ished boards as she pushed it back from the frame.

He looked up, a half frown between the unseeing eyes.

She lifted the embroidery-frame from its rest and turned toward the
door. "I have other work to do if I am not to pose for you," she said
quietly.

He made no reply.

Half-way to the door she paused, looking back. "Herr Muendler was here
while you were out. We owe him twenty-five guldens. It was due the
fifth." She spoke the words crisply. Her face gave no sign of emotion.

He nodded indifferently. "I know. I shall see him." The soft whistle
was resumed.

"There is a note from the Rath, refusing you the pension again." She
drew a paper from the work-box in her hand and held it toward him.

He turned half about in his chair. "Don't worry, Agnes," he said. The
tone was pleading. He did not look at the paper or offer to take it. His
eyes returned to the easel. A gentle light filled them.

She dropped the paper into the box, a smile on her lips, and moved
toward the easel. She stood for a moment, looking from the pictured face
of the Christ to the glowing face above it. Then she turned again to the
door. "It's very convenient to be your own model," she said with a
laugh. The door clicked behind her.

He sat motionless, the grave, earnest eyes looking into the eyes of the
picture. Now and then he stirred vaguely. But he did not lift his hand
or touch the brushes beside it. Gazing at each other, in the fading
light of the low window, the two faces were curiously alike. There was
the same delicate modelling of lines, the same breadth between the eyes,
the long, flowing locks, the full, sensitive lips, and in the eyes the
same look of deep melancholy--touched with a subtle, changing, human
smile that drew the beholder. It disarmed criticism and provoked it.
Except for the halo of mocking and piercing thorns, the living face
might have been the pictured one below it. The look of suffering in one
was shadowed in the other.

There was a light tap at the door and it flew open.

The painter looked up quickly. The tense, earnest gaze broke into a
sunny smile. "Pirkheimer!" He sprang to his feet. "What now?"

The other man came leisurely across the room, his eyes on the easel. He
nodded toward it approvingly.

"Wanted to see it," he said. His eyes studied the picture. "I got to
thinking it over after you left me--I was afraid you might touch it up
and spoil it--I want it just as it is." His eyes sought his companio