wood
fire, though only the embers remained now; and in front of
where the fire had been, sat the young mistress of the house
half hid in a great arm-chair. Soft white folds fell all
around her, and two small blue velvet slippers took their ease
upon a footstool; with white laces giving their cobweb finish
here, there and everywhere. A book was in her hand, and on her
shoulder the grey kitten purred secure, in spite of the silky
curls which now and then made puss into a pillow. Now and
then. For while Miss Kennedy sometimes made believe to read,
an sometimes really sang--pouring out scraps of song like a
wild bird--yet in truth her attention was oftenest given to the
great picture which hung in one recess. And then her head went
down upon the grey kitten. Just now, when the visitors came
in, she was searching for the notes of that last song at Mrs.
Powder's; trying apparently, to catch it and bring it back;
her girl's voice endeavouring to represent that which her
girl's heart had never known.

The picture--I may describe it here--was that of a young man
bound to a tree and pierced with arrows. No human witnesses in
sight, except in the extreme distance; and over sky and earth
no sunlight, but instead the deepening shadows of night. But
the presence of the one was not noticed, nor the presence of
the other missed. Away from earth, and lifted above suffering,
the martyr's eyes looked to the opening clouds above his head,
where were light, and heavenly messengers, and the palm-
branch, and the crown. Something in the calm clear face
checked Miss Kennedy's bursts of song as often as she turned
that way--the high look so beyond her reach.

'What are you doing, Hazel?' said Prim's sweet voice.

'Puzzling,'--said Hazel, jumping up, and lifting one hand to
support the kitten. 'Dr. Maryland, I am very glad to see you!
O Prim, how happy you must be!'

'You didn't look in the least like a person in a puzzle,' said
Primrose, after the first compliments were passed. 'What could
you be puzzling about, dear?'

'That picture. It always puzzles me. And so when I get
befogged over other things, I often come here and add this to
the number.'

'You are hardly far enough on in your studies yet, Miss
Kennedy, to understand that picture,' said Dr. Arthur, who was
considering it very intently himself.

'My studies! Painting, do you mean? Or what do you mean?' said
Wych Hazel.

'What does the picture say to you, Miss Kennedy?'