“Excuse me, Zack,” he said, “I have some news to tell you, which Mrs. Peckover’s arrival drove out of my head; and which I must mention at once, while I have the opportunity. Both my pictures are done--what do you think of that?--done, and in their frames. I settled the titles yesterday. The classical landscape is to be called ‘The Golden Age,’ which is a pretty poetical sort of name; and the figure-subject is to be ‘Columbus in Sight of the New World;’ which is, I think, simple, affecting, and grand. Wait a minute! the best of it has yet to come. I am going to exhibit both the pictures in the studio to my friends, and my friends’ friends, as early as Saturday next.” “You don’t mean it!” exclaimed Zack. “Why, it’s only January now; and you always used to have your private view of your own pictures, in April, just before they were sent into the Academy Exhibition.” “Quite right,” interposed Valentine, “but I am going to make a change this year. The fact is, I have got a job to do in the provinces, which will prevent me from having my picture-show at the usual time. So I mean to have it now. The cards of invitation are coming home from the printer’s tomorrow morning. I shall reserve a packet, of course, for you and your friends, when we see you to-morrow night.” Just as Mr. Blyth spoke those words, the clock on the mantel-piece struck the half hour after ten. Having his own private reasons for continuing to preserve the appearance of perfect obedience to his father’s domestic regulations, Zack rose at once to say good night, in order to insure being home before the house-door was bolted at eleven o’clock. This time he did not forget Madonna’s drawing; but, on the contrary, showed such unusual carefulness in tying his pocket-handkerchief over the frame to preserve it from injury as he carried it through the streets, that she could not help--in the fearless innocence of her heart--unreservedly betraying to him, both by look and manner, how warmly she appreciated his anxiety for the safe preservation of her gift. Never had the bright, kind young face been lovelier in its artless happiness than it appeared at the moment when she was shaking hands with Zack. Just as Valentine was about to follow his guest out of the room, Mrs. Blyth called him back, reminding him that he had a cold, and begging him not to expose himself to the wintry night air by going down to the door. “But the servants must be going to bed by this time; and somebody ought to fasten the bolts,” remonstrated Mr. Blyth. “I’ll go, sir,” said Mrs. Peckover, rising with extraordinary alacrity. “I’ll see Master Zack out, and do up the door. Bless your heart! it’s no trouble to me. I’m always moving about at home from morning to night, to prevent myself getting fatter. Don’t say no, Mr. Blyth, unless you are afraid of trusting an old gossip like me alone with your visitors.”