"Oh, sir, we are starving! I don't care for myself, but for my sister. She is beautiful; and she can't stand misery. I am sure God did not mean her to suffer; it's all a mistake," cried the boy, breaking down under the kind glance and the sympathetic words.
"I seem to know your face," said the artist. "Why, of course I do; you were poor Godfrey's model?"
"Yes, sir, I had been in his studio a year when he died. I served him entirely, and now that he is gone I am quite friendless."
"Does your sister sit?"
"Not hitherto, sir. She has not thought of it. Nor have I told her how she might perhaps obtain employment, even easier than I, because I somehow felt that the nuns to whom she owes everything might not like it."
"Did they say they would object?"
"Not in words; but, you see, Marietta has promised to return in May. She came to London to say good-bye to me. I was able to send her money for her passage, being well provided by Mr. Godfrey. She is to take the veil soon
after her return, and then, you know, I lose her altogether."
"You don't like that?"
"She will be taken care of," the boy replied, "and she desires to dedicate her life to God, so you see I must be content."