eek; and then he'll cut you
up into little bits, and Prince too.'

Betty laughed and danced away, Prince at her heels.

'You're jealous because I'm going to be put into a picture,' she called
out. 'I'll tell you all about the dead men's legs when I come back.'

The next afternoon she was taken up to the Hall by nurse, who arrayed
herself in her best clothes, and was delighted when she was taken to
the housekeeper's room to be entertained. She would have liked to wait
there the full hour, but Mr. Russell had promised to bring back Betty
himself; so she had not that excuse.

And Douglas and Molly were consoling themselves at home, by building a
hay castle in the meadow, and capturing Bobby and Billy at intervals,
under the plea of painting their pictures; and then going through a
process which was more entertaining to them than to their little
victims--that of cutting off their arms and legs to hang on their walls.

It was nearly five o'clock when Betty returned, and her little tongue
was busy all tea-time.

'Such a funny room! and Mr. Russell had changed his mind, and he isn't
going to paint my picture; but he's going to make a dead figure of me
and Prince instead; he's got some white wet stuff like putty, and he
rolls up his shirt-sleeves like a workman! I had to lie down and
pretend to be asleep, but I could keep my eyes open, and I did see some
legs, but they're images--and there was a image without a head, a dead
figure, you know. And there were beautiful curtains, and flowers, and
rugs, and pictures half finished. It was rather an untidy room. I
told Mr. Russell what you said, Douglas; and he laughed. He gave me
some peaches, and then we had a nice grave talk coming home.'

This and more Betty revealed; and her visits to the Hall became very
frequent as time wore on. If she enjoyed them, Mr. Russell did too,
and yet she brought to him mingled feelings of pleasure and pain. He
talked lightly to her, and put aside his stern moods whilst with her;
but every now and then some childish gesture or tone would stab him
with the memory of his little daughter, and his brows would contract
and his voice falter at the remembrance.

One day he was called away from the studio, and for some time Betty was
left alone.

When he returned, he found her lying flat on her chest, turning over
the leaves of a book.

'What book have you got hold of?' he asked; 'something that seems to
interest you.'

'It's Revelation