Her bosom was heaving in a tumult of vague emotion as she whispered,
"I am fenced off from the whole world. My career depends upon my
fidelity to those who trust me. I am absolutely incognito. I live
apart from the world, and I dare not take you to my home. There
is no way. The artist has no home life, no heart life. The world
claims us; all our youth, beauty, talent, even our last energies
are given up to the insatiate public.

"You must call me back when you look at our Danube picture, and,
when the ban is lifted, if I succeed, you will hear of me. If I
fail," she brokenly murmured, "then, forget me--think of me as only
one who, a stranger in a strange land, has shared Life's cup with
you, in a gleam of passing sunshine." There were bright tears
trembling upon her down-dropped lashes.

"And I shall have nothing of you! Not even a picture," hoarsely
murmured Clayton. "I will not be denied. I shall see you again. I
will follow you!"

He was startled by the ashen pallor of her face.

"You must not! You dare not!" she cried, in a sudden agitation. "It
would mean our eternal parting! For I will not have my plighted
honor forfeit. Promise me, if you ever hope to see me again, that
you will not follow me!"

There was the ring of truth in her words, and even the accent of
fear in her appeal.

Catching at a last straw, Clayton pleaded before the word of