the lower end of the room, he edged himself
up to Miss Wilton, on pretence of filling her
painting-glass with water, and said: "It'll
be the making of Valentine Unwin, to get a
sight of the fine pictures at your house,
ma'am; I remember some of 'em."

Rosamund smiled. "He is a young genius
then—the master's son?" she said. "I shall
be proud to see him enjoy my paintings, if it
will be of such advantage to him."

"It will be an advantage, indeed, ma'am.
If I'd had such an advantage at his age, I
would be in a superior position now. But I
was not encouraged;" and Old Wisp blushed
to the roots of his shaggy hair, as he made
this pathetic allusion to former disappointment.
He and his wife kept a little oil and
colour shop in the town; and it was said that
he wasted all the small profits of the business
in trying to paint, when not engaged at the
school. Rosamund penetrated Old Wisp's
anxiety for himself in his allusions to Valentine,
and kindly said that he was welcome to
a view of her pictures whenever he liked.

"I would not be churlish of my precious
gifts." she added, with feminine diffidence
and hesitation; "and if there are any other
students who are going to follow Art, who
would like to come and see them, I shall be
very glad."

Old Wisp was on the tip-toe of exultation.
Miss Wilton, he told Valentine, was a true
lady; and Valentine said in his heart she
was a divinity—he had not come to the ripe
age when a lover is content that his beloved
should be merely a woman.

When the church clock struck four,
Rosamund laid down her brush, and spoke to
Mary Unwin. "I am going home; can
you and Valentine come with me now?"
She put on her bonnet and shawl. Mary
blushed and accepted the invitation, while
her brother behind his easel was struggling
to get his jacket-cuffs down over his big
wrists, and to clear his clothes of the powdering
of white chalk, with which he had been
putting the high lights on Hercules. Rosamund
stood by the open door, waiting until
they were ready, and Tom Unwin came up
to her there, saying that he should not be at
liberty that day; but, if agreeable, he would
come and see the Murillo on the morrow.
"And I will bring Valentine with me if you
please,'' he added.

"Valentine is going with me and his sister
now," replied Rosamund; and, in effect, at
that moment the lad and Mary drew near.
It would not have been easy to say which
looked the more shy or the more uncomfortably
gratified. Rosamund might have been
an ogress luring them to her den, instead of
a merely pretty girl about to do them a
kindness. Tom Unwin could not forbear a
grim wrinkling of his brow as he thought to
himself: "Poor things, they don't understand
being treated with respect, and are not
used to gentlefolks;" but Old Wisp rubbed
his hands with stealthy glee, and said, under
his breath: "See if she isn't proud, one of
those fine days, that she was the first to open
his eyes to glorious Art!"

                                  II.

VALENTINE kept a few paces in the rear,
but Mary walked along beside Miss Wilton,
struggling internally with that painful
diffidence which always paralysed her before a
stranger, and made her tongue-tied and
stupid. The sun had lost somewhat of its
power; but the dense shade of the avenue of
lime-trees was still most grateful, and they
kept under it; until, turning to the right
and opening a private door in the ancient
stone-wall which was a continuation of that
bounding the field in front of the school,
Rosamund admitted them at once into the
Abbey gardens. What a cool, luxurious
wilderness of shrubbery! There were
green alleys with soft turf under foot,
and noble trees arching overhead; there
were cedars whose branches swept down
upon the grass; glossy, pungent-leaved
walnut-trees; lance-like silver birches, black
yews, and rich purple beeches, planted so
that their various foliage contrasted and
harmonised as only nature's productions ever
will harmonise.

"It is a very beautiful place!" said Mary
Unwin, looking round with an indefinable
sensation of pleasure.

"Yes: and it seems strange to be so
secluded; when, in five minutes, we can plunge
into the most bustling suburb of Burnham. I
like it thus; there is the river—it looks like
a land-locked lake at the end of that glade."

The way they were approaching the house,
though not the shortest, was by far the most
pleasant. It made several turns and winds
to take in glimpses of the river scenery,
which came like surprises upon strangers to
the place. Mary loved all that was beautiful
in nature, especially all that was tranquilly
beautiful. She thought Rosamund Wilton
must be very happy to live in such a beautiful
place, and a remark to that effect escaped
her.

"Yes, I am happy, but it is not because of
this," replied Rosamund; "I am happy,
because I have nothing to make me otherwise;
yet I have not all I want. You would
not exchange your Valentine for a fine house
and a pretty old garden."

"O, no:" and Mary looked round at her
young brother, with an expression that made
her almost handsome.

Valentine now made an effort to talk, and
began by asking the name of a fine flowering
shrub, which Rosamund could not tell him.
She said her memory was not good for the
long Latin names her gardener used; and,
by and bye, they emerged from the shrubbery
upon a terrace in front of the house, below
which was a broad sloping lawn; and, beyond
that, the river. Mary sighed as the whole