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 light was not growing every instant and the precious moments wasting away. Plainly, work did not go very well this morning! And as Miles watched he wondered why he had ever entertained the idea of tearing himself away from—Hunter!

Presently, with a start, Prudence turned again to the canvas, picked the brush from the ledge of the easel, and set to work. But there was none of the enthusiasm she had shown when the picture was started. The brush moved slower and slower until once more she was idle, her gaze on the blue rim of the distant hills seen at the end of the glade. Suddenly Miles turned his observation from the Princess to Bistre. The latter was half-way down the slope, trotting toward Prudence with his stump of a tail wagging excitedly.