CHAPTER XXX
"THE LADY PORTRAYED"
"It has taken you long, Miss Gray. I nearly sent Simpson up, to findout what had happened."
"I am glad you did not do that, Mr. Dalmain. Simpson would have foundme weeping on the studio floor; and to ask his assistance under thosecircumstances, would have been more humbling than inquiring after thefly in the soup!"
Garth turned quickly in his chair. The artist-ear had caught the tonewhich meant comprehension of his work.
"Weeping!" he said. "Why?"
"Because," answered Nurse Rosemary, "I have been entranced. Thesepictures are so exquisite. They stir one's deepest depths. And yet theyare 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 haveblazed, had it not been sightless.
"A WHAT?" he exclaimed.
"A plain woman," repeated Nurse Rosemary, quietly. "Surely you realisedyour model to be that. And therein lies the wonder of the pictures. Youhave so beautified her by wifehood, and glorified her by motherhood,that the longer one looks the more one forgets her plainness; seeingher as loving and loved; lovable, and therefore lovely. It is a triumphof 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 herplain face."
"I SAW her soul," said Garth, almost in a whisper; "and that vision wasso radiant that it illumined my dark life. The remembrance lightens mydarkness, 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 tomake of you. I want to beg you not to destroy these pictures."
Garth lifted his head. "I must destroy them, child," he said. "I cannotrisk their being seen by people who would recognise my--the--the ladyportrayed."
"At all events, there is one person who must see them, before they aredestroyed."
"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 in the tone of quiet insistence struck Garth.
"Why?" he asked; and listened with interest for the answer.
"Because of all it would mean to a woman who knows herself plain, tosee herself thus beautified."
Garth sat very still for a few moments. Then: "A womanwho--knows--herself--plain?" he repeated, with interrogative amazementin his voice.
"Yes," proceeded Nurse Rosemary, encouraged. "Do you suppose, for amoment, that that lady's mirror has ever shown her a reflection in anyway approaching what you have made her in these pictures? When we standbefore our looking-glasses, Mr. Dalmain, scowling anxiously at hats andbows, and partings, we usually look our very worst; and that lady, ather very worst, would be of a most discouraging plainness."
Garth sat perfectly silent.
"Depend upon it," continued Nurse Rosemary, "she never sees herself as'The Wife'--'The Mother.' Is she a wife?".
Garth hesitated only the fraction of a second. "Yes," he said, veryquietly.
Jane's hands flew to her breast. Her heart must be held down, or hewould hear it throbbing.
Nurse Rosemary's voice had in it only a slight tremor, when she spokeagain.
"Is she a mother?"
"No," said Garth. "I painted what might have been."
"If--?"
"If it HAD been," replied Garth, curtly.
Nurse Rosemary felt rebuked. "Dear Mr. Dalmain," she said, humbly; "Irealise how officious I must seem to you, with all these questions, andsuggestions. But you must blame the hold these wonderful paintings ofyours have taken on my mind. Oh, they are beautiful--beautiful!"
"Ah," said Garth, the keen pleasure of the artist springing up oncemore. "Miss Gray, I have somewhat forgotten them. Have you them here?That is right. Put them up before you, and describe them to me. Let mehear how they struck you, as pictures." Jane rose, and went to thewindow. She threw it open; and as she breathed in the fresh air,breathed out a passionate prayer that her nerve, her voice, herself-control might not fail her, in this critical hour. She herself hadbeen convicted by Garth's pictures. Now she must convince Garth, by herdescription of them. He must be made to believe in the love he haddepicted.
Then Nurse Rosemary sat down; and, in the gentle, unemotional voice,which was quite her own, described to the eager ears of the blindartist, exactly what Jane had seen in the studio.
It was perfectly done. It was mercilessly done. All the desperate,hopeless, hunger for Jane, awoke in Garth; the maddening knowledge thatshe had been his, and yet not his; that, had he pressed for her answerthat evening, it could not have been a refusal; that the coldcalculations of later hours, had no place in those moments of ecstasy.Yet--he lost her--lost her! Why? Ah, why? Was there any possible reasonother than the one she gave?
Nurse Rosemary's quiet voice went on, regardless of his writhings. Butshe was drawing to a close. "And it is such a beautiful crimsonrambler, Mr. Dalmain," she said. "I like the idea of its being smalland in bud, in the first picture; and blooming in full glory, in thesecond."
Garth pulled himself together and smiled. He must not give way beforethis girl.
"Yes," he said; "I am glad you noticed that. And, look here. We willnot destroy them at once. Now they are found, there is no hurry. I amafraid I am giving you a lot of trouble; but will you ask for somelarge sheets of brown paper, and make a package, and write upon it:'Not to be opened,' and tell Margery to put them back in the studio.Then, when I want them, at any time, I shall have no difficulty inidentifying them."
"I am so glad," said Nurse Rosemary. "Then perhaps the plain lady--"
"I cannot have her spoken of so," said Garth, hotly. "I do not knowwhat she thought of herself--I doubt if she ever gave a thought to selfat all. I do not know what you would have thought of her. I can onlytell you that, to me, hers is the one face which is visible in mydarkness. All the loveliness I have painted, all the beauty I haveadmired, fades from my mental vision, as wreaths of mist; flutters frommemory's sight, as autumn leaves. Her face alone abides; calm, holy,tender, beautiful,--it is always before me. And it pains me that onewho has only seen her as MY hand depicted her should speak of her asplain."
"Forgive me," said Nurse Rosemary, humbly. "I did not mean to pain you,sir. And, to show you what your pictures have done for me, may I tellyou a resolution I made in the studio? I cannot miss what theydepict--the sweetest joys of life--for want of the courage to confessmyself wrong; pocket my pride; and be frank and humble. I am going towrite a full confession to my young man, as to my share of themisunderstanding which has parted us. Do you think he will understand?Do you think he will forgive?"
Garth smiled. He tried to call up an image of a pretty troubled face,framed in a fluffy setting of soft fair hair. It harmonised so littlewith the voice; but it undoubtedly was Nurse Rosemary Gray, as otherssaw her.
"He will be a brute if he doesn't, child," he said.
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