〃there　are　lots　of　hours　when　we　sit　here　and　do　nothing。〃
  〃And　it　is　very　dull；〃　put　in　Greta；　with　a　pout。
  〃You　are　rude；　Greta；〃　said　Miss　Naylor　in　a　little　rage；　pursing　her
  lips；　and　taking　up　her　knitting。
  〃I　think　it　seems　always　rude　to　speak　the　truth；〃　said　Greta。　　Miss
  Naylor　looked　at　her　in　that　concentrated　manner　with　which　she　was
  in　the　habit　of　expressing　displeasure。
  But　at　this　moment　a　servant　came；　and　said　that　Mrs。　Decie　would　be
  glad　to　see　Herr　Harz。　　The　painter　made　them　a　stiff　bow；　and
  followed　the　servant　to　the　house。　　Miss　Naylor　and　the　two　girls
  watched　his　progress　with　apprehensive　eyes；　it　was　clear　that　he　had
  been　offended。
  Crossing　the　veranda；　and　passing　through　an　open　window　hung　with
  silk　curtains；　Hart　entered　a　cool　dark　room。　　This　was　Mrs。　Decie's
  sanctum；　where　she　conducted　correspondence；　received　her　visitors；
  read　the　latest　literature；　and　sometimes；　when　she　had　bad
  headaches；　lay　for　hours　on　the　sofa；　with　a　fan；　and　her　eyes
  closed。　　There　was　a　scent　of　sandalwood；　a　suggestion　of　the　East；　a
  kind　of　mystery；　in　here；　as　if　things　like　chairs　and　tables　were
  not　really　what　they　seemed；　but　something　much　less　commonplace。
  The　visitor　looked　twice；　to　be　quite　sure　of　anything；　there　were
  many　plants；　bead　curtains；　and　a　deal　of　silverwork　and　china。
  Mrs。　Decie　came　forward　in　the　slightly　rustling　silk　whichwhether
  in　or　out　of　fashionalways　accompanied　her。　　A　tall　woman；　over
  fifty；　she　moved　as　if　she　had　been　tied　together　at　the　knees。　　Her
  face　was　long；　with　broad　brows；　from　which　her　sandy…grey　hair　was
  severely　waved　back；　she　had　pale　eyes；　and　a　perpetual；　pale；
  enigmatic　smile。　　Her　complexion　had　been　ruined　by　long　residence　in
  India；　and　might　unkindly　have　been　called　fawn…coloured。　　She　came
  close　to　Harz；　keeping　her　eyes　on　his；　with　her　head　bent　slightly
  forward。
  〃We　are　so　pleased　to　know　you；〃　she　said；　speaking　in　a　voice　which
  had　lost　all　ring。　　〃It　is　charming　to　find　some　one　in　these　parts
  who　can　help　us　to　remember　that　there　is　such　a　thing　as　Art。　　We
  had　Mr。　C…　here　last　autumn；　such　a　charming　fellow。　　He　was　so
  interested　in　the　native　customs　and　dresses。　　You　are　a　subject
  painter；　too；　I　think？　　Won't　you　sit　down？〃
  She　went　on　for　some　time；　introducing　painters'　names；　asking
  questions；　skating　round　the　edge　of　what　was　personal。　　And　the
  young　man　stood　before　her　with　a　curious　little　smile　fixed　on　his
  lips。　　'She　wants　to　know　whether　I'm　worth　powder　and　shot；'　he
  thought。
  〃You　wish　to　paint　my　nieces？〃　Mrs。　Decie　said　at　last；　leaning　back
  on　her　settee。
  〃I　wish　to　have　that　honour；〃　Harz　answered　with　a　bow。
  〃And　what　sort　of　picture　did　you　think　of？〃
  〃That；〃　said　Harz；　〃is　in　the　future。　　I　couldn't　tell　you。〃　　And　he
  thought：　'Will　she　ask　me　if　I　get　my　tints　in　Paris；　like　the　woman
  Tramper　told　me　of？'
