1897. 



THE AMERICAN BEE KEEPER. 



157 



utter surprise and joj^ oddly mixed with 

 pain, she wished him to jiaiut her por- 

 trait. Would he please call on her at 1 1 

 the next day. 



Of course he would go, but how go 

 through the ordeal without self be- 

 trayal? 



Isbel had to strive with herself mucli 

 harder for the ordeal she had at length, 

 with an infinite courage, resolved to 

 face. Therefore was it she had named 

 an hour free from all visitors, and when 

 her aunt, Mrs. Brandon, would still be 

 in her own apartment. One of the two, 

 she saw, must cross the Rubicon and 

 burn the boats behind if both their lives 

 were to be saved from wreck, and since 

 he would not, well, she, the heiress, 

 must, whatsoever the cost. 



When she was told he was in the 

 drawing room^ — when almost the actual 

 moment had arrived — her heart sank, 

 and at the very door she had to pause a 

 minute to pull herself together. Then 

 she went iu. How the man's dark eyes 

 lighted up! How unconsciously close 

 was the clasp of his hand on hers! If 

 she had had one fleeting doubt of his 

 love, that second must have dispelled it. 



"What a pleasure to see you again, 

 Miss Brandon !" he said. ' 'And what r.n 

 honor you do me to let me paint your 

 portrait!" 



"Is it? It is good of you to call it so, " 

 Isbel answered brightly, but inwardjy 

 every nerve was quivering and strained. 

 "Aunt Mary began again yesterday 

 about having my picture done, so I 

 wrote to you. My aunt will be dov/n 

 presently, but in the meanwhile we can 

 arrange the sittings, dress and so forth. " 



Erriugtoii passed by the "so forth," 



and only arranged for her dress and the 

 sittings. 



"But now," she said, "that that is 

 settled, we come to — you must please 

 name your" — 



"Pardon me," Errington interposed, 

 with resolute quietude that in itscli 

 gave her fresh surety of her ground, 

 "but you must do me the great favor tc 

 let that part rest until the work is fin- 

 ished. You are not like a stranger" — 



"Indeed, I hope not," Isbel said gen- 

 tly. "Well, be it as you please, then. " 



"Thank you very much, Miss Bran- 

 don." 



He rose. 



She, too, stood up. The moment had 

 come. The woman's heart stood still for 

 a moment that was agony. Two lives" 

 happiness or misery hung on her cour- 

 age or failure. 



"Well, I suppose your time is valua- 

 ble?" she said, turning to him, but her 

 eyes did not fully meet his. "By the 

 bye, Mr. Errington, I believe — if I am 

 rightly informed — that I have come to 

 congratulate you!" 



"Congratulate me!" repeated the art- 

 ist in genuine surprise. "For what? 

 On what account?" 



His surprise and, oddly enough, the 

 very comedy of the position gave her 

 new courage. "Why, I heard that you 

 are engaged to an heiress," she said. 



The Rubicon was crossed. There was 

 no going back now, come what would. 

 Errington flushed to the brow, then 

 paled again. 



"It is absolutely untrue," he said in 

 a strained way and drew back a step. 

 "It never could be true of me!" 



"But why not?" persisted Isbel, now 

 standing to her colors with true femi- 

 nine stanchness, her eyes aglow, her 

 soft tones steady. ' 'If, as I beard, you 

 are attached to her, why should your 

 engagement be an impossibility, as you 

 imply?" 



Had some one — Glyn perhaps— dared 

 to tell her this, meaning herself, but 

 without naming her, flashed across Eric, 

 iu-'haughty wrath and pain. 



" Why impossible?' ' he repeated, stung 

 to a sort of desperation. "Because I am 

 a poor, stniggling man who holds his 

 honor dearer even than love, if the 

 story were true. Neither the world nor 

 any woman born should have the right 

 .to believe me a dishonored fortune 

 hunter. ' ' 



"The world's judgment!" she said, 

 and now her breath came quickly, her 

 eyes flashed like diamonds. "You are 

 not such a cov/ard, I know, as to fear 

 that. But is it much less cowardly to be 

 afraid of even the risk of the woman's 

 mistaking your motive — the woman you 

 love, remember?" She was speaking 

 with a strangely passionate if suppress- 

 ed force that sent a sudden vague thrill 

 through the man — a dim sense of some- 

 thing that dazzled him, of a personali- 

 ty beneath the overt meaning, an as- 

 sertion of his love for the heiress as a 

 fact, not a mere figure of argument. 



