that vision was
so radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens my
darkness, even now."

A very tender silence fell in the library.

The twilight deepened.

Then Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low. "Mr. Dalmain, I have a request to
make of you. I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures."

Garth lifted his head. "I must destroy them, child," he said. "I cannot
risk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the--the lady
portrayed."

"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they are
destroyed."

"And that is?" queried Garth.

"The lady portrayed," said Nurse Rosemary, bravely.

"How do you know she has not seen them?"

"Has she?" inquired Nurse Rosemary.

"No," said Garth, shortly; "and she never will."

"She must."

Something in the tone of quiet insistence struck Garth.

"Why?" he asked; and listened with interest for the answer.

"Because of all it would mean to a woman who knows herself plain, to
see herself thus beautified."

Garth sat very still for a few moments. Then: "A woman
who--knows--herself--plain?" he repeated, with interrogative amazement
in his voice.

"Yes," proceeded Nurse Rosemary, encouraged. "Do you suppose, for a
moment, that that lady's mirror has ever shown her a reflection in any
way approaching what you have made her in these pictures? When we stand
before our looking-glasses, Mr. Dalmain, scowling anxiously at hats and
bows, and partings, we usually look our very worst; and that lady, at
her very worst, would be of a most discouraging plainness."

Garth sat perfectly silent.

"Depend upon it," continued Nurse Rosemary, "she never sees herself as
'The Wife'--'The Mother.' Is she a wife?".

Garth hesitated only the fraction of a second. "Yes," he said, very
quietly.

Jane's hands flew to her breast. Her heart must be held down, or he
would hear it throbbing.

Nurse Rosemary's voice had in it only a slight tremor, when she spoke
again.

"Is she a mother?"

"No," said Garth. "I painted what might have been."

"If--?"

"If it HAD been," replied Garth, curtly.

Nurse Rosemary felt rebuked. "Dear Mr. Dalmain," she said, humbly; "I
realise how officious I must seem to you, with all these questions, and
suggestions. But you must blame the hold these wonderful paintings of
yours have taken on my mind. Oh, they are beautiful--beautiful!"

"Ah," said Garth, the keen pleasure of the artist springing up once
more. "Mi