“I confess I cannot concur in that opinion,” said a low, soft voice behind him. He started up, and beheld Kate Henderson, who, leaning on the back of a chair, continued to gaze steadfastly at the canvas, perfectly regardless of his astonishment. “There is a great deal to admire in that picture!” said she, as though talking to herself. Simmy crept stealthily back, and stationed himself behind her, as if to hear her remarks, while viewing the picture from the same point. “You have grouped your figures admirably,” continued she, now addressing him, “and your management of the light shows a study of Rembrandt.” “Very true, ma'am--miss, I mean. I have copied nearly all his great pieces.” “And the drapery--that robe of the King's--tells me that you have studied another great master of color--am I right, sir, in saying Paul Veronese?” Simmy Crow's face glowed till it became crimson, while his eyes sparkled with intense delight. “Oh, dear me!” he exclaimed, “is n't it too much happiness to hear this? and only a minute ago I was in black despair!” “Mine is very humble criticism, sir; but as I have seen good pictures--” “Where? In the galleries abroad?” broke in Crow, hurriedly. “All over Germany and Italy. I travelled with those who really cared for and understood art. But to come back to yours--that head is a noble study.” “And that's exactly what I'm grieving over,--he's gone.” “Young Mr. Nelligan?” “Himself. He started this morning for Oughterard.” “But probably to return in a day or two.” Crow looked stealthily around to see if he were not likely to be overheard, and then, approaching Kate, said in a whisper,-- “I don't think he 'll ever cross the doors again.” “How so? has he received any offence?” “I can't make out what it is,” said Simmy, with a puzzled look, “but he came to my room late last night, and sat down without saying a word; and at last, when I questioned him if he were ill, he said suddenly,-- “'Have you found, Mr. Crow, that in your career as an artist, you have been able to withdraw yourself sufficiently from the ordinary events of life as to make up a little world of your own, wherein you lived indifferent to passing incidents?' “'Yes,' said I, 'I have, whenever I was doing anything really worth the name.' “'And at such times,' said he, again, 'you cared nothing, or next to nothing, for either the flatteries or the sarcasms of those around you?” “'I could n't mind them,' said I, 'for I never so much as heard them.' “'Exactly what I mean,' said he, rapidly. 'Intent upon higher ambitions, you were above the petty slights of malice or envy, and with your own goal before you, were steeled against the minor casualties of the journey. Then why should not I also enjoy the immunity? Can I not summon to my aid a pride like this, or am I to be discouraged and disgraced to my own heart by a mere impertinence?' “I stared at him, not guessing what he could mean.