Van Berg never forgot the hour that followed. His pencil was busy but his thoughts were busier. He felt his artist life and power kindling within him in a way that was exhilarating and grand. While his themes were simple he felt that they were noble and beautiful in the highest degree. The tree--a pretty object in itself--had been endowed with a human interest and suggested a divine philosophy. Mr. Eltinge, who sat at its foot, became to him one of the world's chief heroes--a man who had met and vanquished evil for almost a century. His white hair and silver beard were a halo of glory around the quiet face that was turned in kindly sympathy towards his companion, and Van Berg did his best to bring out the noble profile. But the maiden herself--why did his eyes turn so often to her, and why did he, unasked, introduce her into the sketch with a care and lingering delicacy of touch that made even her pencilled image seem a living girl? When not affected or rendered conventional by society, her voice was singularly girlish and natural, and there would often be a tone in a plaintive and minor key that vibrated like a low, sweet chord in his heart rather than in his ears. It must be admitted that he gave little heed to the sacred words she read; but the flexible music of her voice, mingled with the murmur of the brook, the rustle of the leaves and the occasional song of a bird, all combined to form the sweetest symphony he had ever heard. As an artist he exulted. His hand had not lost its cunning, and his ruling passion, which the strange experiences of the past few weeks had held in abeyance, was reasserting itself with a fuller, richer power than he had known before. That WAS Ida Mayhew's face that was growing beautiful and full of her new and better life under his appreciative and skilful touch, and the consciousness of success in the kind of effort in which success meant to him so much, filled him with a strong enthusiasm. Once or twice Ida glanced shyly at him, and his appearance did not tend to fix her thoughts wholly on the sacred text. At last Mr. Eltinge said: "That will do for to-day. I think, under the circumstances, you have given most praiseworthy attention to what you have read, and to what little I could say in the way of explanation. Now for the picture, and I confess I'm as eager as a child to see it;" and they came and looked over Van Berg's shoulder. Almost instantly Ida clapped her hands, exclaiming with delight: "The tree is perfect, and oh, Mr. Eltinge, I shall always have you now, with your dear kind face turned towards me as I have seen it to-day!" Suddenly her manner changed, and in a tone full of disappointment she added, "Oh, Mr. Van Berg, how could you spoil my picture? You have put me in it." "Certainly," he replied demurely, "you were a part of the picture." "Not a necessary part. I did not ask you to do that," she answered, in a way that proved her feelings were hurt.