uietude of manner at variance with
the natural impetuosity of her character. Irksome beyond degree was the
discipline to which she subjected herself, but, with a fixedness of purpose
that knew no wavering, she walked through the daily dreary routine, keeping
her eyes upon the end that slowly but unmistakably approached. In
mid-summer Mr. Clifton removed, for a few weeks, to the Catskill, and
occasionally he rallied for a few hours, with a tenacity of strength almost
miraculous. During the still sunny afternoons hosts of gay visitors, summer
tourists, often paused in their excursions to watch the emaciated form of
the painter leaning on the arm of his beautiful pupil, or reclining on a
lichen-carpeted knoll while she sketched the surrounding scenery. Increased
feebleness prevented Mrs. Clifton from joining in these outdoor jaunts,
and early in September, when it became apparent that her mind was rapidly
sinking into imbecility, they returned to the city. Memory seemed to have
deserted its throne; she knew neither her son nor Electra, and the last
spark of intelligence manifested itself in a semi-recognition of her
favourite cat, which sprang to welcome her back as friendly hands bore her
to the chamber she was to quit no more till death released the crushed
spirit. A letter was found on the _atelier_ mantel, directed to Electra in
familiar characters, which she had not seen for months. Very quietly she
put it in her pocket, and in the solitude of her room broke the seal; found
that Russell had returned during her absence, had spent a morning in the
studio looking over her work, and had gone South to establish himself in
his native town. Ah! the grievous, grievous disappointment. A bitter cry
rolled from her lips, and the hands wrung each other despairingly; but an
hour later she stood beside the artist with unruffled brow and a serene
mouth, that bore no surface-token of the sorrow gnawing at her heart.
Winter came on earlier than usual, with unwonted severity; and, week after
week, Electra went continually from one sufferer to another, striving to
alleviate pain, and to kindle a stray beam of sunshine in the darkened
mansion. Unremitted vigil set its pale, infallible signet on her face, but
Mr. Clifton either could not or would not see the painful alteration in her
appearance; and when Mrs. Young remonstrated with her niece upon the
ruinous effects of this tedious confinement to the house, she only answered
steadily: "I wi