Earle looked first at the artist, then at his hand. "Can I take it?" he asked. "Is it a loyal hand?" Gregory Leslie laughed aloud. "Bless the boy--the poet, I ought to say; what does he mean?" "I mean, in all simplicity, just what I say," said Earle. "Is it the hand of a loyal man?" "I have never been anything save loyal to you," replied the artist, wondering more and more at Earle's strange manner. "I shall understand you better in a short time," he said. "How ill you look--your face is quite changed." "I have been ill for some weeks," said Earle. "I am well now." "And how are they all at Brackenside--the honest farmer and his kindly wife; bright, intelligent Miss Mattie; and last, though by no means least, my lovely model, Miss Innocence?" "They are all well at Brackenside," said Earle, evasively. But the artist looked keenly at him, and from the tone of his voice he felt sure that all was not well. Then Earle sat down, and there was a few minutes silence. At length he roused himself with a sigh. "Mr. Leslie," he said, "when you were leaving Brackenside you called me friend, and said that you would do anything to help me. I have come to prove if your words are true." "I am sure they are," replied Mr. Leslie, as he looked pityingly on the worn, haggard face. "You may prove them in any way you will." Then he smiled. "Has Miss Innocence been unkind to you, that you look so dull?" "That does not sound as though he knew anything about her going," thought Earle; "and if he does not, I am indeed at sea." Then he looked at the artist. It was an honest face, although the lips curled satirically, and there was a gleam of mischief in the keen eyes. "Is it a lover's quarrel, Earle?" he asked. "No, it is more than that," replied Earle. "Tell me, Mr. Leslie, has Doris written to you since you left Brackenside?" An expression of blank wonder came into the artist's face. "Yes," he replied, "she wrote to me twice; each time it was to thank me for papers and critics that I had sent her." "That is all?" said Earle. "That is all, indeed. I did not preserve the letters. I have a fatal habit of making pipe-lights of them." "Did she tell you, in those letters, that she was tired of Brackenside, Mr. Leslie?" "No, they were both written in excellent spirits, I thought. I do not remember that there was any mention of home or any one; in fact, I am sure there was not." "Did she ask you to help her to find a situation?" said Earle. "No, indeed, she never did. At Brackenside she pretended often enough to be tired of the place, and to want to go elsewhere, but I never paid any serious attention to it. You see, Earle, if you will love a woman who has all the beauty of the rainbow, you must be content to abide by all her caprices. I am sure she has done something to pain you, Earle--tell me what it is?"