ed with his finger--sighed--stepped back--and still worked
on. The hours glided away, and daylight began to fade, but not until
he had finished his work.

Then he scraped his pallet and washed his brushes, and seated himself
upon the sofa opposite the easel. There was no picture, of Diana or of
Endymion any longer. In the place of Diana there was a full summer moon
shining calmly in a cloudless heaven. Its benignant light fell upon a
solitary grave upon a hill-top, which filled the spot where Endymion
had lain.

Arthur Merlin sat in the corner of the sofa with folded arms, looking at
the picture, until the darkness entirely hid it from view.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

THE LAST THROW.

While Arthur and Lawrence were conversing in the office of the latter,
Abel Newt, hat in hand, stood in Hope Wayne's parlor. His hair was
thinner and grizzled; his face bloated, and his eyes dull. His hands had
that dead, chalky color in which appetite openly paints its excesses. The
hand trembled as it held the hat; and as the man stood before the mirror,
he was straining his eyes at his own reflection, and by some secret
magic he saw, as if dimly traced beside it, the figure of the boy that
stood in the parlor of Pinewood--how many thousand years ago?

He heard a step, and turned.

Hope Wayne stopped, leaving the door open, bowed, and looked inquiringly
at him. She was dressed simply in a morning dress, and her golden hair
clustered and curled around the fresh beauty of her face--the rose of
health.

"Did you wish to say something to me?" she asked, observing that Abel
merely stared at her stupidly.

He bowed his head in assent.

"What do you wish to say?"

Her voice was as cold and remote as if she were a spirit.

Abel Newt was evidently abashed by the reception. But he moved toward
her, and began in a tone of doubtful familiarity.

"Miss Hope, I--"

"Mr. Newt, you have no right to address me in that way."

"Miss Wayne, I have come to--to--"

He stopped, embarrassed, rubbing his fingers upon the palms of his hands.
She looked at him steadily. He waited a few moments, then began again in
a hurried tone:

"Miss Wayne, we are both older than we once were; and once, I think, we
were not altogether indifferent to each other. Time has taught us many
things. I find that my heart, after foolish wanderings, is still true to
its first devotion. We can both view things more calmly, not less truly,
however, than we once did. I