mood when she executed them. A strong patent-lock secured the door of
this treasure-house, and seldom was any one admitted save Hugh. In
vain had Tom bored holes in the walls, in vain had Gem pleaded
pathetically through the key-hole, Bessie was inexorable and the door
was closed. Chalked upon the outside of this fortress were some of
Tom's sarcastic comments intended as a revenge for his exclusion,--

"Turn, stranger, turn, and from this sanctum rush,--
The fires of genius burn when Bessie wields the brush."

And this: "She won't let me in! _Hinc illae lachrymae_!" This legend
was accompanied by a chalk picture of himself shedding large
tear-drops into a tub.

This morning, however, the studio was not in a state of siege, as Tom
and Gem were both engaged in a work of great importance in the garden.
Seated near one of the windows was Bessie, her eyes full of tears, and
her face the image of despair. A low knock at the door interrupted her
reverie. "Is it you, Hugh?" she said, rising.

"Yes," replied her cousin, and in a minute he was admitted. "What is
the matter, Bessie?" he said kindly. "I saw at breakfast that
something was wrong. You will tell me, won't you?"

Bessie hesitated, and a flush rose in her dark face. "I suppose I
must!" she answered, after a pause; "I always tell you everything
Hugh, and I want your advice; but I don't know what you will think of
me after you have read this letter."

"Never mind; give it to me, Brownie. You have always been my dear,