  The　perpetual　pale　smile　on　Mrs。　Decie's　face　seemed　to　invite　his
  confidence；　yet　to　warn　him　that　his　words　would　be　sucked　in
  somewhere　behind　those　broad　fine　brows；　and　carefully　sorted。　　Mrs。
  Decie；　indeed；　was　thinking：　'Interesting　young　man；　regular
  Bohemianno　harm　in　that　at　his　age；　something　Napoleonic　in　his
  face；　probably　has　no　dress　clothes。　　Yes；　should　like　to　see　more　of
  him！'　　She　had　a　fine　eye　for　points　of　celebrity；　his　name　was
  unfamiliar；　would　probably　have　been　scouted　by　that　famous　artist
  Mr。　C…；　but　she　felt　her　instinct　urging　her　on　to　know　him。　　She
  was；　to　do　her　justice；　one　of　those　〃lion〃　finders　who　seek　the
  animal　for　pleasure；　not　for　the　glory　it　brings　them；　she　had　the
  courage　of　her　instinctslion…entities　were　indispensable　to　her；
  but　she　trusted　to　divination　to　secure　them；　nobody　could　foist　a
  〃lion〃　on　her。
  〃It　will　be　very　nice。　　You　will　stay　and　have　some　lunch？　　The
  arrangements　here　are　rather　odd。　　Such　a　mixed　householdbut　there
  is　always　lunch　at　two　o'clock　for　any　one　who　likes；　and　we　all　dine
  at　seven。　　You　would　have　your　sittings　in　the　afternoons；　perhaps？
  I　should　so　like　to　see　your　sketches。　　You　are　using　the　old　house
  on　the　wall　for　studio；　that　is　so　original　of　you！〃
  Harz　would　not　stay　to　lunch；　but　asked　if　he　might　begin　work　that
  afternoon；　he　left　a　little　suffocated　by　the　sandalwood　and　sympathy
  of　this　sphinx…like　woman。
  Walking　home　along　the　river　wall；　with　the　singing　of　the　larks　and
  thrushes；　the　rush　of　waters；　the　humming　of　the　chafers　in　his　ears；
  he　felt　that　he　would　make　something　fine　of　this　subject。　　Before
  his　eyes　the　faces　of　the　two　girls　continually　started　up；　framed　by
  the　sky；　with　young　leaves　guttering　against　their　cheeks。
  V
  Three　days　had　passed　since　Harz　began　his　picture；　when　early　in　the
  morning；　Greta　came　from　Villa　Rubein　along　the　river　dyke　and　sat
  down　on　a　bench　from　which　the　old　house　on　the　wall　was　visible。
  She　had　not　been　there　long　before　Harz　came　out。
  〃I　did　not　knock；〃　said　Greta；　〃because　you　would　not　have　heard；　and
  it　is　so　early；　so　I　have　been　waiting　for　you　a　quarter　of　an　hour。〃
  Selecting　a　rosebud；　from　some　flowers　in　her　hand；　she　handed　it　to
  him。　　〃That　is　my　first　rosebud　this　year；〃　she　said；　〃it　is　for　you
  because　you　are　painting　me。　　To…day　I　am　thirteen；　Herr　Harz；　there
  is　not　to　be　a　sitting；　because　it　is　my　birthday；　but；　instead；　we
  are　all　going　to　Meran　to　see　the　play　of　Andreas　Hofer。　　You　are　to
  come　too；　please；　I　am　here　to　tell　you；　and　the　others　shall　be　here
  directly。〃
  Harz　bowed：　〃And　who　are　the　others？〃
  〃Christian；　and　Dr。　Edmund；　Miss　Naylor；　and　Cousin　Teresa。　　Her
  husband　is　ill；　so　she　is　sad；　but　to…day　she　is　going　to　forget
  that。　　It　is　not　good　to　be　always　sad；　is　it；　Herr　Harz？〃
  He　laughed：　〃You　could　not　be。〃
  Greta　answered　gravely：　〃Oh　yes；　I　could。　　I　too　am　often　sad。　　You
