"I resolved to go and see it the day following, but when the time came that I first looked upon it, my dear child began to fade in my arms, until she died. And here she is buried. Since then I go to the artist's room to see her portrait, and there, full of life and beauty, she stands before me, and I have permission to see it every day.
"But I am about to leave this country for our native land. My aged father has long wished to return to his own country, and we shall soon sail with our friends for Italy. I must leave the dear child here. But if I can purchase the picture of the artist, I shall be happy. We are poor; but by the sale of some little articles, we have raised money enough to buy the picture, at the price which the artist demands for a similar picture.
"When I went to buy it, you know not how I felt, when the artist, notwithstanding all my pleadings, denied my request. His apology was, that he had taken it for some purpose of his own—some great exhibition of paintings—what, I could not fully comprehend. He would not sell it. Day after day I have been to him, but in vain. And now the time of our departure will soon come, and duty demands that I must go with my father, and I must leave my dear Flora, and portrait too."
She then laid her face upon the grave and wept. Anna's eyes were filled with tears, and for some moments she did not speak. At last she thought—"I know the artist." And then touching the mother, who was almost insensible, she said, "Madam, it may be that I can do something for you—describe to me the picture. I think I must have seen it at this same artist's room."
The mother then gave the description, and after Anna had gathered from the mother all needful information, her name, and residence, and time of sailing, then giving her own address, and speaking to her words of consolation and hope, she arose and left the stranger at the grave of her child. The next story will tell you how the picture was obtained.
THE PORTRAIT OF FLORA PURCHASED.
Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascended to her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face in its cushions.
"Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar is cold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but when her mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad story of the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The next morning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not in attendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward the picture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While they were looking at it, the artist came in.