“My picture? You cannot mean that!” Maddy exclaimed, her eyes opening wide with wonder; but Guy did mean it, and began to plan a drive on the morrow to Devonshire, where there was at that time a tolerably fair artist. This, it must be remembered, was in the day of ambrotypes, and before the introduction of photographs. The next day the four went down to Devonshire, calling first upon the doctor, whose face brightened when he heard why they had come. During the weeks that had passed, the doctor had not been blind to all that was passing at Aikenside, and the fear that Guy was more interested in Maddy than he ought to be had grown almost to a certainty. Now, however, he was not so sure. Indeed, the fact that Guy had told her of Lucy Atherstone would indicate that his suspicions were groundless, and he entered heartily into the picture plan, saying, laughingly, that if he supposed Miss Lucy would like _his_ face he’d sit himself, and bidding Guy be sure to ask her. The doctor’s gay spirits helped to raise those of Maddy, and as that little burning spot in her heart was fast wearing away, she was in just the mood for a most admirable likeness. Indeed, the artist’s delight at his achievement was unbounded, as he declared it the very best picture he had ever taken. It was beautiful, even Agnes acknowledged to herself, while Jessie went into raptures, and Maddy blushed to hear her own praises. Guy said nothing, except to ask that Maddy should sit again; the first was good, but a second might be better. So Maddy sat again, succeeding quite as well as at first, but as the artist’s preference was for the former, it was left to be finished up, with the understanding that Guy would call for it. As the ladies passed down the stairs, Guy lingered behind, and when sure they were out of hearing, said, in a low voice: “You may as well finish both; they are too good to be lost.” The artist bowed, and Guy, with a half-guilty blush, hurried down into the street, where Agnes was waiting for him. Three hours later, Guy, in Mrs. Conner’s parlor, was exhibiting the finished picture, which, in its handsome casing, was more beautiful than ever, and more natural, if possible. “I think I might have one,” Jessie said, half-poutingly; then, as she remembered the second sitting, she begged of Guy to get it for her. But he did not seem inclined to comply with her request, and kept putting her off, until, despairing of success, Jessie, when alone with the doctor, tried her powers of persuasion on him, until, in self-defense, he crossed the street, and entering the daguerrean gallery, asked for the remaining picture of Miss Clyde, saying that he wished it for little Miss Remington.