CHAPTER XXX
THE TWO HEIGHTS
Dennis went home in a strange tumult of hopes and fears, but hopepredominated, for evidently she cared little for Mr. Mellen. "The iceis broken at last," he said. It was, but he was like to fall throughinto a very cold bath, though he knew it not. He was far too excitedto sleep, and sat by his open window till the warm June night grewpale with the light of coming day.
Suddenly a bright thought struck him; a moment more and it became anearnest purpose. "I think I can paint something that may express toher what I dare not put in words."
He immediately went up into the loft and prepared a large frame, soproportioned that two pictures could be painted side by side, oneexplanatory and an advance upon the other. He stretched his canvasover this, and sketched and outlined rapidly under the inspiration ofhis happy thought.
Christine came with her father to the store, as had been her formercustom, and her face had its old expression. The listless, disappointedlook was gone. She passed on, not appearing to see him while with herfather, and Dennis's heart sank again. "She surely knew where to lookfor me if she cared to look," he said to himself. Soon after he wentto the upper show-room to see to the hanging of a new picture.
"I am so glad your taste, instead of old Schwartz's mathematics, hascharge of this department now," said a honeyed voice at his side. Hewas startled greatly.
"What is the matter? Are you nervous, Mr. Fleet? I had no idea thata lady could so frighten you."
He was blushing like a girl, but said, "I have read that somethingwithin, rather than anything without, makes us cowards."
"Ah, then you confess to a guilty conscience?" she replied, with atwinkle in her eye.
"I do not think I shall confess at all till I have a mercifulconfessor," said Dennis, conscious of a deeper meaning than his lightwords might convey.
"'The quality of mercy is not strained,' therefore it is unfit for myuse. I'll none of it, but for each offence impose unlimited penance."
"But suppose one must sin?"
"He must take the consequences then. Even your humane religion teachesthat;" and with this parting arrow she vanished, leaving him too excitedto hang his picture straight.
It all seemed a bewildering dream. Being so thoroughly taken by surpriseand off his guard, he had said far more than he meant. But had sheunderstood him? Yes, better than he had himself, and laughed at hisanswers with their covert meanings.
She spent the next two days in sketching and outlining his variousexpressions as far as possible from memory. She would learn to catchthose evanescent lines--that something which makes the human faceeloquent, though the lips are silent.
Dennis was in a maze, but he repeated to himself jubilantly again,"The ice is broken." That evening at Mr. Bruder's he asked for studiesin ice.
"Vy, dat is out of season," said Mr. Bruder, with a laugh.
"No, now is just the time. It is a nice cool subject for this hotweather. Please oblige me; for certain reasons I wish to be able topaint ice perfectly."
Arctic scenery was Mr. Bruder's forte, on which he specially pridedhimself. He was too much of a gentleman to ask questions, and wasdelighted to find the old zest returning in his pupil. They were soonconstructing bergs, caves, and grottoes of cold blue ice. Evening afterevening, while sufficient light lasted, they worked at this study.Dennis's whole soul seemed bent on the formation of ice. After a monthof labor Mr. Bruder said, "I hope you vill get over dis by fall, orve all freeze to death."
"One of these days I shall explain," said Dennis, smiling.
The evening of the second day after the little rencounter in theshow-room, Mr. Ludolph sat enjoying his cigar, and Christine was atthe piano playing a difficult piece of music.
"Come, father," she said, "here is a fine thing just from Germany.There is a splendid tenor solo in it, and I want you to sing it forme."
"Pshaw!" said her father, "why did I not think of it before?" and herang the bell. "Here, Brandt, go down to the store, and if Mr. Fleetis there ask him if he will come up to my rooms for a little while."
Brandt met Dennis just starting for his painting lesson, but led hima willing captive, to give Christine instruction unconsciously.
She, whose strategy had brought it all about, smiled at her success.It was not her father's tenor she wanted, but Dennis's face; and herfather should unknowingly work her will. The girl had learned so muchfrom the wily man of the world that she was becoming his master.
Dennis came and entered with a thrill of delight what was to himenchanted ground. Mr. Ludolph was affable, Christine kind, but shelooked more than she said.
Dennis sang the solo, after one or two efforts, correctly. Then Mr.Ludolph brought out a piece of music that he wished to try; Christinefound others; and before they knew it the evening had passed. Quitea knot of delighted listeners gathered in the street opposite. ThisChristine pointed out to her father with evident annoyance.
"Well, my dear," he said, "hotel life in a crowded city renders escapefrom such things impossible."
But a purpose was growing in her mind of which she spoke soon after.Throughout the evening she had studied Dennis's face as much as shecould without attracting notice, and the thought grew upon her thatat last she had found a path to the success she so craved.
"You seem to have gone to work with your old interest," said her father,as he came out of his room the next morning and found Christine at hereasel.
"I shall try it again," she said, briefly.
"That is right," said he. "The idea of being daunted by one partialfailure! I predict for you such success as will satisfy even yourfastidious taste."
