It was not to be.
She married another man and died; but her memory is forever sacred to me, and so is her daughter." To this astonishing revelation Arthur Merlin said nothing.

His fingers still played idly on the chair, and his eyes, like the eyes of Lawrence, looked out upon the river.

Every thing in Lawrence Newt's conduct was at once explained; and the poor artist was ready to curse his absurd folly in making his friend involuntarily sit for Endymion.

Lawrence Newt knew his friend's thoughts.
"Arthur," he said, in a low voice, "did I not say that, if Endymion were not dead, it would be impossible not to awake and love her?
Do you not see that I was dead to her ?" "But does she know it ?" asked the painter.
"I believe she does now," was the slow answer.

"But she has not known it long." "Does Amy Waring know it ?" "No," replied Lawrence Newt, quietly, "but she will to-night." The two men sat silently together for some time.