id in the 'Idylls of the King.'"

"Yes. But I should like to paint you as 'Melody in Flower Land.'"

"I'm afraid I can't grasp it," Gladys said.

"Can't you!" Shiel exclaimed, "I can. The idea came to me when I heard
you singing just now, and saw you sitting here, in the midst of
flowers, and dressed like a rose. I should paint you clad as you are
now--all in pink--seated in the garden singing; and all the flowers
leaning towards you listening. I would give anything to paint it," and
he spoke with such enthusiasm that Gladys, remembering her dream,
flushed.

"I think," she said, "we might go into the garden and see how the work
is progressing."

"I fear I can't do any more digging," Shiel put in hastily, "I
willingly would if I could, but I really can't use my hands."

"And you've not had any vaseline," Gladys cried. "I'll get you some,"
and before he could prevent her she had gone.

She was back again, however, in a few moments with a tiny white jar
and some linen bandages. "I couldn't find my aunt," she began, "or she
would bandage your hands for you."

"Won't you?" Shiel asked. "Do!"

He thrust his hands towards her as he spoke, and Gladys uttered an
exclamation of horror--the palms and fingers were raw and swollen.

"I feel heartily ashamed of myself for being so thin-skinned," Shiel
said. But Gladys had disappeared. She returned almost immediately with
a bowl of water.

"I'm sure they must hurt you dreadfully," she exclaimed, as she gently
bathed the hands. "It makes me feel quite ill to see them."

For the next few moments Shiel was in Paradise. The touch of her cool,
white fingers on his hot and burning skin was far nicer than anything
he had ever imagined. Her sweet-scented breath stealing gently up his
nostrils soothed away all his care--even the remembrance of his recent
loss.

With his whole heart and soul concentrated in his gaze, he watched her
every movement--watched the waving and tossing of the stray wisps of
hair over her temples and ears, as the breeze rustled through the open
windows; and the gentle tightening and relaxation of her delicately
moulded lips each time she breathed.

Shiel had always led a very solitary existence. Apart from his uncle
he had no near relatives, and with the exception of the five or six
weeks in the year he had spent at Dick Davenport's house at Sydenham,
he had always been in rooms. He had often felt lonely, but never quite
so lonely as now--now that the