is wound up anew every morning, and always ready to give a stated equivalent for a stated price. If I were already rich and distinguished and did not need their help, they would, very probably, place themselves at my disposition; but they would never give me the opportunity of studying art for the sake of art itself. I know what my destiny will be, and have ceased to struggle against it. The future will bring me what the past has brought me-toil, privation, loneliness, and obscurity. I will endure my life as patiently as I can while it lasts, and will die at last of inanition and weariness."

"Nay, that would be too hard a fate!"

"Ah, no! For, after all, I have my compensations!" Adèle answered, in a lighter tone, suddenly conscious that the burden of sadness in her own soul had made her speak with an earnestness and sincerity, which, considering her short acquaintance with Mr. Mortimer, was unwarrantable.

"And what are these, if I may ask?" "I will tell you. In reality I do not deserve to be called an artist. I am a mere aspirant, living at the very base of the sacred mountain, over which the genius of art presides; and yet so sweet are the melodies, so delicious the odors, at times by some chance wind wafted down to me from the heights which I cannot ascend, that I find, in tasting these delights, a compensation for all that I have suffered. My profession brings me into frequent contact with the wealthy and powerful; and when I find them cold, frivolous, heartless, it is a consolation to me to feel that my life is nobler, richer, and happier than theirs, through my hold upon an ideal which they do not comprehend, in spite of the weakness of my poverty, and the power in their hands, if they only knew how to use it, of commanding the noblest destiny. Even to desire the Beautiful is so sweet-I do not speak of a life whose artistic aspiration is fulfilled-that I would rather feel this satisfaction, and be deprived of all other happiness, than have the world at my feet, and be

incapable of appreciating the artist's spiritual exaltation. I pity and despise many of my wealthy friends who do their best to patronize me, for their frivolity, their selfishness, and lack of insight="

Again Adèle paused. What power was this that was forcing her, whenever she spoke, to reveal the deepest secrets of her soul? Was she under a spell ? She struggled resolutely against the influence, and interrupted herself with a merry laugh.

"I hope you are not a rich man, Mr. Mortimer," she said, playfully; "for if so, you will never forgive me for my flattering remarks. Believe me, I did not intend to be personal."

"I can listen to your anathemas without fearing to be crushed by them," he answered, in the same tone; "so do not spare your friends upon my account. Pray, go on, and complete the list of your compensations. What you say gives me an insight into a class of motives which I do not often see exhibited."

"My first and great compensation for all that I have suffered is my love of art; and, second to that, comes the affection of my friends. I have but few friends, it is true; but their friendship I can trust perfectly. They have had the same trials that I have had, the same sorrows, joys, aspirations; and hence there is a bond of sympathy between us that nothing can destroy. They understand me, and love me, as I love them, with a perfect confidence and trust, that will last while life endures."

"You claim, then, that artists may cherish a disinterested and loyal affection for each other, instead of being divided by envy, jealousy, and hatred— the sentiments usually attributed to them? Yet I may have misunderstoc: you! Are the friends to whom you refer, artists?"

"Since I told you that they have the same sorrows and joys with myself, it follows that they must be artists. I am inferior to them in talent, but we are one in feeling, and almost all the positive happiness that I have known-for

many years, at least-I have found in their affection."

"Have you ever tested the friends upon whom you so confidently rely?"

"Life itself is a test of all affections. I have had no occasion to ask my friends to make sacrifices for me, but if such an occasion should arise, they would be equal to it, I do not doubt."

"Should you not fear to try the experiment?"

"How can you ask? Why should I fear? Upon what would you have me rely if not upon the character and truth of those whom I love? Mrs. Vane is one of my best friends, and if I should meet with unexpected trials, sickness, or sorrow, I know that she would sacrifice her own interests, and devote herself to me to the utmost limits of her power. She has now in her possession a hundred dollars that she is reserving to carry out a plan in which she is deeply interested. The money is of extreme importance to her, but if I should write at this moment that I needed it absolutely, you would see that she would give up her own plans, and would send it to me."

