He rose early and set out for a morning walk. His favorite restaurant was near the heart of the city; he would go there for breakfast. The distance was considerable, but the brisk exercise was in harmony with his thoughts. The blood was circulating rhythmically through his veins; he threw back his shoulders and breathed in the fresh frosty air. He wanted to sing. In another week he would be away from all that was disagreeable and disgraceful--perhaps to-morrow. They would spend a whole year in Europe; may be they would not come back at all. After breakfast he met two or three acquaintances; they remarked his unusual spirits. "You must have made a big strike, Goetze; can't you tell us?" "Yes, by and by; not now--later." "Congratulations are in order, of course." "Hardly yet; pretty soon." He returned to his studio. Eva had named no hour, but he hoped she would come early. As he opened the street door he saw a long, thin, delicately tinted envelope that had been pushed beneath it in his absence. He knew instinctively that it was from Eva, and hastened into the studio to read it. It was not sealed and there was no address. Trembling with agitation he tore off the covering and read: "DEAREST JULIAN: "I am feeling badly this morning, so will not come for my sitting to-day, and since my portrait is so nearly finished I suppose there is really no need of my coming again for that purpose. I should have come, however, as I promised, had it been possible. And now, my dear friend, as regards the decision which so concerns us both, I will ask your kind patience until to-morrow eve. "On West L---- Street, between 18th and 19th, near the park, there is a large, old-fashioned, brick mansion. It is No. 74, east side--you cannot miss it. There is an arc electric light directly in front of it. "Go to this place to-morrow night, exactly at six o'clock. If the door is fastened, ring, and the servant will admit you. There wait in the hall-way until I come. If the door is unlocked, enter and wait likewise, unless I am already within to meet you. Then I will give you my answer; and oh, my friend, if it be possible I will unfold to you the history and sad mystery of my poor life, which you have so kindly never sought to know. "EVA."