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When Harold was very young, and we two lived together in the poor Highland cottage where he was born, my boy made an acquaintance with an Englishman, one Lord Arundale, a great student. Harold longed to be a student too." "A noble desire." "I shared it too. When the thought came to me that my boy would be a great man, I nursed it, cherished it, made it my whole life's aim.
I told him you were coming to-day; and he desired me to say how grieved he was that he thus missed you, but it was unavoidable. He had kept Lord Arundale waiting already, and it would not be courteous to delay another day. You will not mind?" "Oh no! oh no!" The hand was pressed down closer over the eyes. Mrs. Gwynne pursued.
Then he took his palette, and began to paint, lingeringly and lovingly, on slight portions of background or drapery less as though he thought this needed, than as if loth to give the last, the very last, touch to a work so precious. He talked all the while, seemingly to hide the emotion which he would not show. "Lord Arundale is an honour to his rank, a noble man indeed.
He has started with his friend Lord Arundale, to travel all through Europe. It is a pity, I think, for one of his cloth, and it shows a wandering and restless mind. I know not what has come over my dear Harold." "Was it a sudden journey? is it long since he went?" said Olive, shading her eyes from the fire-light. "Only yesterday.
Away from the school he should be thinking of them and planning for them, and this he cannot do if his whole mind, out of school, is taken up with other interests. On this, again, I may quote Mr. Arundale: "When I get up in the morning my first thought is what has to be done during the day generally and as regards my own work in particular.
He said frankly, that he was no artist, and no connoisseur, like Lord Arundale; but I saw from his eye, that, if he did not understand, he felt my picture." "How so?" said Olive, with growing interest. "He looked at Alcestis, the 'Alcestis' I have painted, sitting on her golden throne, waiting for death to call her from her kingdom and her lord; waiting solemnly, yet without fear.
I only remember that Christal, recognising me, cried out in piteous reproach, 'You should have let me die! you should have let me die! But she is saved Olive, be sure that she is saved. Her right spirit will come into her again. It is coming even now, for she is with kind Lady Arundale, a woman almost like yourself.
'See, said Lord Arundale to his friend, 'how love makes this feeble woman stronger than a hero! See how fearlessly a noble wife can die! 'A wife who loves her husband, was the answer, given so bitterly, that I turned to look at him. Oh, that I could have painted his head at that instant! It would have made a Heraclitus a Timon!" "And do you know his name? Will he come here again?"
"Last night, after I closed my letter, I went out to take my usual quiet ramble before going to rest. I went to the Pont Neuilly, near which Lord Arundale resides. I walked slowly, for I was thinking deeply of what it matters not now. On the whole, my thoughts were happy so happy that I did not see how close to me was standing Misery misery in the shape of a poor wretch, a woman!
I brought her to share the kindness of good Lady Arundale, who needed no other guarantee than that it was a kindness asked by me. To-night, ere I sat down to write, I heard that your sister was quietly sleeping beneath this hospitable roof. It will shelter her safely until some other plan can be formed. I also feel at peace, since I have given peace to you.
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