continue to be my friend." "I cannot continue to be that which I have never been," answered the painter sadly. "I have never been your friend. I am inclined to think that friendship is only possible where any thing beyond friendship is out of the question. I have always loved you; and I must go on loving you till the end of my life. I think it will be better for us both that all intimacy between us should end to-day. I thank you for your candour. There are some men, perhaps, who would go on hoping against hope, even after what you have said to me. But then I have never really hoped. I spoke to you to-day because I was no longer able to keep silence; not because I thought that any good could come of what I had to say. There is one thing more that I am bound to speak of, and then I have done for ever. I know that you are too generous to suspect me of being influenced in the smallest measure by the consideration of any worldly advantage to be derived from a union with you. But I am bound to tell you, that had your answer been a different one--had it been the answer which I never hoped it would be--I should have religiously abstained from profiting in the most insignificant manner by any superiority of fortune which you may have over me. My art brings me four or five thousand a-year, and would, I am told, bring me double that amount, if I cared to throw myself in the way of making larger gains. I feel myself compelled to tell you this, Mrs. Champernowne; for while there are fortune-hunters in the world, honest men must defend themselves from the possibility of suspicion." "I am sorry you should think it necessary to defend yourself where I am concerned." "Forgive me for thinking it barely possible you might do me wrong.--And you really like the Dido?" There was a long pause between the two sentences. Mrs. Champernowne felt the full significance of that pause. She knew that in returning to the subject of his picture, the painter had made an end for ever of that other subject, so much nearer to his heart. "I think you have surpassed yourself; and I shall look forward with pride to your success.--Surely you have seen enough of those hyacinths, Helen! You may come in and see the picture now, if you will promise to moderate your raptures." Thus appealed to, the young lady crossed the threshold of the window with as unconscious an air as if she had been quite unaware of any thing peculiar in the interview between her aunt and the painter. She became straightway absorbed in the contemplation of Dido, while the widow arranged her bonnet strings before the cheval-glass provided for the accommodation of the "young persons" who sat to Mr. Crawford. Mrs. Champernowne was some little time arranging her bonnet-strings; and the face which the painter's furtive glance showed him reflected in the glass was very pale. "You will stop and take some luncheon," he said presently, when his visitors were leaving the painting-room. "I have had it prepared for you."