Bergan was much struck with the fact that his aimless walk--aimless, at least, so far as his own intention was concerned--had first led him, in virtue of his meeting with Cathie, to Mrs. Lyte's bedside, and next to the studio of Miss Thane. Accepting both these leadings as parts of the same providential plan, though he could discern but the slightest possible relation between them, he knocked at the studio door. "Come in!" was the immediate response, in Miss Thane's clear, cold monotone. Bergan pushed open the door, which was a little ajar, and found himself in the presence of the artist. She was standing at her easel, palette and brushes in hand; and she waited to give several touches to her work, before turning toward her visitor. If she felt any surprise at sight of him, her face betrayed none. Yet it seemed to Bergan that some change had come over that face since he beheld it last--a certain suggestion of weariness under its languor, of dissatisfaction under its chill pride--which he accepted as a good augury for the task that he had in hand. Miss Thane seemed to divine, at once, that his visit had some object other than the pleasure of seeing either herself or her pictures. After a few quiet words of greeting, she rested one hand upon her easel, and stood waiting, calm, proud, and exceeding beautiful, to be informed of its nature. Bergan was scarcely prepared to make known his errand so abruptly. He had promptly entered the studio, in obedience to his first impulse; but he had counted upon some little time thereafter to arrange his thoughts and feel his way, some flow of conversation to be duly turned to his advantage, or some clue to the deep mystery of Miss Thane's sympathies,--possibly, too, some further light upon the inscrutable design of Providence, in sending him hither. After all, was not the most straightforward course likely to be the best one? "Miss Thane," said he, gravely, "my own volition has had so little to do with bringing me here, that I scarcely know why I am come. But I believe that it is to try to interest you in a sister artist--a sculptor--who is in sore need of aid that you might give her." Miss Thane put her hand into her pocket, and drew out her purse; but before she could open it, Bergan stopped her with a deprecating gesture. "Pardon me," said he, "but that sort of aid, I can give myself, if it be necessary." "What am I to do, then?" asked Miss Thane, wonderingly. "Whatever one delicate, refined, large-hearted woman can do for another, in the way of cheer, encouragement, sympathy, and consolation." Miss Thane gave him a long look out of her deep eyes, partly surprised, partly meditative. "What put it into your head to come to me on such an errand?" she finally asked, with a singular, half satirical emphasis.