ssion--seemed to
sting her into renewed effort.

Coming back to them, Jack Darcy was more than puzzled, set at sea in a
bewildering way, without chart or compass. Had Fred ceased to care for
Sylvie? Had she never loved him? Or was some other feeling holding him
back,--a kind of family complication, a sense of duty to the others so
high that he would not offer them a divided regard, any sooner than her?
He believed mothers had a peculiar sense of possession in their sons;
but they surely had married other women's sons with small scruple! Mrs.
Lawrence was warmly attached to Sylvie. In his honest, inconsequent
man-fashion, he wondered why they could not always live together, as
they were doing here.

Fred was strangely worn and thin, with the kind of nervous alertness
that accompanies an intent watching of one's self.

"Hillo, old fellow!" cried Jack; "what have you been doing? Working
yourself to a shadow? If high art is so exhaustive, there must be a
little let-up. A man has no more right to kill himself in an artistic
industrial way, than in any of the ruder forms of suicide."

Fred shivered visibly.

"Don't speak of suicide," he answered in a shrinking tone. "I never
thought of it but once; and that was when I fancied myself of no use to
the world, or myself either. I am not overworked"--and he paused, to
study Jack a moment. Why, he was positively handsome, with that
superabundant strength and vitality, the clear red and white of his
complexion, the bronze beard, the healthful, honest eyes. He seemed to
be surcharged with a magnetic current of energy and courage.

"Yes, you are. I dare say you have carried your plans and sketches, and
what not, down to Depford Beach, and pored over them until almost
morning. You must take a vacation."

"I expect to when the families return;" and he gave a faint, wan smile.
"I have had another streak of luck, Jack. A lady, a very wealthy widow,
is building a house in one of the pretty towns up the Hudson, and it is
to be finished with all the elegance art can bring. She saw one of my
articles, and sent to me; and we have been corresponding. In September I
am to go to New York, and make arrangements. There is to be painting and
frescoing, and rooms finished in different styles,--indeed, I cannot
tell the half myself, until I see her."

The pale face had kindled with a fine and proud enthusiasm. More than
ever, Jack recognized the artistic refinement of his friend. What would