whisper strange things of him in the studio,—­that his eye was getting an unnatural light,—­that he talked as if to imaginary listeners,—­in short, that there was a look as if something were going wrong with his brain, which it might be feared would spoil his fine intelligence.  It was the undecided battle, and the enemy, as in his noblest moments he had considered the growing passion, was getting the better of him.

He was sitting one afternoon before the fatal bust which had smiled and whispered away his peace, when the post-man brought him a letter.  It was from the simple girl to whom he had given his promise.  We know how she used to prattle in her harmless way about her innocent feelings, and the trifling matters that were going on in her little village world.  But now she wrote in sadness.  Something, she did not too clearly explain what, had grieved her, and she gave free expression to her feelings.  “I have no one that loves me but you,” she said; “and if you leave me I must droop and die.  Are you true to me, dearest Clement,—­true as when we promised each other that we would love while life lasted?  Or have you forgotten one who will never cease to remember that she was once your own Susan?”

Clement dropped the letter from his hand, and sat a long hour looking at the exquisitely wrought features of her who had come between him and honor and his plighted word.

At length he arose, and, lifting the bust tenderly from its pedestal, laid it upon the cloth with which it had been covered.  He wrapped it closely, fold upon fold, as the mother whom man condemns and God pities wraps the child she loves before she lifts her hand against its life.  Then he took a heavy hammer and shattered his lovely idol into shapeless fragments.  The strife was over.

CHAPTER XXII.

A change of programme.

Mr. William Murray Bradshaw was in pretty intimate relations with Miss Cynthia Badlam.  It was well understood between them that it might be of very great advantage to both of them if he should in due time become the accepted lover of Myrtle Hazard.  So long as he could be reasonably secure against interference, he did not wish to hurry her in making her decision.  Two things he did wish to be sure of, if possible, before asking her the great question;—­first, that she would answer it in the affirmative; and secondly, that certain contingencies, the turning of which was not as yet absolutely capable of being predicted, should happen as he expected.  Cynthia had the power of furthering his wishes in many direct and indirect ways, and he felt sure of her cooperation.  She had some reason to fear his enmity if she displeased him, and he had taken good care to make her understand that her interests would be greatly promoted by the success of the plan which he had formed, and which was confided to her alone.