"Well, Karl," after a silence, "that picture I have been working on this winter is hard to tell about because it is in a field all new to me. It is a picture which emphasises, or tries to, what love means to the world,--a picture which is the outgrowth of our love. I am not sure that it is good in all its technical features, but I believe there is atmosphere in it, poetic feeling, and, back of that, thought, and soul, and truth. I think there is harmony and richness of colour. Some people will say it is very daring, and no one will call it conventional, but I am hoping,"--Ernestine's voice was so low and full of feeling he could scarcely get the words--"that it is going to be a very great picture--the greatest I have ever done. Some of it has been hard for me, dear. In truth I have been much discouraged at times. But great things are not lightly achieved, Karl, and if this is anything at all, it is one of the great things. As to the subject, detail, I am going to ask you to wait until I come back. I have been keeping it for you as a little surprise. Perhaps it will help some of your lonely hours, dear"--her voice quivered--"to think about the beautiful surprise. And if it seems strange sometimes that I could bring myself to go away from you, will you not bear in mind, Karl dear, that I am doing it simply that the great surprise may be made perfect for you? It is a whim of mine to keep this a great secret; in the end I know you will forgive the secrecy. And when I come back"--her voice was stronger, fuller now--"I am going to make you see it just as plainly as you ever saw anything in all your life!" "You must! I couldn't bear it to be shut out from your work." "You are not going to be shut out from my work!"--she said it with an intensity almost stern. "I want your life to be happy, Ernestine," he said, after a time, and the words seemed to have a new meaning spoken out of this mood of very deep tenderness. "I don't want it to be darkened. I want my love to make you happy--in spite of it all." "It does," she breathed,--"it does." "But I want you to be--as you used to be! I haven't been fair in letting this make such a difference with us." "Karl--how can you talk like that, when you have been so--splendid?" "But you see I don't want to be splendid," he said whimsically. "I'd rather be a brute than be splendid. And I want you to love me always as you did at first--just because you couldn't help yourself." "I can not help myself now," she laughed. "I am just as helpless as I ever was."