Eily's duty during the summer to take a daily supply of fresh
eggs from her own hens to the proprietor of the hotel, and every morning
she presented herself at the door, a bewitching little figure, her
basket slung on her arm.

Coyly she glanced from beneath her black silky lashes at the little
group of men who, cigar in hand, loitered about the hotel steps,
chatting on the chances of sport or the prospects of the weather.

[Sidenote: The Artist's Model]

Beauty like hers could not fail to attract the attention of the artists
present, and as day after day went by, flattering remarks and
undisguised admiration did not fail to strike home; attentions from the
"gentry" were grateful to one who was a born coquette, and Eily's visits
were gradually prolonged.

Then one of the artists sought to paint her; he was a young fellow,
rising in his profession, and in quest of a subject for his next Academy
picture. In Eily he found what he sought, and there, among her own wild
mountains, he painted her.

Day after day, week after week, Eily stole from her father's little
cabin to meet the stranger, a downward glance in her dark eyes, a blush
on her cheek. The handsome face of the artist, his languid manner, his
admiration of her beauty, his talk about the great world that lay beyond
those mountains, fascinated and bewildered poor simple Eily, who told
him in her trusting innocence all the thoughts of her young heart.

So the summer passed by, till at last the picture was completed, and
Eily heard, with white face and tearful eye, that the painter was going
away.

Time had passed, and the little world among the mountains went on its
quiet way, but the summer had left its impress on Eily's heart. No more
was her laugh the merriest, or her foot the fleetest; she joined neither
wake nor dance, but her eye wore a far-away, thoughtful look, and her
manner was cold and somewhat scornful; she looked with contempt on her
old comrades, and began to pine for a peep at the great world, where she
would see _him_, and he would welcome her, his beautiful "Queen of
Connemara," as he had called her.

As though her unspoken words were heard, an opportunity to gratify her
wishes soon occurred. Her mother's sister, who had married young and
gone with her husband to England, returned to visit her old home; she
was a middle-aged, hard-faced woman, with a shrewd eye and cruel heart;
she had worked hard, and made a little money by keeping a lodgi