WADE AND UNMADE.

Dominion, Volume 1, Issue 57, 30 November 1907, Page 14

WADE AND UNMADE.

It was occasionally the habit of Humphrey; Blyth to. sweep,;shadowy ideals and notions, which, owing to .overwork refused to 'crysta-, lise, from his brain, and to quit his small' London studio, in order that he might wander wherever his fancy chose to'lead. , ", .-, , • At such times his painting paraphernalia' was strapped to, l/is .wide shoulders, .his bluo oyes wo'ro; watchful, and a boyish! sensation of adventure in tlio;>air made his step, light, and free. v.. '•'•".". • Y Ho seldom returned unrewarded. ' For a week past now something had been whispering to him of ragged mountain peaks silhouetted against a sulky sky, of purplo heather patches liko honourable unhealed wounds on tho breasts of green hills, of brown streams which leapt laughing from boulder to boulder,- of dripping dells smelling deliciously damp, and ferns that clothed the dead arms of giant oaks'. The twhispers grew louder—each London morning they teased him, each suffocating: London night they accompanied him to his unrestful bed. "Overwork," he said ,to himself,; work and brain-fag." And 110 let them hayo thoir way. Ho dived straight into the green wild heart of Wales, and.proceeded to tramp up hill iind down dale in eager quest of the inspiration which was. to mako his ..holiday more valuable to him than months of . workaday life. ■. And behold ono morning lie fell into it' (if> one can fall into an inspiration) almost literally, though it was. not a trout pool or a gurgling brook, but just a maiden pale as the Jilymaid of Astolat, lying on the kind wide bosom of a hillock. " . He emerged suddenly from'one of'thoso dark, abrupt little woods in which the country abounds, and started back because;for one eighth of a second 110 feared lie had come face to face with a tragedy. - Breathing rather fast ho bent down; his hand to his brow. Heaven be thanked,, there was a faint tiugo of colour in her,checks,.and her bosom i-oso and fell. This ivas'not death, but death's'twin brother, sleep. . V _ The next moment Humphrey was rapidly loosening the straps at his shoulders and releasing the accessories of his profession: Tlie sleeping girl stretched herself and fsighed. . All! she was r 'going to wake —shei would .be ■ frightened or angry or both. No; the sign she had given was but an earnest of, deeper slum-; bers to come. She turned her head a littje, nestled her facp,-till a frond-of, fern , brushed her forehead,,-arid slept sounder thari-before.\ Had she chosen"her" perhaps she had not chosen it, it was all and more than all the soul of artist could desire. Blyth, in his Paris student days, had. always been considered the quickest jvorker, in the ateliers. This gift stood him in excellent stead now. The irregularity of the whole thing appealed to his Bohemian instincts —the .romance pleased the poet which is always enshrined in or enshrines the artist. In a quarter of an hour of silent passionate work ho had the picture roughly, but accurately before him. The outline of the blue zephyr frock open at the throat, the floating, pale hair mingled with bracken, the almost perfect arm; thrown above the head, the full, slightly-parted lips —everything was absolutely faithful to the unconscious model. , , ... , For a moment lie waited, then a warm thrilling impulse seized him,' he stole to her side and dropped a kiss, a small, light kiss;' on her lips. It was a risky, silly," mediaeval thing to do, but he did it, and .its memory •'lived-, with him for ever. / Then, to strap his "accessories, he stol4'Kw'ay. ' ' She must not Wake and" make poetry .into prose—angry prose, too, probably ! or stolen waters—sweet. ;noiv ,beyond compareT-bitter. He walked swiffly 'away,' putting a coiiple of miles between himself-arid the sleeper, and then he sat down upon a boulder,and washed into his sketch the proper