besides it is so good--oh, so very good for a young man--a young man
of the best kind, not my cousin's kind--to be poor. Nobody ought ever
to be allowed to become rich before he is fifty years of age at the
very least. Because now you will have to work in earnest, and you will
become a great artist--yes, a truly great artist, and we shall be
proud of you."

"You shall make of me what you please, and what you can. For your
sake, Iris, I wish I were another Raphael. You are my mistress and my
queen. Bid me to die, and I will dare--Iris, I swear that the words of
the extravagant old song are real to me."

"Nay," she said, "not your queen, but your servant always. Surely love
cannot command. But, I think," she added softly, with a tender blush;
"I think--nay, I am sure and certain that it can obey."

He stooped and kissed her fingers.

"My love," he murmured; "my love--my love!"

The shadows lengthened and the evening fell; but those two foolish
people sat side by side, and hand in hand, and what they said further
we need not write down, because to tell too much of what young lovers
whisper to each other is a kind of sacrilege.

At last Arnold became aware that the sun was actually set, and he
sprung to his feet.

They walked home again across the Suspension Bridge. In the western
sky was hanging a huge bank of cloud all bathed in purple, red and
gold; the river was ablaze; the barges floated in a golden haze; the
light shone on their faces, and made them all glorious, like the face
of Moses, for they, too, had stood--nay, they were still standing--at
the very gates of Heaven.

"See, Iris," said the happy lover, "the day is done; your old life is
finished; it has been a happy time, and it sets in glory and splendor.
The red light in the west is a happy omen of the day to come."

So he took her hand, and led her over the river, and then to his own
studio in Tite Street. There, in the solemn twilight, he held her in
his arms, and renewed the vows of love with kisses and fond caresses.

"Iris, my dear--my dear--you are mine and I am yours. What have I done
to deserve this happy fate?"

CHAPTER VIII.

THE DISCOVERY.

At nine o'clock that evening, Mr. Emblem looked up from the chess
board.

"Where is Mr. Arbuthnot this evening, my dear?" he asked.

It would be significant in some houses when a young man is expected
every evening. Iris blushed, and said that perhaps he was not coming.
But he was, and