It had been, I knew, taken a few days before, by a young artist whom Trevanion patronised. I suppose he had carried it into his study to examine it, and so left it there carelessly. The painter had seized her peculiar expression--her ineffable smile--so charming, so malicious; even her favourite posture,--the small head turned over the rounded Hebe-like shoulder--the eye glancing up from under the hair. I know not what change in my madness came over me; but I sank on my knees, and, kissing the miniature again and again, burst into tears. Such tears! I did not hear the door open--I did not see the shadow steal over the floor; a light hand rested on my shoulder, trembling as it rested. I started--Fanny herself was bending over me! "What is the matter?" she asked tenderly. "What has happened?--your uncle--your family--all well? Why are you weeping?" I could not answer; but I kept my hands clasped over the miniature, that she might not see what they contained. "Will you not answer? Am I not your friend?--almost your sister? Come, shall I call mamma?" "Yes--yes; go--go." "No, I will not go yet. What have you there?--what are you hiding?" And innocently, and sister-like, those hands took mine; and so--and so--the picture became visible! There was a dead silence. I looked up through my tears. Fanny had recoiled some steps, and her cheek was very flushed, her eyes downcast. I felt as if I had committed a crime--as, if dishonour clung to me; and yet I repressed--yes, thank Heaven! I repressed the cry that swelled from my heart, that rushed to my lips--"Pity me, for I love you!" I repressed it, and only a groan escaped me--the wail of my lost happiness! Then, rising, I laid the miniature on the table, and said, in a voice that I believe was firm-- "Miss Trevanion, you _have_ been as kind as a sister to me, and therefore I was bidding a brother's farewell to your likeness; it _is_ so like you--this!" "Farewell!" echoed Fanny, still not looking up. "Farewell--_sister_! There--I have boldly said the word; for--for"--I hurried to the door, and, there turning, added, with what I meant to be a smile--"for they say at home that I--I am not well; too much for me this; you know mothers will be foolish; and--and--I am to speak to your father to-morrow; and--good-night--God bless you, Miss Trevanion!" REPUBLICAN FIRST-FRUITS.[10] [10] _Jérome Paturot à la Recherche de la Meilleure des Républiques._ Par LOUIS REYBAUD. Volumes 1 to 3. Paris: 1848. _Monsieur Bonardin, ou les Agrémens de la République--Proverbe en plusieurs Décades._ Paris: 1848.