Evelyn, forgotten for the moment, remained alone.

She was pleased at being so, and once more turned to the picture which had so attracted her before.

The mild eyes fixed on her, with an expression that recalled to her mind her own mother.
"And," thought she, as she gazed, "this fair creature did not live to know the fame of her son, to rejoice in his success, or to soothe his grief.

And he, that son, a disappointed and solitary exile in distant lands, while strangers stand within his deserted hall!" The images she had conjured up moved and absorbed her; and she continued to stand before the picture, gazing upward with moistened eyes.

It was a beautiful vision as she thus stood, with her delicate bloom, her luxuriant hair (for the hat was not yet replaced), her elastic form, so full of youth and health and hope,--the living form beside the faded canvas of the dead, once youthful, tender, lovely as herself! Evelyn turned away with a sigh; the sigh was re-echoed yet more deeply.