look came over Antony's face. "Thank you very much indeed," he
said. "I count on you to take care of this little commission for me,"
and he went out of the room in ecstasy, closing the door behind him.

CHAPTER V

He left his hansom at the entrance of the park, at 72nd Street.

There, on the corner, stood his uncle's house, a monument, to him, of
the past. His heart beat hard as he looked at the unfriendly dwelling
from whose doors he had rushed on the night of the winter blizzard,
when, as it had seemed to him then, little Gardiner's spirit rushed with
him out into the storm. From those windows Bella had waved her hand.

How his spirits had risen high with hope, the night on which he had
first gone up those steps. It was on that night Bella had said to him,
"Why, you have got a light step and a heavy step, Cousin Antony. I never
heard any one walk like that before."

He tramped into Central Park, taking his way to the Metropolitan Museum.
At the door he was informed that the museum was closed. He gave his
card, and, after a few words with the man in charge, Thomas Rainsford
the sculptor was let in and found himself, to all intents and purposes,
alone. He wandered about the sculptures, wondering where the statue of
little "Bella" would be placed.

The rooms were delightfully restful. He chose a bench and sat down,
resting and musing.

In front of one of the early Italian pictures stood an easel with a copy
exposed upon it to his view. A reproduction of a sixteenth-century
Madonna with a child upon her breast. The copy showed the hand of an
adept in colour and drawing. Antony looked at it with keen pleasure,
musing upon the beauty of the child.

Afterwards he rose and went into the Egyptian room, lingering there. But
when he came back the painter was there before her easel, and Antony
stood in the doorway to watch her at work.

She wore a long brown linen painting apron that covered her form,
evidently a slender form, evidently a young form. She painted ardently,
with confidence and absorption. As Antony watched her, her pose, her
ardour, the poise of her body, the lovely dark head, the gestures, the
fire of her, brought all of a sudden his past rushing back to him. The
sight of her came to him with a thrilling, wonderful remembrance. He
came forward, his light step and his heavy step falling on the hard wood
floors of the museum.

She turned before he was close to her, her palette and her brushes in