"Is the loan or the gift of a hundred dollars, a very severe test of friendship?"

"That depends upon its importance to the person who gives it. Mrs. Vane has reached precisely that point in her career, when a single fortunate success will give her an unassailable position, while a failure may injure her irreparably. She is worn out with over-exertion, and her hundred dollars will enable her to seek rest and refreshment in the country. If she loses this opportunity of reëstablishing her health, her next picture will be a failure, for she is in no condition to paint at present. The interest beginning to be felt in her will die away; she will be pronounced 'over-estimated,' and forgotten for a newer favorite. In asking her for this money, I shall ask her, not merely to sacrifice a temporary gratification for my sake, but to risk for me her happiness, success, life itself; the very life-blood flowing in her veins; advantages that she may never be able to regain."

While speaking, Adèle had taken a piece of note-paper, and was preparing to write; but Mr. Mortimer extended his hand and drew it from her.

"Do not make this request," he said. "My scepticism refers to human nature in general, and not to an individual case which may be exceptional. I regret having expressed doubts that have annoyed you. Do not make it. You will simply give your friend unnecessary pain, and expose yourself to the risk of a bitter disappointment."

"Ah!" Adèle answered indignantly, "you wish to deprive me of the pleasure of proving to you that true friendship does exist, but you shall not succeed. I wish to learn for my own sake whether all my intuitions have been false; whether, indeed, I am as lonely, as friendless in the world as you would have me believe."

She took a pen, and, after a moment's reflection, wrote as follows:

MY DEAR FRIEND: The strange and compelling necessity that has entered my life since I saw you must be my excuse for what I am about to write. I want you to give me the hundred dollars which you showed me this morning. I have no entreaties to add, for you know me, and know that I would not make this request, unless compelled to do so by pressure of circumstances. I will say this only. I know fully the extent of the sacrifice that I am demanding from you, and yet I have courage to demand it. I implore you in the name of our friendship not to refuse my prayer. ADÈLE.

Scarcely had Adèle signed her name to this laconic epistle-certainly she did not depend upon the eloquence of her appeal for obtaining her objectwhen her little messenger entered the room bringing a satisfactory message from Mr. Clare to the effect that he would call within ten minutes. Adèle gave him Mrs. Vane's note, after showing it to Mr. Mortimer, and sending him with it to her studio, waited in silence for the reply.

Mrs. Vane's reply to her note was somewhat delayed, and Adèle became troubled and impatient.

"I am sorry that I wrote," she said, unable to conceal her annoyance.

"And so am I!” rejoined Mr. Mortimer, who had resumed the study of her pictures. "Mrs. Vane may be a devoted and disinterested friend, but you have no right to ask her to sacrifice her interests to yours, at least, without fully explaining the circumstances that may have compelled you to do so. She will refuse your request, and would be very foolish to do otherwise. You must be prepared for this, and you must not allow your friendship to be diminished by her decision; for the fault, in the whole affair, will be yours."

"You assume that she will refuse my request, and I am equally certain that she will comply with it," Adèle answered. "She will not, she cannot, refuse such an appeal. If she does disappoint me, I will be revenged by refusing to take part in the tableau. That will be some satisfaction, at all events."

"And does your friendship amount to so little? Will you refuse to do your friend a favor, because she is too wise to comply with your unreasonable caprice?"

"The favor that I will refuse does not propose to render her an essential service, but simply to procure her a strange and delightful surprise. She can paint her picture without it. You will call upon her, and she can carry out her design at her leisure. I will do all that I can to promote her success, but I could not take part in the scene that we have been talking of, after such a bitter disappointment. No! The tableau must be a reward of merit. I have put her friendship to the test, and if she fails to meet my expectations it must be abandoned."

At this moment the messenger entered the room bringing the all-important note. Adèle tore it open, and before reading it took out a hundred-dollar bill, which she handed to Mr. Mortimer. Tears rushed to her eyes, but she controlled her e.. tion, and devoured the contents.

