of the city; he would go there for breakfast. The
distance was considerable, but the brisk exercise was in harmony with
his thoughts. The blood was circulating rhythmically through his veins;
he threw back his shoulders and breathed in the fresh frosty air. He
wanted to sing. In another week he would be away from all that was
disagreeable and disgraceful--perhaps to-morrow. They would spend a
whole year in Europe; may be they would not come back at all.

After breakfast he met two or three acquaintances; they remarked his
unusual spirits.

"You must have made a big strike, Goetze; can't you tell us?"

"Yes, by and by; not now--later."

"Congratulations are in order, of course."

"Hardly yet; pretty soon."

He returned to his studio. Eva had named no hour, but he hoped she would
come early. As he opened the street door he saw a long, thin, delicately
tinted envelope that had been pushed beneath it in his absence. He knew
instinctively that it was from Eva, and hastened into the studio to read
it. It was not sealed and there was no address. Trembling with agitation
he tore off the covering and read:

"DEAREST JULIAN:

"I am feeling badly this morning, so will not come for my
sitting to-day, and since my portrait is so nearly finished
I suppose there is really no need of my coming again for
that purpose. I should have come, however, as I promised,
had it been possible. And now, my dear friend, as regards
the decision which so concerns us both, I will ask your
kind patience until to-morrow eve.

"On West L---- Street, between 18th and 19th, near the park,
there is a large, old-fashioned, brick mansion. It is No.
74, east side--you cannot miss it. There is an arc electric
light directly in front of it.

"Go to this place to-morrow night, exactly at six o'clock.
If the door is fastened, ring, and the servant will admit
you. There wait in the hall-way until I come. If the door is
unlocked, enter and wait likewise, unless I am already
within to meet you. Then I will give you my answer; and oh,
my friend, if it be possible I will unfold to you the
history and sad mystery of my poor life, which you have so
kindly never sought to know.

"EVA."

Julian read this note again and again now with pleasure, again with
anxiety. Surely she meant to accept him or she would not have written
thus; she would not have appointe