Cornelius also resembled his poor father in the possession of a will of his own. Kate knew it, and wisely gave up the point. In a few days more Cornelius was free. His tread about the house had another sound; his eyes overflowed with gladness and burned with the hope of coming triumphs. He exulted in the endless sittings we gave him, and amused himself like a child with day-dreams and air-castles. His favourite one--the fame and fortune were both settled--was a skylight. "Yes, Kate," he once said, looking up at the ceiling, "to keep your brother under your roof, you must knock it down and give him a skylight. Some artists prefer studios in town; but I, domestic man, stick to the household gods: with a skylight you may keep me for ever." "Conceited fellow!" "Conceited! now is not this a nice bit of painting?" he drew her to his side and made her face the easel. "Indeed it is," she replied admiringly: "where will you send it?" "To the Academy, Kate, the first place or none." "Oh!" she hastened to answer, "I only fear they may not hang it as well as it deserves. Jealousy, you know, or even want of room." "There is always room for the really good pictures," replied Cornelius. This was in February, but his sister evidently felt some uneasiness on the subject, for she recurred to it several times, and when nothing led to the remark, observed to Cornelius with a wistful look-- "I hope it may be well hung, Cornelius." "I hope so," he quietly replied. At length came the day on which this interesting fact was to be ascertained. A bright May day it was; Cornelius wished to go alone, "there always was such a crowd on the first day," and had his wish. We stayed at home trying to seem very careless, very indifferent, but Miss O'Reilly could not work and I could not study. We began sudden conversations on common-place themes, that broke off as they had commenced, at once and without cause. Of the real subject that occupied our thoughts we never spoke. I went up and down the house with unusual restlessness, ever coming back to the window that overlooked the Grove. "I should like to know what you mean by it?" suddenly asked Miss O'Reilly. "Why do you look out of that window?" "Cornelius told me he would come by the Grove." "And why do you fidget about his coming back on this particular day? Just get out of my light, if you please." I obeyed; but the next thing Kate did herself was to open the window and look down the Grove. The day was waning; Cornelius did not return; she could not keep in, but said anxiously-- "I am afraid it is not well hung, after all." "I am afraid it is not," I replied, for I too began to feel very uncomfortable. "No, decidedly it is not well hung," she continued, "but I don't see why that should prevent him from coming back;" and no longer caring to hide her impatience, she took her seat at the window, which she left no more.