MY DEAR ADÈLE: You say truly that I know you, and know that you would not make the request of me that you have made, unless you were forced to do so. What this compelling necessity is that has entered your life since I saw you, of which you knew nothing when I did see you, not two hours ago, I do not pretend to imagine, but I have absolute faith in your word, and in you. You know the advantages that I shall lose in losing this money. These I weigh against the difficulties in which you have so suddenly become involved, and resign them for your sake. I suffer, for I am sending from me bright hopes that I shall not know how to redeem, but I dare not leave you exposed to trials, perhaps to dangers, ignorant of their nature and extent, from which it is in my power to save you. I have but one request to make; that you will not leave me in this frightful suspense longer than necessary. My grief at having my own plans interfered with, and my anxiety for you, has completely unnerved me. Do I ask too much in begging you to give me your confidence? FANNY.

P. S.-I send the money at once, for I do not pretend to be generous, and if I should keep it for further deliberations, I might waver in my determination. Forgive me for my unkindness. I do not speak from my heart, but from my own great need.

Adèle gave her friend's note to Mr. Mortimer, as soon as she had read it, triumphantly, and he glanced through it with a smile.

"Most persons," he said, "would have refused a similar appeal with soft and deprecating apologies. Mrs. Vane grants your request, but does not pretend to conceal the sacrifice that she makes in doing so. Her generosity is the more admirable, and your triumph is complete. And now, here is her money! Do me the favor to return it without delay." "I intend doing so, and, if Mr. Clare consents, she shall have her reward.”

"You would be unjust, indeed, if you should decide otherwise."

Adèle took her pen and wrote:

MY DARLING FANNY: My compelling necessity was none the less a reality because it has been dissipated by your reply. Pardon me, if I have subjected you to a test of friendship, which, for the moment, you will be unable to comprehend, and have faith in your destiny. The mystery shall be explained to you at eight o'clock this evening. Unless

you hear from me before, and receive different instructions, I shall expect you to call at my studio at that hour precisely. Do not venture to come earlier, or the charm that is weaving for your benefit will be disturbed, and you will not receive the full benefit of the incantation that is to cast a favorable influence over your future life. Disobey me at your peril! You have shown your self a true friend, and shall be rewarded royally. I send you back your three months in the country, the green earth, blue sky, strawberries, etc., all intact. I have not reserved a single berry for myself. Until eight this evening! Au revoir. ADÈLE.

Scarcely had this note been despatched-the day was one of important diplomatic negotiations-when Mr. Clare made his appearance, eager to learn what the important business could be, that had caused his unexpected summons to Adele's studio. She introduced him to Mr. Mortimer, and, glad to escape responsibility, after giving an exceedingly brief explanation of what had occurred, left the discussion of the evening's entertainment to her guests.

The contrast in appearance between Paul Clare and Mr. Mortimer, the one with his slight, graceful form, girlishly delicate complexion, vivid blue eyes, and light flowing hair, and the other with his finely-cut features, and noble simplicity of manner, was exceedingly striking. They represented different types of character, and, perhaps, upon that very account, proved mutually agreeable. Mr. Mortimer admired the gleaming inspiration that played about the face of the young artist like a lam

bent flame; and Mr. Clare, always sympathetic and impressional, was immensely attracted by qualities in Mr. Mortimer that were the most opposite from his own.

Mrs. Vane's description of Mr. Mortimer had not been exaggerated, and yet he had never had the reputation of being an unusually handsome man; an exemption due both to his entire freedom from affectation, and to the absence, in his beauty, of that vivid coloring that at once arrests attention. The eye must be educated to appreciate perfection in human beings as well as in art. Very inferior types usually win the admiration of the uncultivated crowd. An artist could not have failed to be struck by the classical purity of Mr. Mortimer's head and face, and the nobility of his bearing; but casual observers, who would eagerly have offered a tribute of admiration to Mr. Clare, allowed him to pass without comment. His complexion was pale, and rather too dark to be in perfect harmony with his eyes and hair. His eyes were of a peculiar opaque blue, and were capable of immense expression. His hair held a tinge of gold in its brown, and was full of electric vitality. His manner was straightforward, simple, unassuming, and strikingly courteous. The very embodiment of a noble, vigorous manhood, he had the repose and power of one who is conscious of his own force, and of his own integrity, and who, therefore, involuntarily commands ad

miration and esteem.

