g his
head, not only humbly, but in humiliation, he went silently towards his
drawing materials, while the girl placed a tumbler of water on a small
table and retired.

Turning round, he found that Peter had also disappeared from the scene.

At first he imagined that the water was meant for his refreshment, but
on examining the materials on the ottoman he found a box of water-colour
paints, which accounted for its being sent.

Although George Foster had never been instructed in painting, he
possessed considerable natural talent, and was intensely fond of the
art. It was, therefore, with feelings of delight which he had not
experienced for many a day that he began to arrange his materials and
set about this new and congenial work.

Among other things he found a small easel, which had a very Anglican
aspect about it. Wondering how it had got there, he set it up, with a
sheet of paper on it, tried various parts of the room, in order to find
out the best position for a picture, and went through that interesting
series of steppings back and puttings of the head on one side which seem
to be inseparably connected with true art.

While thus engaged in the profound silence of that luxurious apartment,
with its "dim religious light," now glancing at the rich ceiling, anon
at the fair sheet of paper, he chanced to look below the margin of the
latter and observed, through the legs of the easel, that the gorgeous
eyes of the gazelle were fixed on him in apparent wonder.

He advanced to it at once, holding out a hand coaxingly. The pretty
creature allowed him to approach within a few inches, and then bounded
from its cushion like a thing of india-rubber to the other end of the
room, where it faced about and gazed again.

"You gaze well, pretty creature," thought the embryo artist. "Perhaps
that's the origin of your name! Humph! you won't come to me?"

The latter part of his thoughts he expressed aloud, but the animal made
no response. It evidently threw the responsibility of taking the
initiative on the man.

Our middy was naturally persevering in character. Laying aside his
pencil, he sat down on the marble floor, put on his most seductive
expression, held out his hand gently, and muttered soft encouragements--
such as, "Now then, Spunkie, come here, an' don't be silly--" and the
like. But "Spunkie" still stood immovable and gazed.

Then the middy took to advancing in a sitting posture--after a manner
known to in