When Allan Lyster came, to all outward appearances no one could have been more reserved; he rarely addressed his pupils, never except on matters connected with the lesson. He never looked at them. Miss Carleton flattered herself that she had found a treasure. Allan was not only the cheapest master she had ever had, but he was also a model of discretion. Yet none the less had he adopted his sister's ideas and made up his mind to woo and win Marion Arleigh. "It is well worth your while to try," said his sister. "There are no parents to interfere; she will be her own mistress the very day she is of age." "But she is only about seventeen now," said Allan; "there will be so long to wait." "The prize is well worth waiting for. Half the peers in England would be proud and thankful to win it. If you play your cards well, Allan, in one way or another you must succeed. Let me tell you the most important thing to do." "What is that?" he asked, looking admiringly into his sister's face. "Persuade her to write to you, and mind that her letters to you contain a promise of marriage. Do you see the importance of that?" "You are a clever woman, Adelaide; with you to help me I cannot fail." And he did not fail. Adelaide had arranged her plans too skillfully for that. She began by saying how much Allan admired Marion; then, seeing the idea was not displeasing to the young heiress, she gradually told her how he was certain to die of love for her. If a wise mother had trained the girl, she would have been less susceptible; as it was, the notion of a handsome young artist dying for her was not at all unpleasant. She was seventeen, and had never had a lover. Other girls had talked about their flirtations; nothing of the kind had ever occurred to her. True, whenever she went out she could not help noticing how men's eyes lingered on her face; but that one should love her--love her so dearly as to die for her, was to her romantic imagination strange as it was beautiful. Adelaide Lyster could play upon her feelings and emotions skilfully as she played upon the chords of a piano. "I was saying to Allan yesterday how sorry I am that he ever came to Miss Carleton's. What do you think he said?" "I cannot tell," replied Miss Arleigh, her beautiful young face flushing as she spoke. "He said, ah! that he would rather love you unhappily than be blessed with the love of a queen; he would rather look upon your face once than gaze for years on the loveliest of all created women. How he worships you! Are all men of genius destined to love unhappily, I wonder?" "Is he so very unhappy?" asked the young lady, sadly. "Yes; I do not believe he knows what peace or rest is. He never sleeps or enjoys himself as other people do." "Why not?" asked the girl, to whom this flattery was most sweet and pleasant.