"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under the kind glance and the sympathetic words. "I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you were poor Godfrey's model?" "Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless." "Does your sister sit?" "Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like it." "Did they say they would object?" "Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil soon after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether." "You don't like that?" "She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content." "Poor little chap! But I can help you in your present need. Let the Christmas Rose be a harbinger of joy to both of you. Give it to your sister, and bring her to this address within an hour. You shall have food and warmth, anyhow, and I will help you further." Rica sped up the court to their miserable quarters. Marietta was watching anxiously for him at the window. He had been out all night, and she was almost in despair. "Look, dearest, isn't it lovely?" he cried, as he rushed into the room and held up the Christmas Rose for her to see. She took it in her thin fingers, and her eyes dwelt on its beauty until they filled with tears, which dropped on the rose's face and sank into her grateful heart. "How exquisite, Rica! The Infant Jesus must have brought it from heaven." Then her face gradually lost its transient glow, and in a fit of despair she threw the flower on the ground, and cried,-- "But it cannot help us; of what good is it? I thought you went out to beg bread." "Ah, Marietta! don't scorn it; be grateful all your life that I found the Christmas Rose. It has saved us!" On hearing her brother's story she was overjoyed. She picked up the trembling flower, and hastily covering her head with a shawl, prepared to accompany Rica. On the presentation of Thornhill's card they were shown into his studio.