of the already forgotten day; only those obscure,
sullen curves. They crush down the hope that
brought me hither with Margaret. They extort
from me sighs, and irrepressible tears.

Again, for the third time, I have been down
to the gnarled and gloomy yew-tree, at the end
of the garden walk, facing Elmeth, the hill where
I was born. As I loitered there vainly gazing
upward, the clouds rolled away for a little while,
and the moon came up over the sharply denned
outline of the great mountain beyond; she
poured a stream of beams over the valley, and
upon the peak of Elmeth; and at that moment
a bright red light under it marked the very spot
of the old homestead. My pulse quickened
with the quickening light; but rapidly the
heavy clouds gathered, again, and rolling down
the slopes of Wodenhill, engulfed Elmeth and
its red home light in impenetrable darkness.
Once more the invisible landscape lay before my
straining eyes an awful and mysterious blank,
like a winding-sheet spread smoothly over the
dead limbs and features of one beloved.

We were both artists, my brother and I; and
we loved our art earnestly. Only there was
this difference: Godfrey possessed true genius,
I had only the gift of appreciating it. We
worked side by side in the same studio), under
the same light, with the same pencils and colours.
I was always ready for work, and painted
uniformly; but he, with long intervals of silent
abstraction, and with throes of agony and self-
distrust, wrought out his conceptions. It was
enough for me to glance once at his face, as he
stood before his easel, to learn whether it was a
moment of exultation in conscious power, which
lacked no word or sign of mine to add to its
strength, or a time of conflict with the doubting
demon of depreciation, which must needs be
exorcised by a few sharp words of work-a-day
sense, or appeased by a cordial tribute of
applause. Therefore, recognising the difference
between us, I stood humbly on one side, to
watch his inspired progress, or to uphold him
with sisterly hands in his hours of reaction and
depression.

I worked, with my commoner powers, in
sketches of local scenery and studies of heads in
crayon, which obtained some celebrity in the
exhibitions of the country town where I pursued
my vocation. Nor was there in my temperament,
as there was in Godfrey's, any painful sensitiveness
to prevent me becoming a teacher of our
art. I could earn my living and his, while he
studied in the Royal Academy, and advanced in
the favour of the great artist who was his patron.
Soon his genius, his success, his fame, would
repay my toils a hundredfold.

For my pupil, Margaret Wilson, whom I
called Daisy, I formed no common attachment.
There was a subtle charm, even to me a woman,
in her childlike, dimpled, rosy loveliness, and
in the helpless, clinging tenderness of her manner.
My love for her was curiously mingled
with a sentiment of protection and pity, and
when she sat at my feet, as she liked to do,
fondling my hands and gazing up at me with
liquid hazel eyes softened into the softest shade
of reverence and affection, I felt towards her
just that peculiar feeling of tender regard which
we express in the word loving-kindness.

Of course Godfrey and Daisy loved one
another. He came direct from the sole study of
woman as revealed to him by the bold models
of his life-schools, to the daily companionship
of an innocent, childish girl, who treated him
with coy and timid deference. I considered
Daisy, my fair, fresh, simple-hearted Daisy,
worthy even of my nobly-gifted brother, whose
name would win a wide celebrity; and I almost
felt a pang of jealousy, that whereas I, as only
the sister of the successful artist, would soon
be dropped out of all connexion with him, she,
as the wife of Godfrey Lincoln, would share in
his renown. We made no secret of the matter,
for Daisy's father, a solicitor in the town, had a
high appreciation of our art, and was already
satisfied of Godfrey's eminent talents and his
honourable and manly character. There had
been no concealment from the first, and Mr.
Wilson knew that when Godfrey left London
he occupied my studio with me, where Daisy
spent her leisure hours. So as I was particularly
his favourite, they deputed me to
communicate to him the deep true love that existed
between them. He listened uninterruptedly to
the end, a placid smile playing blandly about
his mouth, and with many acquiescing gestures
as I spoke fervently in Godfrey's praise, and
hopefully of his brilliant future. Then he
responded with a calm wisdom which recommended
itself to my common sense, and talked of Daisy's
youth and my brother's need of greater artistic
advantages before he was encumbered with a
wife and family. "We must not ruin our
artist," he said; "let Godfrey go upon the
Continent for two years or so—I will lend him
the means, and you, my good industrious Emma,
shall be his security—and let his genius develop
into the maturity I anticipate by the study of
the great masters. There must be no positive
engagement, though neither he nor my child
will be inconstant. But he must win her, Emma;
he must paint a picture to be talked about." In
this way it was settled.

Godfrey went abroad to work for the consummation
of our hopes, mine as well as his. Daisy
continued to be my pupil, clinging to me still
more closely and wimiingly, and seeking my
direction in everything; she would even grow
uneasy when I left her to lean to her own
understanding and decision. And because I knew that
Godfrey's character possessed much of the
natural despotism of man's nature, and he chose
to have those he loved dependent upon him, I
did not greatly care to correct her gentle timidity.
I knew that I was training my brother's wife into
harmony with his temperament.

I expected Daisy to be feeble where feebleness
was a charm, and to be strong where
strength was necessary. We were separated;
for I was anxious to return Mr. Wilson's loan to
Godfrey, that when he came home he might
begin his career without being hampered with