we the pleasure of this visit?"

"Yes," she answered, still looking down, "it is, for if you had not
written that scene I should not have sought you. Your other sketches
are interiors--exquisitely painted and delicately finished, but of
small scope. _This_ is a sketch in a few bold, masterly lines--work of
entirely different spirit and purpose."

I was nettled by her insight. "You have bestowed so much of your kind
attention upon me that I feel your debtor," I said, conventionally. "It
may be that there is something I can do for you--connected, possibly,
with that little box?"

It was impertinent, but it was true; for she answered, "Yes."

I smiled, but her eyes were cast down and she did not see the smile.

"What I have to show you is a manuscript," she said after a pause which
I did not break; "it is a drama. I thought that perhaps you would read
it."

"An authoress! This is worse than old lace," I said to myself in
dismay.--Then, aloud, "My opinion would be worth nothing, Miss Crief."

"Not in a business way, I know. But it might be--an assistance
personally." Her voice had sunk to a whisper; outside, the rain was
pouring steadily down. She was a very depressing object to me as she
sat there with her box.

"I hardly think I have the time at present--" I began.

She had raised her eyes and was looking at me; then, when I paused, she
rose and came suddenly toward my chair. "Yes, you will read it," she
said with her hand on my arm--"you will read it. Look at this room;
look at yourself; look at all you have. Then look at me, and have
pity."

I had risen, for she held my arm, and her damp skirt was brushing my
knees.

Her large dark eyes looked intently into mine as she went on; "I have
no shame in asking. Why should I have? It is my last endeavor; but a
calm and well-considered one. If you refuse I shall go away, knowing
that Fate has willed it so. And I shall be content."

"She is mad," I thought. But she did not look so, and she had spoken
quietly, even gently.--"Sit down," I said, moving away from her. I felt
as if I had been magnetized; but it was only the nearness of her eyes
to mine, and their intensity. I drew forward a chair, but she remained
standing.

"I cannot," she said in the same sweet, gentle tone, "unless you
promise."

"Very well, I promise; only sit down."

As I took her arm to lead her to the chair I perceived that she was
trembling, but her face continued unmoved.

"You do not,