But Nannie had got an idea, and all through the hours of that long night it stayed with her with the pertinacity of a nightmare. Still, whatever it was, she did not say a word about it to Rosalind, and when Rosalind looked round for her when she was ready to start for the studio in the morning, she was nowhere to be seen. "Where is Nannie?" she asked. "Oh! she’s out in the garden," Mrs. Mackenzie answered. "Well, I haven’t time to go down; but don’t let her worry about me, will you, Mother?" said Rosalind anxiously. "No, no; I will look after her," Mrs. Mackenzie answered vaguely. So Rosalind went off fairly satisfied. "I have come for my last lesson, Mr. Raymond," she said, with rather an uncertain smile, as she bade the maestro good-morning. "Oh! well, well; we must have a talk about that," he answered good-naturedly. Rosalind shook her head a little sadly, and took her place without delay--to her every moment was precious. But, though this was her last lesson, she was not destined to do much work that day, for, as soon as she opened her little paint-box, which she had taken home the previous day that she might do some work in the early morning, she saw lying on the top of the paints a little note, addressed in Nannie’s round child’s hand to "Rosalind." The next moment maestro and pupils were alike startled by the sight of Rosalind Mackenzie with her face hidden in her hands, sobbing as if her heart would break. "My dear child," cried the maestro, running to her side, "how now! What is the matter? Pray tell me, my dear, tell me." [Illustration: "’My dear child, what is the matter?’"] Then little by little Rosalind sobbed out the whole story--how she had longed and pined for these lessons, how her little sister Nannie had sacrificed herself to help her, and then at last she put into the maestro’s hand the little note which she had brought from home in the paint-box. "Darling Rosalind," the maestro read aloud, "I thought of a way to help you last night, but I did not tell you about it, because I know you would stop it. You know that Mrs. Clarke, who bought Yummy’s little son, said she would give ten guineas for her any day, so I’m going to get Father to take her there this afternoon, and you shall have the money. I don’t think I shall mind parting with her much.--NANNIE." Mr. Raymond took off his glasses and wiped them. "Upon my word," he muttered in an uncertain voice; "upon my word!" "The darling!" cried one pupil. "Is she fond of the dog?" asked another.