Have _you_ been
losing your appetite?" The girl looked up confusedly, and a deep blush suffused her face and
neck. The fame of Dr. Bleedem was great in the neighbourhood. She
believed herself to be in the presence of a man who could read the
secrets of her inmost soul, and that all attempts to mask them from his
scrutinising gaze would be worse than useless. "What has come to you young people of late, I don't know," continued Dr.
Bleedem. "Now, here is Mr. McGuilp, he, too, has been losing his
appetite, and suffering from insomnia." Oh! how our artist wished that the ground would open at his feet and
swallow him up. In vain he trod on his toes and turned his face towards
the window, as if peering into the snow that was now falling fast. His
ears continued to burn like fire, and all he could do, by mopping his
forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, was inadequate to keep back the
traitor blush. "Oh! oh!" muttered Dr. Bleedem to himself, whilst gazing from one to the
other. "Is that the way the wind lies?" The members now began to look sideways, one at the other. One of them
raised his eyebrows; another winked; a third suppressed a titter; but as
this all took place behind our artist's back, who was still looking out
intently at the snow, there was nothing to wound his sensibilities. At length Mr. Oldstone broke the silence. "When are you thinking of
beginning the copy of our Helen's picture, Mr. McGuilp?" "I? Oh yes, just so," replied our artist, waking up out of a reverie. "Well, the fact is, we are most unfortunate in the weather. It is
impossible to begin if it continues like this. Should it clear up later,
I will at once set to work." "Good. And now gentlemen, what do you all propose doing to while away
the time? A rubber of whist, a game of chess, backgammon, or what?" inquired the antiquary. After a little discussion, it was decided that Dr. Bleedem, Professor
Cyanite, Mr. Crucible, and Mr. Oldstone, should form a party at whist. Mr. Blackdeed and Mr. Hardcase played a game of chess, while the poet
and the painter, not being disposed to join in any game, retired into a
corner together, and were soon deep in a discussion upon the arts of
painting and poetry. A couple of hours passed away, and still the
members were absorbed, each in his favourite pursuit, when the weather
began to clear up, and the sun shone brightly. This decided our artist to set about his allotted task; so breaking off
the conversation with his poet friend, he repaired to the studio, and
placing a clean canvas, the same size as that of the portrait, upon the
easel, he commenced his copy; and here we will leave him to continue his
task for the present. *       *       *       *       *

Over a fortnight had passed since we left our artist at his work. The
task was now completed. He had found it necessary to have one or two
extra sittings from Helen herself on the copy, just to give more truth
to it, as he said. However, as everything on this earth comes to an end,
there was an end also to these sittings. "Helen," said our artist to his model at the last, "I must go. My
affairs call me back to Italy. I have been keeping my studio on all this
time, and I have certain business to settle which will brook no delay." Helen's countenance fell, and her lip quivered. Her eyes grew moist and
downcast. In a voice that she endeavoured to render firm, she ventured
to inquire: "And will it be for long, sir?" "For very long, Helen? Perhaps for ever." Helen had no answer to this. Her sobs were choking her. The tears stole
silently down her cheeks, but she whisked them away with her
handkerchief, and did her best to appear outwardly calm. Our artist, too, felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes suffused with
tears. "Perhaps, sir," meekly suggested the girl, "when you have settled all
your affairs abroad, you may think of taking a holiday, and be paying us
a flying visit, just to see Mr. Oldstone and the other gentlemen, you
know. I'm sure both father and mother will be glad to see you again." "I am afraid not, Helen. I am afraid not," and our artist slowly and
sadly shook his head. "What! _never_--never again!" almost shrieked the child. Here she broke down completely. All restraint and propriety flew to the
winds. Nature, till now trampled upon and held in abeyance, at this
point rebelled and relieved herself in a torrent of the bitterest sobs
and tears. "Helen! dear Helen! What is this?" cried McGuilp, running to her
assistance, his own tears falling fast the while! "Oh! what a brute I have been! Quick, rouse yourself. There are
footsteps in the passage. Somebody is coming." Thus warned, there was a
sudden mopping of eyes and blowing of noses, when the door opened, and
Dame Hearty presented herself to ask if Helen could be spared to assist
her in the kitchen. "Oh! certainly," replied our artist, averting his face and busying
himself with putting away his palette and brushes, whilst assuming a
firm voice. "Yes," continued he, still turning his back, "I think I may
say that I have finished with her now. This is the last sitting in fact. There is the copy I intend to present to the club. This one here is the
first one, which I am going to keep for myself. Which of the two do you
prefer, Dame Hearty?" In this way he rattled on to hide his confusion. Helen had slipped
noiselessly away, bathed her face in cold water, and returned to the
kitchen. "Well, sir," replied Dame Hearty, in answer to our artist's question, "I
really don't know what to say. They are both so lovely, there's not a
pin to choose between them." Then, scanning our artist's countenance, she observed:

"You appear to have a bad cold, sir." "I am afraid I have, Dame Hearty," said McGuilp; "the weather has been
very uncertain, and I think I must have committed some imprudence." "Let me make you a basin of gruel, sir. No? It's a capital thing, and
you should keep out of all draughts, and----"

"And keep my bed, perhaps you'll tell me, my good woman," interrupted
McGuilp. "No, no; I've no time to coddle. Do you know, Dame Hearty, I
must be off to-morrow to London by the stage, as I have to return to
Rome without further delay. Already I am long after my time." "So soon! Why, you _have_ paid us a short visit," exclaimed the hostess. "Well, sir, you knows best. All I can say is that my husband and I will
be most glad to see you again, when next you be passing this way." A knock at the door, and our host entered to ask if he might be allowed
to see the copy. "Certainly, my good host, here it is," said McGuilp. Jack Hearty went into ecstacies over it, saying he didn't know which he
liked best. "Mr. McGuilp says he is off again to-morrow, Jack," began our hostess. "Yes," broke in McGuilp. "What time does the stage start? Early? I'd
better begin my packing at once," and off he went to his bedroom to make
preparations. The fact was, he wanted to be alone, for it was an effort to keep up a
cheerful appearance with a sad heart.