He walked slowly up the room smiling rather more broadly than the bishop was in the habit of doing, on all sides. He did not stop until he was opposite the picture of Aholibah on the easel. Here he did stop. He seemed to be even more appreciative of pictorial art than of musical. He bent forward, gazing into that picture, regardless of the embarrassing silence there was in the room while every one looked towards him. He could not see how all eyes were turned upon him, so absorbed had he become before that picture. The bishop was now certainly not smiling. He walked slowly to the man's side. “Sir,” said the bishop, “you have chosen an inopportune time for a visit. I must beg of you to retire.” Then the man seemed to be recalled to consciousness. He glanced up from the picture and looked into the bishop's face. He pointed with one hand to the picture, and then threw himself back in a chair with a roar of laughter. “By heavens, this is a bigger surprise than seeing Oswin himself,” he cried. “Where is Oswin?--not here?--he should be here--he must see it.” It was Harwood's voice that said, “What do you mean?” “Mean, Mr. Editor?” said Despard. “Mean? Haven't I told you what I mean? By heavens, I forgot that I was at the Cape--I thought I was still in Melbourne! Good, by Jingo, and all through looking at that bit of paint!” “Explain yourself, sir?” said Harwood. “Explain?” said the man. “That there explains itself. Look at that picture. The woman in that picture is Oswin Markham's wife, the Italian he brought to Australia, where he left her. That's plain enough. A deucedly fine woman she is, though they never did get on together. Hallo! What's the matter with Missy there? My God! she's going to faint.” But Daireen Gerald did not faint. Her father had his arm about her. “Papa,” she whispered faintly,--“Papa, take me home.” “My darling,” said Colonel Gerald. “Do not look like that. For God's sake, Daireen, don't look like that.” They were standing outside waiting for the carriage to come up; for Daireen had walked from the room without faltering. “Do not mind me,” she said. “I am strong--yes--very--very strong.” He lifted her into the carriage, and was at the point of entering himself, when the figure of Mrs. Crawford appeared among the palm plants. “Good heavens, George! what is the meaning of this?” she said in a whisper. “Go back!” cried Colonel Gerald sternly. “Go back! This is some more of your work. You shall never see my child again!” He stepped into the carriage. The major's wife was left standing in the porch thunderstruck at such a reproach coming from the colonel. Was this the reward of her labour--to stand among the palms, listening to the passing away of the carriage wheels? It was not until the Dutch cottage had been reached that Daireen, in the darkness of the room, laid her head upon her father's shoulder. “Papa,” she whispered again, “take me home--let us go home together.” “My darling, you are at home now.”