secret upon a painting, which he designed to present to the Grand Duke, for his private collection in the Palazzo Pitti, and on which he was to stake his reputation as an artist.  He worked in secret, we have said-ay, and with the pains of hunger gnawing him often, his scanty purse scarcely affording him the means of procuring sufficient to sustain life.  But still he worked on unwearied, in the hope, if not to gain the hand of Florinda, at least to be thought more worthy of her.

Little did she he loved know of the actual want he experienced.  He was too proud to acknowledge it even to her; and often did he sit by her side faint and hungry, while he held a hand, the jewelled ornaments of which alone would have rendered a peasant independent for life.  He exerted every faculty to obtain the means of dressing at least with seeming good taste; he endeavored to do this for appearance sake, and that he might pass well with the world, which scans with inquisitive eye the outside show, and pays homage accordingly.  He did not fear that it would make any difference with Florinda, yet he felt some pride, of course, in that quarter.  It required in his present emergency the sacrifice of many a meal to procure him a coat, or any other necessary article of clothing.

Carlton was not in the practice of meeting Florinda at the palace; the manifest impropriety of the thing rendered this out of the question.  It was the practice of Florinda to call at certain periods at the palace of a relation in the environs of the city, and here Carlton often went to meet her; it was hard by the monastery where she had been educated, and where they had first met.  The two sat together one twilight hour; it was their chosen time of meeting.

“Carlton,” said Florinda.

“Well, dearest.”

“Why dost thou—­” here Florinda hesitated.

“Speak freely; what would you ask?”

“You will not be offended?”

“Indeed, no!”

“Nor think strange of me?”

“Nay, I promise thee.”

“Then—­”

“Well, Florinda.”

“Why dost thou wear such a threadbare coat, Carlton?  You know I care not for such things, but I would have thee appear among thy fellow-artists as well clad as the best of them.”

“You know, Florinda,” said Carlton, blushing in spite of himself, “I told you of my misfortune in losing my friend and patron.”

“True, but what has that to do with thy coat, Carlton?” asked the lady, who, never having known the want of money, could not realize the effect of such a condition.  And then, too, she did not exactly understand the dependency of Carlton upon his patron.

“O, nothing particular, dearest; but one must dress according to his means, you know.”

Florinda mused for a moment, and at length appeared to understand the meaning of his words, when taking a rich purse of gold from her girdle, she endeavored to give it to him in such a manner as to spare his feelings, but her utterance failed her, and she burst into tears!  Carlton could not accept it.  He would rather have starved first; his proud spirit could not brook the deed.