o t. No; t only live, but reign and redeem: and  the hell of your own meanness.

    t pages of “Marmion” (for “Marmion” it . Joooped to examine my dra again art:  s  t I felt calmer and cooler temporarily tage of ion to do him some good, if I could.

    “itrol,” t I, “asks oo far: locks every feeling and pang s not  o talk a little about t Rosamond,  to marry: I will make alk.”

    I said first, “take a c   stay. “Very ally, “stand if you like; but you s go just yet, I am determined: solitude is at least as bad for you as it is for me. I’ll try if I cannot discover t spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in t marble breast thy.”

    “Is trait like?” I asked bluntly.

    “Like! Like  closely.”

    “You did, Mr. Rivers.”

    started at my sudden and strange abruptness:  me astonis is not,” I muttered  mean to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I’m prepared to go to considerable lengtinued, “You observed it closely and distinctly; but I ion to your looking at it again,” and I rose and placed it in his hand.

    “A ed picture,” , clear colouring; very graceful and correct drawing.”

    “Yes, yes; I kno. But  like?”

    Mastering some ation, he answered, “Miss Oliver, I presume.”

    “Of course. And noo ree guess, I o paint you a careful and faite of ture, provided you admit t t able to you. I don’t ime and trouble on an offering you hless.”

    inued to gaze at ture: t, to covet it. “It is like!” , expression, are perfect.