ound of sedge and water lilies. But what made
the picture specially charming was that the artist had really caught
the peculiar solemn stillness of evening; merely to look at that quiet,
peaceful river brought a feeling of hush and calmness. It seemed a
strange picture to find as the sole ornament in the study of a man who
had all his life been fighting the world.

Erica brightened up again, and seemed to forget her anxiety when he
questioned her as to the artist.

"There is such a nice story about that picture," she said, "I always
like to look at it. It was about two years ago, one very cold winter's
day, and a woman came with some oil paintings which she was trying to
sell for her husband, who was ill; he was rather a good artist, but had
been in bad health for a long time, till at last she had really come
to hawking about his pictures in this way, because they were in such
dreadful distress. Father was very much worried just then, there was a
horrid libel case going on, and that morning he was very busy, and he
sent the woman away rather sharply, and said he had no time to listen
to her. Then presently he was vexed with himself because she really had
looked in great trouble, and he thought he had been harsh, and, though
he was dreadfully pressed for time, he would go out into the square to
see if he couldn't find her again. I went with him, and we had walked
all round and had almost given her up, when we caught sight of her
coming out of a house on the opposite side. And then it was so nice,
father spoke so kindly to her, and found out more about her history, and
said that he was too poor to buy her pictures; but she looked dreadfully
tired and cold, so he asked her to come in and rest, and she came and
sat by the fire, and stayed to dinner with us, and we looked at her
pictures, because she seemed so proud of them and liked us to. One of
them was that little river scene, which father took a great fancy to,
and praised a great deal. She left us her address, and later on, when
the libel case was ended, and father had got damages, and so had a
little spare money, he sent some to this poor artist, and they were so
grateful; though, do you know, I think the dinner pleased them more than
the money, and they would insist on sending this picture to father. I'll
light the gas, and then you'll see it better."

She twisted a piece of paper into a spill, and put an end to the
gloaming. Charles Osmond stood up to get a nearer