"If confusion is a true likeness, Donny's picture will be remarkably successful," said Miss Saville, with a grave manner. Her words brought a flush to the boy's pale brow. "I wish you would go away," he said, rudely and abruptly. "I can never talk about anything when you are by." "To hear is to obey," replied Miss Saville, rising; "only do not try Colonel Wilton's patience too much." "Go! go!" returned Donald, almost fiercely. Wilton could not refrain from smiling as she left the room. "I hate those Savilles!" cried Donald, observing it; "and so would you if you lived in the house with them." "That is a subject on which we shall never agree. Let us return to your picture," said Wilton, thinking what a thorough "sell" it would be if Ella Rivers never made her appearance; for, with all his surface easy good-nature, Wilton did not fancy sacrificing even a small share of his time to an ill-natured imp like this. "Look here! I have made this hussar grasp a lancer by the throat, and thrust a sword into his side. Will that do?" "I see. Well, hardly. You know both hussars and lancers were our men, therefore you must not make them fight; and here you have not the Russian uniform quite correctly. I think I have some sketches of the Russians that would help you. But is it not rather ambitious for such a youngster as yourself to aim at historical painting?" "That is what Ella says; but it is my only chance of fame." The word on his lips was suggestive of sadness, and Wilton looked at the frail form, the pallid face, the thin, tremulous, feverish fingers with compassion. Before he could reply, a door behind him opened softly. "Oh, come here, Ella!" cried Donald. Wilton turned quickly, and just caught a glimpse of a gray skirt vanishing. "Ella, come back! Ella! Ella!" screamed the boy, with a sort of angry impatience that would not be denied. "I am here, then," she said, reopening the door and coming in. Wilton felt his (not inexperienced) heart throb as she approached, her cheek warm with a soft, flitting blush, a slight smile upon her lips, but her large eyes grave and calm. It was the first time Wilton had seen her in-doors, and the delicate dignity of her look, especially the setting on of her head, charmed him. The excessive simplicity of her perpetual gray dress could not hide the grace of her slim, round form, and yet he could well imagine that the vulgar, common taste that looks for rich color and striking outline might consider the quiet moonlight beauty of this obscure girl something almost plain. Wilton greeted her silently as she approached, with a profound bow. She acknowledged him. "I did not know you had any one with you," she said to her pupil. "Do you know Colonel Wilton?" he asked, sharply. "He was in the train with me when the collision occurred," she replied quietly, the color fading away from her cheek, and leaving it very pale. "Why did you not tell me?"