to him. Sir Everard watched the progress
of the picture with lofty indulgence; of
course, he knew that it was bad, but it
delighted Rosamund and Aunt Carry, so he
could not object. But such blue, blue eyes,
such carmine checks, were surely never seen
anywhere but on a very juvenile canvas.
DawdIe over it as he would, it was finished
at last, and fixed in a gorgeous gilt frame.
Then, and not till then, did Rosamund
perceive what a sublime caricature of herself
it presented. Sir Everard and Aunt Carry
went ceremoniously to give their opinion as
it stood on its easel—an accomplished work.
Valentine was standing beside it, looking
down upon the face with that shy tenderness
of expression with which youth contemplates
its first creation; he saw more, much more,
of course, than there was to see; in fact, he
did not see the picture as it was at all, but
merely his own idealised vision of its original.
Rosamund, overflowing with a sly amusement,
led her aunt up to it by the hand; and,
performing a mocking reverence, said:

"Let me present you, Aunt Carry, to her
rosy-cheeked majesty, the queen of the
milkmaids."

"I'm sure, my dear, it is a very beautiful
picture, and does Mr. Unwin great credit,"
says Aunt Carry, putting up her glass.

Valentine had felt Rosamund's satire; but,
except a slight convulsion of his upper lip,
no sign of pain escaped him. Sir Everard
saw it, however; and, liking the lad's
self-command, he praised the work where he
honestly could in a quiet judicious way,
which consoled the artist, if not the boy.

"The drawing is good and free; the
colour will tone down in time. Mr. Unwin,
I never saw a picture by a hand so
unpractised, equally, or nearly as good. There is
nothing meretricious in the style: nothing. I
shall wait for your mellowing and maturing,
and then you shall try the same subject
again for me."

"I shall take Mr. Unwin to my room to
consult as to the best light, for hanging it,"
said Aunt Carry, who, without any pretence,
admired the picture extremely. "Will you
give me a few minutes?"

Valentine accompanied her gladly, and the
lovers were left alone.

"It is very wooden, Everard. I wish I
had not let him do it, poor fellow!" said
Rosamund.

"I assure you, Rose, it is a very respectable
production for the lad at his years. If he
can paint like that now, he will ripen into
one of the best painters by-and-by," Sir
Everard replied.

"I will have it put out of sight to-day."

As Rosamund was uttering these words,
Valentine and Aunt Carry re-entered. He
heard them, and understood at once all they
meant. He would have been more than
mortal if he had not betrayed that he heard
them.  Rosamund had a good heart, which
loved not to give pain, and she tried to say
something to him; but the red had flashed
into his face, and the tears into his eyes like
a child's. He turned away abruptly, and
took up his cap to depart. Aunt Carry's
fussy delight, all unsuspicious and single-
minded, covered the little awkwardness, and
allowed him time to recover himself. He
then said, "Good morning!" and left the
gallery.

Stung to the quick, burning with mortified
pride and love, he marched home and shut
himself in his room to hide his woes. Mary
gained admittance by-and-by, and then, as the
happy salutary fashion of the youthful heart
is, he made full confession to her, and
received comfort appropriate to his frame of
mind.

              CHAPTER THE FIFTH.

TOWARDS eleven o'clock one sunshiny
morning a continuous stream of people, with
avast disproportion of ladies, was passing by
the door of old Wisp's oil and colour shop on
their way to the parish church of Burnham.
That their purposes were not devotional
might be safely inferred from the general
air of liveliness and enjoyment that prevailed
amongst them, and the rapid and careless
toilettes,—British ladies generally worship in
chosen raiment. Old Wisp's wife, a genial,
gossiping, redundant person stood in the
doorway with her bonnet in her hand,
and evidently meditated following the herd
by-and-by; meantime she communicated her
observations on the people to old Wisp and
Valentine Unwin who were sitting in the
shop, the latter with his back to the window
and the street, vainly trying to affect indifference
to the great event that was to happen
that day.

"You are dull this morning, Mr. Valentine,
arn't you well? " asked the matron. "A
wedding always livens me up."

Old Wisp sighed, and said she was not in
want of any spur to her vivacity under
ordinary circumstances, and Valentine, with
a sickly smile on his sallow, young face,
replied, that weddings cheered everybody's
spirits; unless, perhaps, it were the bereaved
relatives and friends of the bride. His
remarks had such a dreary moral tone that
Mrs. Wisp, ordinarily the best-tempered
woman in the world, was provoked:

"Law! Mr. Valentine, one might think
Miss Wilton was going to be buried instead
of married to hear you talk. I advise you to
put on your cap and just come away to church
like the rest of us!"

"I hope he knows better!" growled old
Wisp; "weddings always make fools of
women."

"You are right enough there, Joe, so they
do! 'specially their own!" retorted his
wife.'' There they go—down Bongate!"

Valentine Unwin turned white and sick as
he got up and looked out at the doorway