Hugh's eyes softened as he saw his cousin's grief. "Don't cry, dear," he said gently. "We shall not be parted long. And while we are parted, I want to think that you are happy, that you, too, are trying to improve as I am trying. I want to think that my little Bessie is growing into a stately, beautiful Elizabeth. You are part of my future, dear, and you can help me to succeed."
"How, Hugh?" said Bessie, wiping away her tears.
"By being happy, trying to improve yourself, and writing me all you are doing. Such letters will be very pleasant to me when I am working hard in the great city. We have never, either of us, taken a serious view of life, but for once, to-day, I feel very serious, Bessie; I am going to try to be good,—I am going to try to be a good man. And I want you to try and be good too."
"I will try, Hugh," whispered Bessie, affected by his serious tone.
"That is right. And now let us have no more sadness to spoil my last day at home. Whatever the future may bring to me,—and I have full confidence in the future, you know,—all of you here at home will have the first place in my heart. I have a great many plans, and all of them are bright; I have a great many hopes, and all of them are certain; life seems very beautiful to me, and I thank my Creator for my health and strength. I ask nothing better than what lies before me, and I am willing to take the labor for the pleasures it will bring."
Hugh paused, and an expression of glowing hope lit up his face and shone in his blue eyes. Bessie seized her brush, and, filled with a sudden inspiration, worked intently at her portrait for some time in silence.
"There is the first dinner-bell, Queen Bess," said Hugh; "I have idled away the whole morning up here. Good-bye, little studio," he continued, rising as he spoke; "I hope one day to see you altered into a beautiful, luxurious abode of art, filled with striking pictures, the work of America's greatest artist, Elizabeth Darrell!"
"If I should paint the best pictures in the world, you would not allow my name to be connected with them in public, Hugh. You are so prejudiced."
"Prejudiced, is it? Well, perhaps it is. I own I do not think that types adorn a woman's name. A woman ought not to appear 'in the papers' but twice; when she marries, and when she dies."
"So if she don't marry, she never has a chance of being anybody until she is dead; I don't call that fair, Hugh."