o the early visitor.
Clarence passed her with a brief salutation, hurried up the narrow
stairs, and found himself in the artist's chamber. The windows were
closed, and the air of the room was confined and hot. A few books,
chiefly of history and poetry, stood in confused disorder upon some
shelves opposite the window. Upon a table beneath them lay a flute, once
the cherished recreation of the young painter, but now long neglected
and disused; and, placed exactly opposite to Warner, so that his eyes
might open upon his work, was the high-prized and already more than
half-finished picture.

Clarence bent over the bed; the cheek of the artist rested upon his arm
in an attitude unconsciously picturesque; the other arm was tossed
over the coverlet, and Clarence was shocked to see how emaciated it had
become. But ever and anon the lips of the sleeper moved restlessly, and
words, low and inarticulate, broke out. Sometimes he started abruptly,
and a bright but evanescent flush darted over his faded and hollow
cheek; and once the fingers of the thin hand which lay upon the bed
expanded and suddenly closed in a firm and almost painful grasp; it was
then that for the first time the words of the artist became distinct.

"Ay, ay," he said, "I have thee, I have thee at last. Long, very long
thou hast burnt up my heart like fuel, and mocked me, and laughed at
my idle efforts; but now, now, I have thee. Fame, Honour, Immortality,
whatever thou art called, I have thee, and thou canst not escape; but it
is almost too late!" And, as if wrung by some sudden pain, the sleeper
turned heavily round, groaned audibly, and awoke.

"My friend," said Clarence, soothingly, and taking his hand, "I have
come to bid you farewell. I am just setting off for the Continent, but I
could not leave England without once more seeing you. I have good news,
too, for you." And Clarence proceeded to repeat Talbot's wish that
Warner should bring the picture to his house on the following Thursday,
that Sir Joshua might inspect it. He added also, in terms the flattery
of which his friendship could not resist exaggerating, Talbot's desire
to become the purchaser of the picture.

"Yes," said the artist, as his eye glanced delightedly over his labour;
"yes, I believe when it is once seen there will be many candidates!"

"No doubt," answered Clarence; "and for that reason you cannot blame
Talbot for wishing to forestall all other competitors for the prize;"
and then