thank you?"

Then he sprang up and took his sister's hand in his. He allowed no time
for confusion and embarrassment--he was too clever for that.

"How am I to thank you, Miss Arleigh?" he said. "If the sun had fallen
from the heavens, I could not have felt, more surprise than your
kindness has caused me. My sister tells me you are good enough not to be
angry at my presumption."

Miss Lyster laughed.

"I think, Allan," she said, "that I shall leave you to listen to Miss
Arleigh's lecture alone. She will be able to say harder words to you if
I am not by to listen. I will see if I can finish your picture."

She walked over to the tree where paper and pencils lay, leaving them
alone, and though she was a woman, and young--though she knew that she
was most foully betraying a girl whose youth and innocence might have
pleaded for her, she had not even a passing thought of pity. "Let Allan
win the fortune if he can. He will make better use of it than she
could."

"You are so good to me," murmured the young artist, his dark eyes
flashing keenly for one-half a minute over that beautiful face. "I am at
a loss for words."

Allan Lyster was gifted with a most musical voice, and he understood
perfectly well how to make the most use of it. The pathos with which he
said those words was wonderful to hear.