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Updated: May 16, 2025
They had missed Oswyn during his seclusion of the last few weeks; he was so essentially the presiding, silent genius of the place a man to be pointed out to new-comers, half ironically, as the greatest, most deeply injured, of them all; the possessor of a talent unapproached and unappreciated.
While the two were thus occupied in reuniting the chain of old associations, Oswyn had been silently, almost surreptitiously, preparing for departure; and he now came forward awkwardly, with his hat in one hand and the tools of his trade under his arm. "May I leave some of these things, here, or will they be in your way?"
Rainham lapsed into his familiar state of half-abstraction, while his friend cross-examined a young sculptor fresh from Rome. At the next table Oswyn was holding forth, with eager gesticulations and the excitement of the hour in his eyes, on the subject of a picture which he contemplated painting in oils for exhibition at the Salon next year.
Rainham introduced him to us when he was quite a young man soon after he was called, in fact, and we gave him his first brief the first of a good many! He's been one of our standing counsel for years. Good-day!" As he made his way towards the Temple, Oswyn smiled to himself rather savagely, tasting in anticipation the sweets of long-deferred revenge.
And then, worst of all, I have committed the unpardonable sin: I have been hung at Burlington House. Isn't that about it, Oswyn?" The elder man laughed his low, mirthless laugh. "We understand each other, Dick; but you don't quite do yourself justice or me. I have an immense respect for your talent. I feel sure you will achieve greatness in Burlington House."
Oswyn shot a quick glance at him, and then looked away as suddenly, and after a brief silence they parted. Rainham was already beginning to consider himself secure from the inconvenient allusions to Lightmark and their altered relations, which he had at first nervously anticipated.
"Yes, she is Lightmark's child," continued Rainham; "and the mother was that girl whom we found two years ago do you remember? the night of your first visit here outside the gates. She called herself Mrs. Crichton. It's a miserable story; I only discovered it quite recently." Oswyn drew in a deep breath, which sounded like a sigh in the strangely still room.
There was an angry light in his eyes, but it faded immediately. Oswyn continued apologetically: "I beg your pardon. It must be very annoying to you to be puffed indiscreetly. But I fancied, you know " Lightmark, flushing a little, interrupted him, laying his hand with a quick gesture, that might have contained an appeal in it, on the painter's frayed coat-sleeve.
"I beg your pardon," said Oswyn quickly; "I needn't keep you any longer. Will you let me have an envelope? I dare say they can give me Mr. Sylvester's address downstairs Mr. Charles Sylvester, the barrister?" "The new member, you mean, of course?" said the lawyer. "He has chambers in Paper Buildings, No. 11. Do you know him?"
You don't know Mrs. Dollond?" he added, seeing that the other looked at him with a certain air of wistful distrust, a momentarily visible desire to see behind so obvious a veil. "No, thank God!" said Oswyn devoutly, shrugging his bent shoulders, and turning away with a relapse into his unwonted impassiveness. "But you have apparently heard of her," continued Rainham, with an effort toward humour.
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