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through my glasses. Os course I am gratified that one of your cultured tastes should appreciate my little girl. I am sure you will find her quite an apt pupil.” When may her lessons begin, and how often may she sit for. her portrait?” “Just suit your own wishes on those points.” 11 What time could be better than the present ? It is now eleven o’clock, two hours before lunch. We could have a lesson this morning. If it be con venient for Mrs. Wayland, please tell her I should like to have some suggestions from her regarding the portrait.” “ I am sure my sister would be pleased to be con sulted. I shall speak to her at once, and also send Christiana, to you.” Deveaux was determined to have just the picture of Christiana that originally he had in his mind as he first saw her the day she passed his window; but he must begin to win Mrs. Wayland from across the enemy’s line. He had studied the attack well,, realizing how much depended on it. He also knew that he had before him another equally hard battle to fight, that of concealing from Christiana his infatuation for her beauty. He decided it best to treat her as if she were but a child. His back was turned to the door, so he did not hear her light footsteps as she entered the room, nor was he aware that she stood near his side until he heard her say, “Pardon me, but father said you wished to see me.” For a moment he almost lost his presence of mind. He caught her hands and lingeringly held them, causing her glorious eyes to look straight into his own, while he said: “Why, little one, how you sur prised me. You must have flown in on noiseless wings. ’ ’ Hearing footsteps approaching he hastily drop ped her hands, and continued talking, but with a very grave air and tone, assuming more the atti tude of an austere teacher toward a pupil: “I sup pose your father has told you that we are to be teacher and pupil. How much perseverence and pa tience have you?” “I can only say that I shall do my best.” “Certainly that is all I could ask for.” As Mr. Douglas and his sister entered, they caught the last sentence, and of course it pleased them. To Mrs. Wayland he held out his hand and made a most differential bow, saying, “Madam, I hope I am not trespassing upon your hospitality, by being such a constant visitor. I feel so many obligations to your brother for his kindness to a stranger, that I seek to repay him by offering him my time in any way that may be of assistance to him in advancing his daughter. For one so young she displays wonderful talent.” “I am sure you are very kind,” she replied in her quiet, even way. “I trust you may find my niece an apt pupil.” Turning to her brother, she continued, “James, I believe you said Mr. Deveaux wished to consult me about Christiana’s portrait.” “Yes, yes, we thought you might have some spe cial requests to make regarding it, and we did not wish to take any definite steps without deference to your wishes in the matter.” “I thank you both. My idea in regard to a por trait is to have it as nearly like one’s natural self as possible. However, I believe artists usually have the costume to conform to the general impression to be brought out in the picture. Our little girl would seem dearest to me as I see her about me every day.” Mr. Deveaux exclaimed, “Bravo! bravo! Mrs. Wayland. Those are my ideas exactly. Just as she is about her home every day, wearing a dainty white apron, and having her little bonnet thrown back upon her shoulders, or swinging from her hands; just so, just so.” Mrs. Wayland was quite pleased with the final arrangements. Mr. Deveaux was hardly able to con ceal his delight. He had confidence enough in his; own powers of fascination to believe that he could win Christiana’s heart if he could daily have her under his influence. He felt sure that her heart had never awakened to that affection which brings to woman joy or sorrow, heaven or hell. He wished to possess her heart. But beyond that he had for mulated no intentions. Marriage had not entered his mind, for, of course, he had no desire for a child wife. He would soon tire of those bonds. As to what The Golden Age for March 22, 1906. the result would be, alter he might win the heart ox such a nature as cnristiana s, lie merely gave Lnat snrug ox ins siiuuiueis which expressed rar more loan worus. ne thought to nimseir: "*1 shall just let the resuit taxe caie ox itseli. in this age Hearts do not hreaX. 11 1 find her grieving too much alter 1 m gone, 1 11 find lier a nice young hus band and thus heal ail her wounds. As lor my own lancyl Weill” lie answered himselx with his ac customed snrug. "1 ha\e been m too many affairs oi. the heart to have a spot text large enough to receive a wound that would cause me many sieep itss nights.” Thus iur. Deveaux soliloquized while he was giv ing Chustiana her lust lesson m painting, lie thought Ins heart too seated to suiter xrom playing wim me. Bui there is a wide difference between an invul nerable conscience and an invulnerable heart. as the uays went by the lessons and portrait rapidly progressed. But never lor even so much as five minutes was 'Christiana left alone with Mr. Deveaux. Either her lather or her aunt was always present. This became almost maddening to him. Thus some weeks passed, and not one spark of sentiment uid he see that he had kindled. As her lather s friend and her teacher, she treated him cordially and pleasantly in her sweet, girlish way. She was enthusiastic over her own work, completely wrapped up m it. She had so longed lor and dream ed of success more for her lather’s sake than for her own. She idolized him. He completely filled her heart. There was no room for any other love.. She often said to him, “Mio, as long as you live, you shall be my only sweetheart. The very handsomest, and noblest stranger in the world could never find room in my heart as long as I have you.” With jealous eye Mr. Deveaux saw what wonder ful depth of affection she possessed, and was all the more determined to gam the