Nothing his agricultural friends could have understood. After picking up the rudiments of his art in a well-known sculptor's studio, young Leigh had been sent to study in the schools at Paris. Mr. Herbert told him that, so far as his art was concerned, Paris was the workshop of the world,--Rome its bazaar and showroom. So to Paris the boy went. He studied hard and lived frugally. He won certain prizes and medals, and was now looking forward to the time when he must strike boldly for fame. Even now he was not quite unknown. A couple of modest but very beautiful studies in low relief had appeared in last year's exhibition, and, if overlooked by the majority, had attracted the notice of a few whose praise was well worth winning. He was quite satisfied with the results of his first attempt. In all things that concerned his art he was wise and patient. No sooner had he placed his foot on the lowest step of the ladder than he realized the amount of work to be done--the technical skill to be acquired before he could call himself a sculptor. Even now, after seven years' study and labor, he had selfdenial enough to resolve upon being a pupil for three years longer before he made his great effort to place himself by the side of contemporary sculptors. Passionate and impulsive as was his true nature, he could follow and woo art with that calm persistency and method which seem to be the surest way of winning her smiles. He is now a man--a singularly handsome man. If not so tall as his youth promised, he is well built and graceful. Artist is stamped all over him. Brow, eyes, even the slender, well-shaped hands, proclaim it. The general expression of his face is one of calm and repose; yet an acute observer might assert that, when the moment came, that face might depict passions stronger than those which sway most men. His dark hair and eyes, and something in the style of his dress, gave him a look not quite that of an Englishman--a look that terribly vexed poor Abraham Leigh on those rare occasions when his erratic boy paid him a visit; but, nevertheless, it is a look not out of place on a young artist. This is the kind of man Gerald Leigh has grown into; and, whilst his transformation has been in progress, Miss Eugenia Herbert has become a woman. Although remembering every feature of the child, who seemed in some way associated with the day of his liberation, Gerald had not again seen her until his father's death called him back to England. Each time he had visited Coombe-Acton he had, of course, reported progress to Mr. Herbert; but, shortly after the change in his life, Mr. Herbert by a great effort of self-denial, had sent his darling away to school, and at school she had always been when Gerald called at the Hall; but now, when he accepted Mr. Herbert's hospitality, he found the fairy-like child grown, it seemed to him, into his ideal woman, and found, moreover, that there was a passion so intense that even the love of art must pale before it.