Tremenhere had in nothing deceived Minnie. He told her that in marrying him she wedded herself to an artist's struggles for fame, wealth, and position: this home was all he had to offer her, cheered by his devoted love. He was considered as one rising rapidly in the profession, but he had much still to achieve before prosperity would crown his efforts. Hitherto, he had saved every possible farthing for the great object of his thoughts; now, he would have to toil with double energy, not to lose sight of that, and support his wife also. But Minnie was so simple in her tastes, so generous, thoughtful, and loving, that it seemed to her another Paradise, their quiet little cottage in the out-skirts of town, which Miles had succeeded in discovering, with a studio attached--or rather, a large room, which he converted into one. True, the gardens were not large and beautiful, like those at Gatestone; but then their very smallness made every flower as a friend. Each morning there was the matinal visit to be paid, the fresh buds on some favourite tree to be counted; and as she bent over their stem, a loving eye looked down upon her, a gentle hand clasped her small, snowy neck, and then she looked up smiling, and the two went in to work. Her's was not very laborious, yet she fancied it absolutely necessary to the performance of his task: she mixed his colours, sorted his pencils, but, more frequently, leaned over his shoulder, with one tiny hand buried among his raven curls, which clustered, thick and glossy, in the nape of his neck. Thus she would watch the progress of his "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night;" which Aurora was a figure of angel lightness, with outstretched arms and hands, skimming through the air, her long, wavy hair flying, in the freshness of the morning breeze, like a cloud behind her; whilst before her fled Shades, clad in dark robes spangled with fading stars, and supported upon the clouds. It was a beautiful group, which Miles was painting to order. We have said Minnie had most lovely hair, like floss silk; when she unwove the plaits, it fell almost to her heel, not heavily, but like a vapour; you passed your hand through it, and it separated and floated in the air like a gossamer web. It was this magnificent mass which Miles had copied for his Aurora. He loved to look upon it; to a painter's eye it had an appearance of something spiritual. In vain he endeavoured to do it justice; for more than once, in despair, he had set all aside, and clasping his little wife in his arms, exclaimed, as he embraced it and her, "My child, I never shall accomplish this! Surely some sprite wove this veil, and will not allow me to represent it with my poor pencil! Not the best _artiste en cheveux_ ever known, shall ever distort these fair locks with his vile grasp. I am almost jealous when the air plays with them! Minnie, 'tis dreadful to suffer from jealousy! I hope you never may be a mother,