Mr. Clare's nature was very different, and his appearance made this evident at a glance. His was that etherial, spiritual beauty, suggesting effeminacy without being effeminate, which is sometimes accompanied by weakness of will, and that almost always indicates rare and exquisite genius. Such organizations demand to be sustained by circumstances, but, if properly directed, are capable of the highest achievements; a truth which Mr. Clare's career had fully exemplified. The history of the young artist was a romance. He had gone to Italy to study art when a mere boy, and

in the land of art had achieved a brilliant success, from which he had been recalled to this country, in the first flush of his triumph, by his father's loss of fortune and death. Beneath this blow he sank, and until rescued by Mrs. Vane from the abyss of despondency into which he permitted himself to be cast by irresolution and self-distrust, there seemed every probability that his genius would be fatally obscured. He was quite unknown, his power to paint had forsaken him, and he lived for months on the verge of starvation and suicide. It was at this darkest hour of his life that one of the pictures that he had painted in Italy fell into Mrs. Vane's hands. With the unerring intuition of genius she recognized the unusual talent of the artist, and, hearing of his misfortunes, resolved to alleviate them. She sought him out, and when she found him, all her sympathies were aroused by his misery; all her tenderness was awakened at the aspect of that delicate and beautiful nature, pale and waning beneath a pressure of misfortunes, like a star eclipsed by clouds. Love, in her heart, was born of intense pity, and through her influence, through the influence of their mutual affection, Paul Clare was soon restored to himself and to the world.

Encouraged by her sympathy, guided by her firmer will, the young artist had resumed his labors, and concentrating his efforts upon a work that gave his genius true expression, had been rescued, at once, from despair. His picture made a sensation; the grace of his manner and charm of his appearance were pronounced irresistible, and, almost without knowing how it had been brought about, he found that fortune had once more taken him into her favor. So far from objecting to the evening's entertainment, Mr. Clare entered into the scheme with enthusiasm. too true an artist not to be delighted with the novelty and romance of Adèle's adventure, and, above all, with the poetic consummation that it was about to receive. The tableau he at once deciled was a stroke of genius; a most

He was

happy inspiration. Apart from the pleasure that it would afford them all. he fully appreciated the fact that it might render Mrs. Vane an untold benefit, by causing her one of those moods of artistic enthusiasm into which it is the artist's chief privilege to enter; and he was doubly anxious, therefore, to have it carried out upon her account. It was already four o'clock, and there was no time for delay. A curtained alcove in Adele's studio was examined, and proved perfectly adapted to meet the emergency. Five minutes' work transformed it into an admirable miniature stage. The adjoining studio belonged to an artist who was a friend of Mr. Clare, and he easily obtained the privilege of using it during the evening. A dressing-room was thus provided for Prince Zariades, and perfectly satisfied with the progress of events, the gentlemen sallied forth to obtain costumes, and make whatever other arrangements might prove desirable.

Adèle was not sorry to be left alone. She was beginning to feel that intense fatigue that proceeds from over-excitement-a tension of the nerves that can be best relieved by solitude. She imagined that she would be able to rest, but, finding this impossible, abandoned herself to reflection. Hitherto she had regarded Mr. Clare as a sort of beauideal of perfection. Her sympathy for Mrs. Vane, and admiration of his genius, had enhanced the interest with which his delightful qualities would naturally have inspired her, and she had felt that her friend had won the love of the most choice spirit that it had been her lot to meet; but at this moment she began to understand that a very different character might, also, arouse her enthusiasm. Paul with his flame-like genius embodied one ideal, but the strength, the grace, the manliness of the stranger,did they not attract her even more powerfully? Adèle's meeting with Mr. Mortimer was her first romance, and she was struggling to fathom its meaning. She asked herself what star had dropped so suddenly into her life, stirring her being to its very depths with strange