  are　making　fun。　　You　are　not　to　make　fun　to…day；　because　it　is　my
  birthday。　　Do　you　think　growing　up　is　nice；　Herr　Harz　？〃
  〃No；　Fraulein　Greta；　it　is　better　to　have　all　the　time　before　you。〃
  They　walked　on　side　by　side。
  〃I　think；〃　said　Greta；　〃you　are　very　much　afraid　of　losing　time。
  Chris　says　that　time　is　nothing。〃
  〃Time　is　everything；〃　responded　Harz。
  〃She　says　that　time　is　nothing；　and　thought　is　everything；〃　Greta
  murmured；　rubbing　a　rose　against　her　cheek；　〃but　I　think　you　cannot
  have　a　thought　unless　you　have　the　time　to　think　it　in。　　There　are
  the　others！　　Look！〃
  A　cluster　of　sunshades　on　the　bridge　glowed　for　a　moment　and　was　lost
  in　shadow。
  〃Come；〃　said　Harz；　〃let's　join　them！〃
  At　Meran；　under　Schloss　Tirol；　people　were　streaming　across　the
  meadows　into　the　open　theatre。　　Here　were　tall　fellows　in　mountain
  dress；　with　leather　breeches；　bare　knees；　and　hats　with　eagles'
  feathers；　here　were　fruit…sellers；　burghers　and　their　wives；
  mountebanks；　actors；　and　every　kind　of　visitor。　　The　audience；　packed
  into　an　enclosure　of　high　boards；　sweltered　under　the　burning　sun。
  Cousin　Teresa；　tall　and　thin；　with　hard；　red　cheeks；　shaded　her
  pleasant　eyes　with　her　hand。
  The　play　began。　　It　depicted　the　rising　in　the　Tyrol　of　1809：　the
  village　life；　dances　and　yodelling；　murmurings　and　exhortations；　the
  warning　beat　of　drums；　then　the　gathering；　with　flintlocks；
  pitchforks；　knives；　the　battle　and　victory；　the　homecoming；　and
  festival。　　Then　the　second　gathering；　the　roar　of　cannon；　betrayal；
  capture；　death。　　The　impassive　figure　of　the　patriot　Andreas　Hofer
  always　in　front；　black…bearded；　leathern…girdled；　under　the　blue　sky；
  against　a　screen　of　mountains。
  Harz　and　Christian　sat　behind　the　others。　　He　seemed　so　intent　on　the
  play　that　she　did　not　speak；　but　watched　his　face；　rigid　with　a　kind
  of　cold　excitement；　he　seemed　to　be　transported　by　the　life　passing
  before　them。　　Something　of　his　feeling　seized　on　her；　when　the　play
  was　over　she　too　was　trembling。　　In　pushing　their　way　out　they　became
  separated　from　the　others。
  〃There's　a　short　cut　to　the　station　here；〃　said　Christian；　〃let's　go
  this　way。〃
  The　path　rose　a　little；　a　narrow　stream　crept　alongside　the　meadow；
  and　the　hedge　was　spangled　with　wild　roses。　　Christian　kept　glancing
  shyly　at　the　painter。　　Since　their　meeting　on　the　river　wall　her
  thoughts　had　never　been　at　rest。　　This　stranger；　with　his　keen　face；
  insistent　eyes；　and　ceaseless　energy；　had　roused　a　strange　feeling　in
  her；　his　words　had　put　shape　to　something　in　her　not　yet　expressed。
  She　stood　aside　at　a　stile　to　make　way　for　some　peasant　boys；　dusty
  and　rough…haired；　who　sang　and　whistled　as　they　went　by。
  〃I　was　like　those　boys　once；〃　said　Harz。
  Christian　turned　to　him　quickly。　　〃Ah！　that　was　why　you　felt　the
  play；　so　much。〃
  〃It's　my　country　up　there。　　I　was　born　amongst　the　mountains。　　I
  looked　after　the　cows；　and　slept　in　hay…cocks；　and　cut　the　trees　in
  w