tints, lest .their ex-, cellences should dim in his mind with the passing of time. He Bad only one regret as he laid himself | down that night in a lonely, hard,,-Welsli.bed., "Her eyes," he said to himself "shouldxbo' grey—a very soft, rather sad,' grey." . Upon which he sank into, a .wonder-world of dreams, and found them —brown! The world rolled unemotionally on, and timo rolled with it. V To some the inexorable passing of days brought success—to somo failure. In .tile latter category was Humphrey Blyth. A more wholesale failure was his, inasmuch as he had touched tho pinnacle of fame —and fallen -headlong. "My Lady Slumbers" had taken London by storm. Tho lianging committee of Burlington House had sealed it with./a sign of their best favour: It' had been "talked about, also written about, and always favourably. A legion of would-be >purchasers'had besieged Humphrey—some' witli very' tomptin<* offers. ;■ ' But the picture was to liim as a child of' his flesh. Ho refused to sell". /Etiquette," so he told "-himself, among other things,'forbade him.''. EoY was not "My Lady 'Slumbers" ii portrait— and ' who' was he that, ho should uisposo of portraits except to the'originals'' thereof? s£>e'.-5-..: . . ..> : • So he refused to sell. And the picture becamo his companion—his confidante, yes,' and something -something: which, -would have made its ronioval from his walls.'the tearing asunder of joints, arid siffiws. 0 'He hugged to himself tho fancy that he alone of all men had kissed those lips—just he and no one else. Tho picture had made his name, he felt, and the works which 110 had disposed of with difficulty aforetime, should bo, with ("My Lady Slumbers" as the dividing line, but "stepping stones of their dead selves to higher things." , . So artist proposes, ana so, alas, Destiny' disposes! Destiny this time came in the shapo of a' desperate fire in a small fashionable hotel, just opposite to Humphrey's quarters. It camo one night just' as he was about to' seek the rest 110 badly wanted. It came with shouts, tho gurgling of bolls, and tho crackling of timber. Humphrey rushed out. "No one inside now —all warned in time," a .flustered policeman told him as ho pushed ! through the throng. .' : * .' ';V ' Arid then, ovfcn as ho spoke. Destiny thrust' forward an arm and gave tho lie to the police, man's words. At a window oil tho secc.nd floor appeared tho slight form r.f, : <i' gi'l,Smoke cringed tho aperture, showing but her outline, and then engulfed hor again; but tho "Oh! God save mo!" was clear enough. Firemen wore working like men distraught at another wing, but someone retrieved a ladder from somewhere—it just reached to tho window-sill. The idea' of a rescue looked remote and ugly—more.ugly than can bo conceived by narrative. No ono stirred. Then, as one possessed, did Humphrey Blyth saw his way through tlio gaping, praying. cursing mob. . "Damp a blanket!" he shrieked to the win-' dow, without aiiy hope of being heard or obeyed, and ..wrap it round your head—l'm coming!" And come he did. The distanco was short, but the-flames wcro long, and tho. smoke, n subtler torturer than tho flames. > _ But Humphrey had the tomporament .which rises wholesale and exulting to greet sharp emergencies. How 110 carried that muffled, swooning figure into safety ho never knew. In calih aftermoments lie oven doubted that ho carried it at all, for directly ho was humbly; dw'aro that no moro effort was needed, he sank .thankfully into an abyss of painless darkness.' Ho camo to hinftelf in what ho hopefully believed to be a few' minutes. It was in reality two days. His first acuto r perception was that he consisted of a weary brain and two lead-heavy, throbbing hands. It was somo time before his second acute perception took tangiblo form, and then all existence seemed to rise up and smite him a mighty blow from, .which.Jie .had not. oven the energy to wish he might recover.

