Bergan was much struck with the fact that his aimless walk—aimless, at least, so far as his own intention was concerned—had first led him, in virtue of his meeting with Cathie, to Mrs. Lyte\'s bedside, and next to the studio of Miss Thane. Accepting both these leadings as parts of the same providential plan, though he could discern but the slightest possible relation between them, he knocked at the studio door.

"Come in!" was the immediate response, in Miss Thane\'s clear, cold monotone.

Bergan pushed open the door, which was a little ajar, and found himself in the presence of the artist. She was standing at her easel, palette and brushes in hand; and she waited to give several touches to her work, before turning toward her visitor.

If she felt any surprise at sight of him, her face betrayed none. Yet it seemed to Bergan that some change had come over that face since he beheld it last—a certain suggestion of weariness under its languor, of dissatisfaction under its chill pride—which he accepted as a good augury for the task that he had in hand.

Miss Thane seemed to divine, at once, that his visit had some object other than the pleasure of seeing either herself or her pictures. After a few quiet words of greeting, she rested one hand upon her easel, and stood waiting, calm, proud, and exceeding beautiful, to be informed of its nature.

Bergan was scarcely prepared to make known his errand so abruptly. He had promptly entered the studio, in obedience to his first impulse; but he had counted upon some little time thereafter to arrange his thoughts and feel his way, some flow of conversation to be duly turned to his advantage, or some clue to the deep mystery of Miss Thane\'s sympathies,—possibly, too, some further light upon the inscrutable design of Providence, in sending him hither.

After all, was not the most straightforward course likely to be the best one?

"Miss Thane," said he, gravely, "my own volition has had so little to do with bringing me here, that I scarcely know why I am come. But I believe that it is to try to interest you in a sister artist—a sculptor—who is in sore need of aid that you might give her."

Miss Thane put her hand into her pocket, and drew out her purse; but before she could open it, Bergan stopped her with a deprecating gesture.

"Pardon me," said he, "but that sort of aid, I can give myself, if it be necessary."

"What am I to do, then?" asked Miss Thane, wonderingly.

"Whatever one delicate, refined, large-hearted woman can do for another, in the way of cheer, encouragement, sympathy, and consolation."

Miss Thane gave him a long look out of her deep eyes, partly surprised, partly meditative.

"What put it into your head to come to me on such an errand?" she finally asked, with a singular, half satirical emphasis.

"Because when I was wondering to whom I could go," answered Bergan, "I found myself standing before your door. Because you did me the honor, two weeks ago, to ask me a certain question, and I thought that this might be the beginning of a better answer than I was able to give you."

Miss Thane slowly walked to the other end of the room, and fixed her eyes on the deep red gold of the western horizon, whence the sun still shed a soft posthumous influence over the earth.

"What does it matter," she murmured to Herself, "if I do surrender somewhat of my freedom? I have had a fair trial of an isolated life—divested of every irksome bond, burden, and duty, shut up to the one friend that I trust, and the one occupation that I love—and what has it done for me? Absolutely nothing; except to make me daily colder in heart, and narrower in mind. Is it not time to try something else?"

She turned back to Bergan, and her face, though it was still weary, was no longer proud.

"I am sensible of the honor that you have done me," said she, with unusual gentleness; "I will try to deserve your good opinion. Where am I to find the lady of whom you speak, and in what way can I render her the most essential service?"

Bergan quietly placed a chair for her.

"Sit down," said he, "and let me tell you the whole story; at least, as far as I know it myself."

As he talked, the gold faded out of the sky, and the gray twilight shadows crept into the room, turning the pictures on the walls into pale, vague outlines, and giving a wonderful softness to Miss Thane\'s listening face. Nor did the story end until the pictures had become indistinguishable masses of shadow, and nothing was left of the face but its deep, lustrous eyes. Its owner had not once spoken; and it quite escaped Bergan\'s notice, in the dimness, that she gave a sudden, violent start when Mrs. Lyte\'s full name was mentioned.

"Thus, you see," he concluded, "it is not only a disappointed, discouraged, anxious heart (soon, alas! to become a mourning one) that I commend to your tender sympathies, but a sorely wounded faith. If you cannot heal the latter, do not, I charge you, help to destroy it."

"I will not," answered she, solemnly; "I promise you that I will not. How could I, when I am half inclined to believe that such faith—unfounded, illusory though it be—is a better thing than any reality that we exchange it for."

Bergan slightly lifted his eyebrows. "May I ask," said he, quietly, "to what reality, or realities, you refer?"

"You press me hard," answered she, bitterly, after a pause; "none, none that I can think of just now. Everything seems vague, unreal, unsubstantial."

"Fall back on faith," returned Bergan, smiling. "If it be not a reality itself, it works realities. It fosters real virtues, and inspires real heroism; by it men live nobly, and die courageously. What reality can do more for them,—indeed, what one does so much?"

He waited for a moment, expecting an answer. Seeing that none came, he bowed, and left her sitting there, gazing out into the silent night.


On the following morning, Astra was in her studio, busily plying her needle, while her mother slept, when there came a light knock on the door. Opening it, she found herself face to face with a lady of such rare and remarkable beauty, that she stood motionless, lost in wonder and admiration.

The stranger bent her head with the stately, yet friendly, grace of one princess to another; and a smile just touched her lips, and then seemed to sink into her eyes, shining farther and farther down in their clear depths, until it vanished from sight.

"Will you allow me the pleasure of looking into your studio?" asked she, in a voice as perfect as her face; "I have heard so much of its marvels, that I am desirous of seeing them for myself."

Astra mutely made way; her visitor glided into the room, cast a quick, comprehensive glance around, and sat down in front of the statue of Mercury.

"Do not let me interrupt you," she said to Astra, "but just go on with whatever you are about, and allow me to study this at my leisure."

Astra he............