garden of the Hesperides," she said, gayly--"such mellow
shadows, and such gorgeous colors, like those of celestial fruits. I
don't wonder you paint poetic truth."

Arthur Merlin smiled.

"Now you shall judge," said he.

Hope Wayne seated herself in the chair where Lawrence Newt had been
sitting not two hours before, and settled herself to enjoy the spectacle
she anticipated; for she had a secret faith in Arthur's genius, and she
meant to purchase this great work of poetic truth at her own valuation.
Arthur placed the picture upon the easel and drew the curtain from it,
stepping aside as before to watch her face.

The airy smile upon Hope Wayne's face faded instantly. The blood rushed
to her hair. But she did not turn her eyes, nor say a word. The moment
she felt she could trust her voice, she asked, gravely, without looking
at Arthur,

"What is it?"

"It is Diana and Endymion," replied the painter.

She looked at it for a long time, half-closing her eyes, which clung to
the face of Endymion.

"I have not made Diana tender enough," thought Arthur, mournfully, as he
watched her.

"How soundly he sleeps!" said Hope Wayne, at length, as if she had been
really trying to wake him.

"You think he merely sleeps?" asked Arthur.

"Certainly; why not?"

"Oh! I thought so too. But Lawrence Newt, who sat two hours ago just
where you are sitting, said, as he looked at the picture, that Endymion
was dead."

Hope Wayne put her finger to her lip, and looked inquiringly at her
companion.

"Dead! Did he say dead?" she asked.

"Dead," repeated Arthur Merlin.

"I thought Endymion only slept," continued Hope Wayne; "but Mr. Newt is a
judge of pictures--he knows."

"He certainly spoke as if he knew," persisted the painter, recklessly, as
he saw and felt the usual calmness return to his companion. "He said that
if Endymion were not dead he couldn't resist such splendor of beauty."

As Arthur Merlin spoke he looked directly into Hope Wayne's face, as if
he were speaking of her.

"Mr. Newt's judgment seems to be better than his memory," said she,
pleasantly.

"How?"

"He forgets that Endymion _did_ awake. He has not allowed time enough for
the effect of Diana's eyes. Now I am sure," she said, shaking her finger
at the picture, "I am sure that that silly shepherd will not sleep there
forever. Never fear, he will wake up. Diana never looks or loves for
nothing."

"It will do no good if he does," insisted Arthur, ru