“It was more strange than you know; you made the picture and they were the background,” he said, and I thought, perhaps, he was going to cut short the year of waiting and say more.  Instead, he looked off over the hills, and held my hand tighter.  We were in Hal’s room, and Mr. Benton entered, saying with great joy in his tones: 

“Louis, I have made a success, take a little walk with me and I will tell you about it.”

Louis looked at me a moment, as if to tell me it is the picture, and with a tender light in his eyes, went out under the sky, which was beautiful with the last tinge of sunset clinging to it, as if loath to leave its wondrous blue to the rising moon and stars.

As they passed out, I thought I saw Matthias coming, but must have been mistaken, as he did not appear.  An hour passed and Louis and Mr. Benton returned, the latter looking wonderfully satisfied and happy, Louis thoughtful, and I should have thought him sad had I not known of Clara’s picture.

The days passed happily, but through them all I was not as happy as I had expected.  Louis must be sick, I thought; he was so quiet, and almost sad.  Perhaps he had met with less, and I longed to ask him but could not.  I was annoyed also by Mr. Benton, who would not fail to embrace every opportunity that offered, to talk with me alone, holding me in some way, for moments at a time.  If I was dusting in Hal’s studio, and this was a part of my daily duties, he was sure to be there, and several times Louis came in when we were talking together, I busy at work and Mr. Benton standing near.

Clear through the months that led us up to the door of October, these almost daily annoyances troubled me.  It was not love-making, for since the day of my righteous indignation he had not ventured to approach me on that ground; but any thought which came over him, sometimes regarding his pictures and sometimes a saying of Aunt Hildy’s,—­anything which could be found to talk upon, it seemed to me, he made a pretext to detain me, and since he did this in a gentlemanly manner, how could I avoid it!  It was a perfect bore to me, and yet I thought it too foolish a trouble to complain of.  That was not the summer full of joy to which I had been looking, but it was full of work and care, and over all the mist of uncertainty.

Hal’s house had been built; it was a charming little nest, just enough room for themselves and with one spare chamber for company.

“Don’t git too many rooms nor too big ones,” said Aunt Hildy.  “If six chairs are enough, twenty-five are a bother.  One loaf of bread at a time is all we want to eat.  I tell you, Halbert, you can’t enjoy more’n you use; don’t get grand idees that’ll put your wife into bondage.  There are all kinds of slavery in this world,” and between every few words a milk-pan went on the buttery shelf.  She always worked and preached together.

Hal had a nice room for his work; then they had a sitting-room, kitchen and bedroom down stairs, and two chambers.  It was a cottage worth owning, and Clara, as usual, did something to help.