The Rosary [116]
which, falling from her breast, lay scattered on the terrace at Shenstone, emblem of the joyous hopes and glory of love which her decision of that night had laid in the dust of disillusion. But crowning this picture, in rich clusters of abundant bloom, grew the rambler rose. And through the open window came the final verse of Maggie's hymn.
"O Cross, that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust life's glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be."
Jane went to the western window, and stood, with her arms stretched above her, looking out upon the radiance of the sunset. The sky blazed into gold and crimson at the horizon; gradually as the eye lifted, paling to primrose, flecked with rosy clouds; and, overhead, deep blue--fathomless, boundless, blue.
Jane gazed at the golden battlements above the purple hills, and repeated, half aloud: "And the city was of pure gold;--and had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it. And there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
Ah, how much had passed away since she stood at that western window, not an hour before. All life seemed readjusted; its outlook altered; its perspective changed. Truly Garth had "gone behind his blindness."
Jane raised her eyes to the blue; and a smile of unspeakable anticipation parted her lips. "Life, that shall endless be," she murmured. Then, turning, found the little bear, and restored him to his place upon the mantelpiece; put back the chair; closed the western window; and, picking up the two canvases, left the studio, and made her way carefully downstairs.
CHAPTER XXX
"THE LADY PORTRAYED"
"It has taken you long, Miss Gray. I nearly sent Simpson up, to find out what had happened."
"I am glad you did not do that, Mr. Dalmain. Simpson would have found me weeping on the studio floor; and to ask his assistance under those circumstances, would have been more humbling than inquiring after the fly in the soup!"
Garth turned quickly in his chair. The artist-ear had caught the tone which meant comprehension of his work.
"Weeping!" he said. "Why?"
"Because," answered Nurse Rosemary, "I have been entranced. These pictures are so exquisite. They stir one's deepest depths. And yet they are so pathetic--ah, SO pathetic; because you have made a plain woman, beautiful."
Garth rose to his feet, and turned upon her a face which would have blazed, had it not been sightless.
"A WHAT?" he exclaimed.
"A plain woman," repeated Nurse Rosemary, quietly. "Surely you realised your model to be that. And therein lies the wonder of the pictures. You have so beautified her by wifehood, and glorified her by motherhood, that the longer one looks the more one forgets her plainness; seeing her as loving and loved; lovable, and therefore lovely. It is a triumph of art."
Garth sat down, his hands clasped before him.
"It is a triumph of truth," he said. "I painted what I saw. "
"You painted her soul," said Nurse Rosemary, "and it illuminated her plain face."
"I SAW her soul," said Garth, almost in a whisper; "and that vision was so radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens my darkness, even now."
A very tender silence fell in the library.
The twilight deepened.
Then Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low. "Mr. Dalmain, I have a request to make of you. I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures."
Garth lifted his head. "I must destroy them, child," he said. "I cannot risk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the-- the lady portrayed."
"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they are destroyed."
"And that is?" queried Garth.
"The lady portrayed," said Nurse Rosemary, bravely.
"How do you know she has not seen them?"
"Has she?" inquired Nurse Rosemary.
"No," said Garth, shortly; "and she never will."
"She must."
Something
"O Cross, that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust life's glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be."
Jane went to the western window, and stood, with her arms stretched above her, looking out upon the radiance of the sunset. The sky blazed into gold and crimson at the horizon; gradually as the eye lifted, paling to primrose, flecked with rosy clouds; and, overhead, deep blue--fathomless, boundless, blue.
Jane gazed at the golden battlements above the purple hills, and repeated, half aloud: "And the city was of pure gold;--and had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it. And there shall be no more death; neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
Ah, how much had passed away since she stood at that western window, not an hour before. All life seemed readjusted; its outlook altered; its perspective changed. Truly Garth had "gone behind his blindness."
Jane raised her eyes to the blue; and a smile of unspeakable anticipation parted her lips. "Life, that shall endless be," she murmured. Then, turning, found the little bear, and restored him to his place upon the mantelpiece; put back the chair; closed the western window; and, picking up the two canvases, left the studio, and made her way carefully downstairs.
CHAPTER XXX
"THE LADY PORTRAYED"
"It has taken you long, Miss Gray. I nearly sent Simpson up, to find out what had happened."
"I am glad you did not do that, Mr. Dalmain. Simpson would have found me weeping on the studio floor; and to ask his assistance under those circumstances, would have been more humbling than inquiring after the fly in the soup!"
Garth turned quickly in his chair. The artist-ear had caught the tone which meant comprehension of his work.
"Weeping!" he said. "Why?"
"Because," answered Nurse Rosemary, "I have been entranced. These pictures are so exquisite. They stir one's deepest depths. And yet they are so pathetic--ah, SO pathetic; because you have made a plain woman, beautiful."
Garth rose to his feet, and turned upon her a face which would have blazed, had it not been sightless.
"A WHAT?" he exclaimed.
"A plain woman," repeated Nurse Rosemary, quietly. "Surely you realised your model to be that. And therein lies the wonder of the pictures. You have so beautified her by wifehood, and glorified her by motherhood, that the longer one looks the more one forgets her plainness; seeing her as loving and loved; lovable, and therefore lovely. It is a triumph of art."
Garth sat down, his hands clasped before him.
"It is a triumph of truth," he said. "I painted what I saw. "
"You painted her soul," said Nurse Rosemary, "and it illuminated her plain face."
"I SAW her soul," said Garth, almost in a whisper; "and that vision was so radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens my darkness, even now."
A very tender silence fell in the library.
The twilight deepened.
Then Nurse Rosemary spoke, very low. "Mr. Dalmain, I have a request to make of you. I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures."
Garth lifted his head. "I must destroy them, child," he said. "I cannot risk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the-- the lady portrayed."
"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they are destroyed."
"And that is?" queried Garth.
"The lady portrayed," said Nurse Rosemary, bravely.
"How do you know she has not seen them?"
"Has she?" inquired Nurse Rosemary.
"No," said Garth, shortly; "and she never will."
"She must."
Something