"We shall see," she said. "I hope, too." But she would not have herfather know on what grounds. He might regard the experiment as adangerous one for herself as well as for Dennis, and she decided tokeep her plan entirely secret.
She now came to the store daily, and rarely went away without givingDennis a smile or word of recognition. But he noticed that she everdid this in a casual manner, and in a way that would not attractattention. He also took the hint, and never was obtrusive ordemonstrative, but it was harder work for his frank nature. Whenunobserved, his glances grew more ardent day by day. So far fromchecking these, she encouraged them, but, when in any way he soughtto put his feelings into words, she changed the subject instantly anddecidedly. This puzzled him, for he did not understand that looks couldbe painted, but not words. The latter were of no use to her. But sheled him on skilfully, and, from the unbounded power his love gave her,played upon his feelings as adroitly as she touched her grand piano.
Soon after the company at Miss Winthrop's, she said to him, "Youreceived several invitations the other evening, did you not?"
"Yes."
"Accept them. Go into society. It will do you good."Thus he soon found himself involved in a round of sociables, musicales,and now and then a large party. Christine was usually present, radiant,brilliant, the cynosure of all eyes, but ever coolly self-possessed.At first she would greet him with distant politeness, or pretend notto see him at all, but before the evening was over would manage togive him a half-hour in which she would be kind and even gentle attimes, but very observant. Then for the rest of the evening he wouldfind no chance to approach. It appeared that she was deeply interestedin him, enjoyed his society, and was even becoming attached to him,but that for some reason she determined that no one should notice this,and that matters should only go so far. Poor Dennis could not knowthat he was only her unconscious instructor in painting, paid solelyin the coin of false smiles and delusive hopes. At times, though, shewould torture him dreadfully. Selecting one of her many admirers, shewould seem to smile upon his suit, and poor Dennis would writhe in allthe agonies of jealousy, for he was very human, and had all the normalfeeling of a strong man. She would then watch his face grow pale andhis manner restless, as quietly and critically as an entomologistregards the struggles of an insect beneath his microscope. Again, shewould come to him all grace and sweetne
ss, and his fine face wouldlight up with hope and pleasure. She would say honeyed nothings, butstudy him just as coolly in another aspect.
Thus she kept him hot and cold by turns--now lifting him to the pinnacleof hope, again casting him down into the valley of fear and doubt.What she wanted of him was just what she had not--feeling, intense,varied feeling, so that, while she remained ice, she could paint asif she felt; and with a gifted woman's tact, and with the power of oneloved almost to idolatry, she caused every chord of his soul, now inhappy harmony, now in painful discord, to vibrate under her skilfultouch. But such a life was very wearing, and he was failing under it.Moreover, he was robbing himself of sleep in the early morning, thathe might work on his picture in the loft of the store, for which heasked of poor Mr. Bruder nothing but ice.
Mrs. Bruder worried over him continually.
"You vork too hart. Vat shall we do for you? Oh, my fren, if you loveus do not vork so hart," she would often say. But Dennis would onlysmile and turn to her husband in his insatiable demand for paintedice. At last Mr. Bruder said, "Mr. Fleet, you can paint ice, as faras I see, as veil as myself."
Then Dennis turned around short and said, "Now I want warm rosy lightand foliage; give me studies in these."
"By de hammer of Thor, but you go to extremes."
"You shall know all some day," said Dennis, entering on his new taskswith increasing eagerness.
But day by day he grew thinner and paler. Even Christine's heartsometimes relented; for, absorbed as she was in her own work andinterests, she could not help noticing how sadly he differed from thevigorous youth who had lifted the heavy pictures for her but a fewshort weeks ago. But she quieted herself by the thought that he wasa better artistic subject, and that he would mend again when the coolweather came.
"Where shall we go for the two hot months?" asked her father the morningafter the Fourth.
"I have a plan to propose," replied Christine. "Suppose we go tohousekeeping."
"What!" said her father, dropping his knife and fork, and looking ather in astonishment. "Go to all the expense of furnishing a house,when we do not expect to stay here much more than a year? We shouldhardly be settled before we left it."
"Listen to me patiently till I finish, and then I will abide by yourdecision. But I think you will give me credit for having a slight turnfor business as well as art. You remember Mr. Jones's beautiful houseon the north side, do you not? It stands on ---- Street, well back,surrounded by a lawn and flowers. There is only one other house on theblock. Well, Mr. Jones is embarrassed, and his house is for sale. Frominquiry I am satisfied that a cash offer would obtain the propertycheaply. The furniture is good, and much of it elegant. What we do notwant--what will not accord with a tasteful refurnishing--can be sentto an auction-room. At comparatively slight expense, if you can spareMr. Fleet to help me during the time when business is dull, I can makethe house such a gem of artistic elegance that it will be notedthroughout the city, and next fall some rich snob, seeking to vaultsuddenly into social position, will give just what you are pleased toask. In the meantime we have a retired and delightful home.
