letter, too; and who knows, but if you get
a very rich lady, you may take the whole cottage yourself some day, and
live here again."

"Perhaps; if you will come back from Rome, and visit me here?" said
Olive, smiling; for she was glad to encourage any cheerful hope.

"No, no, I shall never leave Michael--I shall never leave Michael!"
She said these words over to herself many times, and then took up her
watering-pot and went on with her task.

Her affectionate companion followed her for some time; but Miss Vanbrugh
did not seem disposed to talk, so Olive returned to the house.

She felt in that unquiet, dreary state of mind which precedes a great
change, when all preparations are complete, and there is nothing left
to be done but to ponder on the coming parting. She could not rest
anywhere, or compose herself to anything; but wandered about the house,
thinking of that last day at Oldchurch, and vaguely speculating when or
what the next change would be. She passed into the drawing-room, where
Christal was amusing Mrs. Rothesay with her foreign ditties; and then
she went to Mr. Vanbrugh's studio to have a last talk about Art with her
old master.

He was busily engaged in packing up his casts and remaining pictures. He
just acknowledged his pupil's presence and received her assistance, as
he always did with perfect indifference. For, from mere carelessness,
Vanbrugh had reduced the womankind about him to the condition of perfect
slaves.

"There, that will do. Now bring me the great treasure of all--the bust
of Michael the Angel."

She climbed on a chair, and lifted it down, carefully and reverentially,
so as greatly to please the artist.

"Thank you, my pupil; you are very useful; I cannot tell what I should
do without you."

"You will have to do without me very soon," was Olive's gentle and
somewhat sorrowful answer. "This is my last evening in this dear old
studio--my last talk with you, my good and kind master."

He looked surprised and annoyed. "Nonsense, child! If I am going to
Rome, you are going too. I thought Meliora would arrange all that."

Olive shook her head.

"No, Mr. Vanbrugh; indeed, it is impossible."

"What, not go with me