dscape?
'An Evening in the Eternal City.' Now that is what I call an exquisite
little thing? Look at the moon, Aileen, rising over these hill tops; and
see those trees--you can almost feel the wind blow! And that prostrate
figure--why, that looks like yourself, Rupert!"

"It is myself."

"And the other stooping--who is he?"

"The painter of that picture, Miss Everard; yes, the only thing in my
poor studio you see fit to eulogize, is not mine. It was done by an
artist friend--an unknown Englishman, who saved my life in Rome three
years ago. Come in, mother mine, and defend your son from the two-edged
sword of May Everard's tongue."

For Lady Thetford, pale and languid, appeared on the threshold, wrapped
in a shawl.

"It's all for his good, mamma. Come here and look at this 'Evening in
the Eternal City.' Rupert has nothing like it in all his collection,
though there are the beginning of many better things. He saved your
life? How was it?"

"Oh! a little affair with brigands; nothing very thrilling, but I should
have been killed or captured all the same if this Legard had not come to
the rescue. May is right about the picture; he painted well, had come to
Rome to perfect himself in his art. Very fine fellow, Legard--a thorough
Bohemian."

"Legard!"

It was Lady Thetford who had spoken sharply and suddenly. She had put up
her glass to look at the Italian picture, but dropped it, and faced
abruptly round.

"Yes, Legard. Guy Legard, a young Englishman, about my own age.
By-the-by, if you saw him, you would be surprised by his singular
resemblance to some of those dead and gone Thetfords hanging over there
in the picture-gallery--fair hair, blue eyes, and the same peculiar cast
of features to a shade. I was taken rather aback, I confess, when I saw
it first. My dear mother--"

It was not a cry Lady Thetford had uttered--it was a kind of wordless
sob. He soon caught her in his arms, and held her there, her face the
color of death.

"Get a glass of water, May--she is subject to these attacks. Quick!"

Lady Thetford drank the water, and sunk back in the chair Aileen wheeled
up, her face looking awfully corpse-like in contrast with her dark
garments and dead black hair.

"You should not have left your room," said Sir Rupert, "after your
attack this morning. Perhaps you had better return and lie down. You
look perfectly ghastly."

"No," his mother sat up as she spoke and pushed away the glass, "there
is no nece