"Moreover, father," she continued, touching him on his weak side, "itwill be a good preparation for the more difficult and important workof the same kind awaiting me in my own land."
"Humph!" said Mr. Ludolph, meditatively, "there is more method in yourmadness than I imagined. I will think of it, for it is too importanta step to be taken hastily."
Mr. Ludolph did think of it, and, after attending to pressing mattersin the store, went over to see the property. A few days afterward hecame up to dinner and threw the deed for it into his daughter's lap.She glanced it over, and her eyes grew luminous with delight andtriumph.
"See how comfortable and happy I will make you in return for thiskindness," she said.
"Oh, come," replied her father, laughing, "that is not the point. Thisis a speculation, and your business reputation is at stake."
"I will abide the test," she answered, with a significant nod.
Christine desired the change for several reasons. There was a room inthe house that would just suit her as a studio. She detested thepublicity of a hotel. The furnishing of an elegant house was a formof activity most pleasing to her energetic nature, and she felt a verystrong wish to try her skill in varied effect before her grand effortin the Ludolph Hall of the future.
But in addition to these motives was another, of which she did notspeak to her father. In the privacy of her own home she could pursuethat peculiar phase of art study in which she was absorbed. Her lifehad now become a most exciting one. She ever seemed on the point ofobtaining the power to portray the eloquence of passion, feeling, butthere was a subtile something that still eluded her. She saw it daily,and yet could not reproduce it. She seemed to get the features right,and yet they were dead, or else the emotion was so exaggerated as tosuggest weak sentimentality, and this of all things disgusted her.Every day she studied the expressive face of Dennis Fleet, themysterious power seemed nearer her grasp. Her effort was now gainingall the excitement of a chase. She saw before her just what she wanted,and it seemed that she had only to grasp her pencil or brush, and placethe fleeting expressions where they might always appeal to the sympathyof the beholder. Nearly all her studies now were the human face andform, mainly those of ladies, to disarm suspicion. Of course she tookno distinct likeness of Dennis. She sought only to paint what his faceexpressed. At times she seemed about to succeed, and excitement broughtcolor to her cheek and fire to her eye that made her dazzlinglybeautiful to poor Dennis. Then she would smile upon him in such abewitching, encouraging way that it was little wonder his face lightedup with all the glory of hope.
If once more she could have him about her as when rearranging thestore, and, without the restraint of curious eyes, could play upon hisheart, then pass at once to her easel with the vivid impression ofwhat she saw, she might catch the coveted power, and become able toportray, as if she felt, that which is the inspiration of all thehighest forms of art--feeling.
That evening, Dennis, at Mr. Ludolph's request, came to the hotel totry some new music. During the evening Mr. Ludolph was called out fora little time. Availing himself of the opportunity, Dennis said, "Youseem to be working with all your old zest and hope."
"Yes," she said, "with greater hope than ever before."
"Won't you show me something that you are doing?"
"No, not yet. I am determined that when you see work of mine again thefatal defect which you pointed out shall be absent."
His eyes and face became eloquent with the hope she inspired. Was herheart, awakening from its long winter of doubt and indifference,teaching her to paint? Had she recognized the truth of his assurancethat she must feel, and then she could portray feeling? and had sheread in his face and manner that which had created a kindred impulsein her heart? He was about to speak, the ice of his reserve and prudencefast melting under what seemed good evidence that her smiles andkindness might be interpreted in accordance with his longings. She sawand anticipated.
"With all your cleverness, Mr. Fleet, I may prove you at fault, andbecome able to portray what I do not feel or believe."
"You mean to say that you work from your old standpoint merely?" askedDennis, feeling as if a sunny sky had suddenly darkened.
"I do not say that at all, but that I do not work from yours."
"And yet you hope to succeed?" "I think I am succeeding."
Perplexity and disappointment were plainly written on his face. She,with a merry and half-malicious laugh, turned to the piano, and sung:
From Mount Olympus' snowy height The gods look down on human life: Beneath contending armies fight; All undisturbed they watch the strife.
Dennis looked at her earnestly, and after a moment said, "Will youplease play that accompaniment again?"
She complied, and he sang:
Your Mount Olympus' icy peak Is barren waste, by cold winds swept: Another height I gladly see, Where Go
d o'er human sorrow wept.
She turned a startled and almost wistful face to him, for he had givena very unexpected answer to her cold, selfish philosophy, which wasso apt and sudden as to seem almost inspired.
"Do you refer to Christ's weeping over Jerusalem?" she asked.
"Yes."
She sat for a little time silent and thoughtful, and Dennis watchedher keenly. Suddenly her brow darkened, and she said, bitterly:"Delusion! If He had been a God He would not have idly wept over sorrow.He would have banished it."
Dennis was about to reply eagerly, when Mr. Ludolph entered, and musicwas resumed. But it was evident that Dennis's lines had disturbed thefair sceptic's equanimity.
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