love of such a heart. He shortened her name to Annie. By day he thought of Annie. When he awoke in the morning his first thought was of Annie. His heart was hilled with Annie. His suspense became so great, he re solved to become more bold. He knew he was en dowed with the power to exert an unusual influence over others. Would that power fail him now? It must not. It should not, he vowed. He was accustomed to entering the studio with out knocking, and with his noiseless, gliding step, he often went in unheard. Thus it was one morn ing he saw Christiana seated before her easel so perfectly absorbed in her work she was unaware of his approach. He saw, too, that she was alone. Softly he glided up behind her, and placed his hands over her eyes. Lovingly she caught his hands, exclaiming, “Oh, Mio, I know it is you, because no one ever does that but you. How did you get back so quickly? Did you get a letter from grandmother, and how is she? Then she drew his hands down, kissing them as she did so, without having looked up at his face. He dashed prudence from him and touched his lips to her curls. He had dared too much in even kissing her hair, (for as his head lowered, and his dark curls min gled with hers, she looked up and discovered her mistake. She drew away from him with a stifled scream, and exclaimed, “0! Mr. Deveaux, I thought you were father. Do please forgive me for being so rude. I never dreamed it to be you, indeed, I did not.” He still held her hands, assuming an assuring smile. “And so you would not have given your teacher such a kind welcome? Cruel little girl. You know you are my little girl now, too. You must not treat me as if I were nothing more than a piece of mechanical apparatus coming here each day to as sist you with your lessons. We must be friends. If you did not keep yourself in awe of me, you would succeed much better with your work, and I would get on much faster with your portrait. You must show your real self to me as you do to your father, and the beauty of your inner self as well as the perfect beauty of your face and form will be revealed in your portrait.” Although he held Christiana’s hands in such a Mose throbbing grasp, and let his eyes speak to her with all the emotion of his heart, yet he realized that he called forth no response from her. Her great brown eyes showed a little astonishment at his un- expected words and manner, and she began to re alize that her hands were really hurting from the tightness of his grasp. She drew away from him, looking down at her hands. He started to snatch them up and kiss them in his reckless mood, but fortunately the sound of footsteps checked him. He bethought himself just in time to change his whole bearing. The approaching steps were those of Mrs. Wayland, who said, “Good morning, Mr. ueveaux. Pardon me. I wished to speak to James a moment. Is he in?” Christiana answered, “No, auntie, he went over to the postoffice, saying he would only be gone a minute. It is quite time for his return. There’s the click of the gate now, and I am sure it is he. I’ll run to meet him.” Her glad movement was like the flight of a happy bird when it soars out to kiss the sun. Seeing her brother coming up the walk with Christiana, Mrs. Wayland absented herself. Left alone, Deveaux paced up and down the room like one bereft of reason. “Am I going mad?” he groan ed in spirit. “ Surely punishment for all the follies of my past life are being heaped upon my soul at once. Am I realizing the old adage, i That which a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” I never dream ed that punishment would come to me in this form. 'Surely I am dreaming now, and some morning shall awake from this folly. Can it be possible that I, Julian Deveaux, a man thirty-six years old, a man of the world, a man worth millions, a man who has toyed with the hearts of a thousand fair women, has at last fallen a victim to a little village maiden who cares nothing for him?” He had sworn allegiance to a bachelor’s club, and had always scoffed at the idea of marriage. He had pronounced it a total failure. But what thought he now of love, of marriage, or of anything about which he had once had such set convictions? Christiana lingered along the walk with her father. Finally she said: “Mio, wait a minute; I wish to ask you something.” “What is it that puzzles my pet?” “Now, Mio, don’t think that I wish to know through any feeling of vanity, because you know that I am not vain, or silly, don’t you, Mio?” “Well, what is the dear child trying to get at now?” he said, laughing. “Please do not laugh at me, Mio; I am very much in earnest, indeed I am.” He drew his face down in mock seriousness. “I beg your pardon, dearie. Now what is it?” “Why do you supposee Mr. Deveaux desired to paint my picture?” “Now, isn’t that a puzzling question. He is do ing it to please me, of course. Why else do you sup pose he is?” “Mio, do you like him very much?” “Yes, very much.” “Do you think him a good man?” “I think him a most upright and honorable man. ’ ’ “Is he your real, true friend?” “I think so, my dear.” “Do you think he would tell an untruth?” “Well, now, that is a very pointed question. I have every reason to believe him a sincere man. I do not think he would tell an untruth to such an extent as to wrong any one. He might joke a little. But why have you suddenly become so personally interested in your teacher?” “First, tell me, Mio, of some of my girl friends whom you think very, very pretty.” “Let me see. Nina McAndrews is a beautiful girl. ’ ’ “Am I half so nice looking as Nina?’” “Ha! ha! ha!” laughed her father. “What a round about way to get at your question. Now, out with it.” “Oh, Mio, you are are laughing at me again. Now, don’t tease me that way, for I am very serious, really and truly I am.” “Well, now, really and truly and seriously, you are the dearest and sweetest, and—and—look up at me with your mother’s divine eyes—and the most beautiful girl in all the world.” “But, Mio, do you suppose any one else thinks as you do?” (To be Continued.) 15