t."

"I have it ready, and here is a purse for the purpose. The question is,
how much to put in it. I should think such a perspective as that could
not be handsomely paid under fifty guineas."

"Then you will give him a hundred, and say that I am exceedingly obliged
to him."

I put this sum in the purse and went out into the hall where Dario was
waiting, with his basket of brushes beside him. In a poor, bungling,
stammering fashion, I delivered Moll's message, and made the best excuse
I could for delivering it in her stead.

He waited a moment or two after I had spoken, and then, says he, in a
low voice:

"Is that all?"

"Nay," says I, offering the purse, "we do beg you to take this as--"

He stopped me, pushing my hand aside.

"I have taken a purse from Don Sanchez," says he. "There was more in it
than I needed--there are still some pieces left. But as I would not
affront him by offering to return them, so I beg you will equally
respect my feelings. I undertook the task in gratitude, and it hath been
a work of love all through, well paid for by the happiness that I have
found here."

He stood musing a little while, as if he were debating with himself
whether he should seek to overcome Moll's resentment or not. Then,
raising his head quickly, he says: "'Tis best so, maybe. Farewell, sir"
(giving me his hand). "Tell her," adds he, as we stand hand in hand at
the door, "that I can never forget her kindness, and will ever pray for
her happiness."

I found the door ajar and Moll pacing the room very white, when I
returned. She checked me the moment I essayed to deliver Dario's
message.

"You can save your breath," says she, passionately, "I've heard every
word."

"More shame for you," says I, in a passion, casting my purse on the
table. "'Tis infamous to treat an honest gentleman thus, and silly
besides. Come, dear," altering my tone, "do let me run and fetch him
back."

"You forget whom you are speaking to, Mr. Hopkins," cries she.

I saw 'twas impossible to move her whilst she was in this mood, for she
had something of her father's obstinate, stubborn disposition, and did
yet hope to bring Dario back to her feet, like a spaniel, by harsh
treatment. But he came no more, though a palette he had overlooked could
have given him the excuse, and for very vexation with Moll I was glad he
did not.

He had not removed the scaffold, but when I went upon it to see what
else he had put into his painting, the fad