white against draperies of dark purple velvet,--below it, on a silver bracket, was an hour-glass through which the sand was running in glistening grains, and round the entire little shrine was written in letters of gold "Now is the acceptable time!"--the word 'Now' being in larger characters than the rest. 'Now' was evidently Mavis's motto,--to lose no moment, but to work, to pray, to love, to hope, to thank God and be glad for life, all in the 'Now'--and neither to regret the past nor forebode the future, but simply do the best that could be done, and leave all else in child-like confidence to the Divine Will. I got up restlessly,--the sight of the crucifix curiously annoyed me;--and I followed the path my wife and Mavis had taken through the garden. I found them looking in at the cage of the 'Athenæum' owls,--the owl-in-chief being as usual puffed out with his own importance, and swelling visibly with indignation and excess of feather. Sibyl turned as she saw me,--her face was bright and smiling. "Miss Clare has very strong opinions of her own, Geoffrey," she said--"She is not as much captivated by Prince Rimânez as most people are,--in fact, she has just confided to me that she does not quite like him." Mavis blushed, but her eyes met mine with fearless candour. "It is wrong to say what one thinks, I know,--" she murmured in somewhat troubled accents--"And it is a dreadful fault of mine. Please forgive me Mr Tempest! You tell me the prince is your greatest friend,--and I assure you I was immensely impressed by his appearance when I first saw him, ... but afterwards, ... after I had studied him a little, the conviction was borne in upon me that he was not altogether what he seemed." "That is exactly what he says of himself,"--I answered, laughing a little--"He has a mystery I believe,--and he has promised to clear it up for me some day. But I'm sorry you don't like him, Miss Clare,--for he likes you." "Perhaps when I meet him again my ideas may be different"--said Mavis gently--"at present, ... well,--do not let us talk of it any more,--indeed I feel I have been very rude to express any opinion at all concerning one for whom you and Lady Sibyl have so great a regard. But somehow I seemed impelled, almost against my will, to say what I did just now." Her soft eyes looked pained and puzzled, and to relieve her and change the subject, I asked if she was writing anything new. "Oh yes,"--she replied--"It would never do for me to be idle. The public are very kind to me,--and no sooner have they read one thing of mine than they clamour for another, so I am kept very busy." "And what of the critics?" I asked, with a good deal of curiosity. She laughed.