That was the substance of the artist’s letter as told to Ariel, and Hugh’s reply had been an instant promise to receive Ariel and with his mother’s help do anything for her that was in his power. Gregory could rely on his friend. Only, the doctor must keep him informed of his patient’s health, and it had better be the doctor who should arrange for Ariel’s coming to New York if the end that Clare had prophesied did transpire. That was the substance of Hugh’s letter. And Gregory Clare had finished explaining it all to Ariel as she stood watching the last scraps of it curl into charred blackness in the grate. “You mustn’t worry, darling,” he gasped, when her silence had become prolonged, “for when you remember that the only picture I ever even thought of selling brought us one thousand dollars ... and now there are two hundred of them soon to be up for sale in New York ... where there’s so much wealth ... I’ve marked those Charlie’s to drown out beyond the reef to-morrow—the ones that aren’t really good enough, you know—and it leaves, even at that, _two hundred_ pictures. Suppose they only bring half the price of the first one each.... Why, even that is wealth, my dear....” “Oh, don’t, Father! What does it matter?” She was dismayed that his last strength was being given to such trivialities. But he struggled on, with harshly drawn breaths. “Funny why I’m trusting you to Hugh, beyond every one else! I suppose it’s because he saw that ‘Noon’ was the best of the lot.... He did see, remember? And he sacrificed something for that seeing. A quarter of his income, wise boy! He understood ‘Noon’—so he’ll understand you, Ariel, darling, my dearest—sweetest. He may have changed, but hardly so much—for ‘... Fortunate they Who, though once only and then far away, Have heard her massive sandal set on stone.’ Beauty’s sandal, that was. Do you remember the sonnet? Well—Hugh’s one of those Fortunate.... I’ve never seen in any one else’s face what I saw in his that morning when he stood, looking at ‘Noon’ and saying it showed him what the sun hadn’t....” “Oh, Father! Hush! Don’t try to speak any more. Rest!” Ariel was kneeling by his bed, pressing his hands, hot with her tears for all their waning life, against her cheeks. “Everything will be all right. There is _nothing_, nothing at all to worry about. Only never forget me. Don’t go so far that you forget me. Don’t go far. Not far....”