rove
by my devotion that I am not insensible to all your kindness, that I am
very grateful for the affection you have given me. I come and offer you
this, as a poor return for all that I owe you; it is the most my conscience
will permit me to tender. My friend, my master, will you accept it and
forgive the pain and sorrow I have caused you?"

He felt her tears falling on his fingers, and, for a moment, neither spoke;
then he drew the hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly.

"Thank you, Electra. I know it is a sacrifice on your part, but I am
selfish enough to accept it. Heaven bless you, my pupil."

"In future we will not allude to this day of trial--let it be forgotten;
'let the dead past bury its dead.' I will have no resurrected phantoms. And
now, sir, you must not allow this slight hemorrhage to depress you. In a
few days you will be stronger, quite able to examine and find fault with my
work. Shall I send a note to Dr. Le Roy, asking him to call and see you
this evening?"

"He has just left me. Say nothing of the hemorrhage to mother; it would
only distress her."

He released her hands, and, stooping over his pillow, she smoothed the
disordered hair, and for the first time pressed her lips to his forehead.

Thus she bowed her neck to the yoke, and, with a fixed, unalterable will,
entered on the long dreary ministry to which she felt that duty called.

CHAPTER XIII

WARNINGS

With the characteristic fitfulness of consumption, Mr. Clifton rallied,
and, for a time, seemed almost restored; but at the approach of winter the
cough increased, and dangerous symptoms returned. Several months after the
rejection of his suit, to which no allusion had ever been made, Electra sat
before her easel, absorbed in work, while the master slowly walked up and
down the studio, wrapped in a warm plaid shawl. Occasionally he paused and
looked over her shoulder, then resumed his pace, offering no comment. It
was not an unusual occurrence for them to pass entire mornings together
without exchanging a word, and to-day the silence had lasted more than an
hour. A prolonged fit of coughing finally arrested her attention, and,
glancing up, she met his sad gaze.

"This is unpropitious weather for you, Mr. Clifton."

"Yes, this winter offers a dreary prospect."

Resting her chin in her hands she raised her eyes, and said--

"Why do you not follow the doctor's advice? A winter South might restore
you."

He drew near, a