etween him and all that made
him seem honorable and worthy to himself.

He uncovered the bust which he had but half shaped, and struck the first
flake from the glittering marble. The toil, once begun, fascinated him
strangely, and after the day's work was done, and at every interval he
could snatch from his duties, he wrought at his secret task.

"Clement is graver than ever," the young men said at the office. "What's
the matter, do you suppose? Turned off by the girl they say he means to
marry by and by? How pale he looks too! Must have something worrying
him: he used to look as fresh as a clove pink."

The master with whom he studied saw that he was losing color, and
looking very much worn, and determined to find out, if he could, whether
he was not overworking himself. He soon discovered that his light was
seen burning late into the night, that he was neglecting his natural
rest, and always busy with some unknown task, not called for in his
routine of duty or legitimate study.

"Something is wearing on you, Clement," he said. "You are killing
yourself with undertaking too much. Will you let me know what keeps you
so busy when you ought to be asleep, or taking your ease and comfort in
some way or other?"

Nobody but himself had ever seen his marble or its model. He had now
almost finished it, laboring at it with such sleepless devotion, and he
was willing to let his master have a sight of his first effort of the
kind,--for he was not a sculptor, it must be remembered, though he had
modelled in clay, not without some success, from time to time.

"Come with me," he said.

The master climbed the stairs with him up to his modest chamber. A
closely shrouded bust stood on its pedestal in the light of the solitary
window.

"That is my ideal personage," Clement said. "Wait one moment, and you
shall see how far I have caught the character of our uncrowned queen."

The master expected, very naturally, to see the conventional young woman
with classical wreath or feather head-dress, whom we have placed upon
our smallest coin, so that our children may all grow up loving Liberty.

As Clement withdrew the drapery that covered his work, the master
stared at it in amazement. He looked at it long and earnestly, and at
length turned his eyes, a little moistened by some feeling which thus
betrayed itself, upon his pupil.

"This is no ideal, Clement. It is the portrait of a very young but very
beautiful woman. No common feeli