• For all -practical purposes—if tlioy escaped amputation SvliibK, was grievously doubtful— those hands of his would be thenceforth entirely useless. . 2 '.'My 'Lady.'Slumbers," qind ono or two little studies that had commanded no sale, woro nil" that- remained to liim of tho Art that had- been'. 1 ' The .riurso, who' broke tho, news (Humphrey had been unceremoniously • nmbulanccd to tlib'nearest; hospital) cried as sho. did so. ' Humphrey; did : )Vot cry—hq sworo ■nt her softly, for ;her. tears. . : . But'she'know men, and'had seen despair before, }so she'gave i him a stimulant, and had li'er cry, out later on, in her own cubiclo. On oho point ho.was passionately obstinato. Tho girl ho had saved—no power 011 earth should induce him. to inept her. She called daily. Sho rained flowers and grapes and' benedictions upon him, she brought perpetual 'and scented notes —which ho would not'read.' : : Tho nurse interceded for her. "She's American: you'd like her, and she's heart-broken about it all," she said. Humphrey'grunted .and turned his face —like the king of old—to tho wall. "And,, again, sho sails for New, York to-morrowr--mayn't I admit-her. to-day?" . But ho was very weak. Tho pettishness of ill-health enfolded him. ; "Slio'b spoilt my life," lie cried —"sho and her cursed vanity" .(rumours had come to him that the rescuod girl had run back at the last,'moment for her'diamonds) "and I'll'never willingly set eyes 011 her —I swear it. Let her. go back, and good riddance!" And alio went. • a Another year swelled tho mighty total of timo. Humphrey had moved to a flat —a tiny, tiny flat, very ' cheap and high up. He was well, now, but his hands, always carefully gloved, were'only by. courtesy called by tho namo. Ho could feed himself and even ...dress himself Jby--resorting' to strange devices, and that was the. limit. : How to exist in a world already stocked by able-handed men,'it was n piteous problem. From: his mother, ho. had inherited a small sum, but. the sum was gradually ■dwindling towards vanishing point. So in tho tiny flat he sat .and "smoked and thought. And over tho mantelpiece "My : Lady" sjumbered ..stillsho. was tho one luxiiry:.left him how —the oiio link between the labourlcss present and the softly-tinted past. 1 . "Open your eyes, sweetheart, and toll me what to do I" lie said one day suddenly .aloud,, stretching toward tho. picture his deformed ' hands. "I. want advice —and oh I Heaven,' I want you!" • And-'then despair caught 'him up'and twisted him in its relentless , arms this way and that. ■ He thought' of.something which l)is..father. (a ~war, correspondent in. his day) had carried through many a, campaign— something small and neat, which, lay upstairs in the drawer ; but its voice, ; long silent, might .still speak,,sleep and peace.' "I helioye'it's' the only..way," ho said, debating with himself, "tho only way." That evening the depressing woman who came in to "do"'for him announced, "a gentleman to see you," and departed sighing. Enter,.tho'.gontlemrfn breezily through tho sigh! -. . gentleman was energetic" and transatlantic. .'- .He'd /( seen.."My Lady. >Slumbers" in last year's it.. was . dam bully," and in short coveted it .with all tho persistency; with ■which' transatlantic gentlemen, to whom money is no object, can covet things. "That girl's; a peach, sir," said ho, "and I just yearn to see-h.or in my little parlour— way. out in Massachusetts^" .Everything grateS'o'n Humphrey Blyth now-a-days—this man' gi'ated more than mo»t things. . "The picture is not for saloj", said he with grim British „obstinacy'.r.fr.. • . r (. "Not for sale? .'Why you dew sur-rpriso me—soo 'here, wo. "won't haggle' about tho figure—ser-ppose— "■ ••-■■ Humphrey -rose;;. Ho was huhgry arid angry. , .He.would ser-pposo nothing. . In tho end ho was exceedingly rudo to the transatlantic - gentleman, who eventually went' aw'ay; bargaining to the last. "I shall send my-daughter," said lie, as a final-threat, "she'd talk tho hind leg off an alligator." v did* ijqt kl'oubt it, and said so. Ho dreiVan uncomplimentary picture of the, daughter, and told.: the dopressed woman who '/'did" for him to admit no ono of her own sex on any pretext whatever. . But, after all," the who "did" for him had run out in a macintosh to watch a funeral at tho psychological moment, and "Humphrey was obliged to discover the raison d'etre /of a ring. 1 : ! Ho stood .in tho hall ivith a hand on the door, the daughtor who could "talk tho hind leg off an alligator" stood on tho stops, and tho flush 011 Tier cheek was as small and delioato as it hadi'been sho slept unknowing on tho. breast of the mountain. She wore blue', too —Humphrey noted it as one notices things, in a dream, and her eyes wore grey—soft feager .grey.. . 1 ""I'knew'you must come some timo," he said, stretching out botli his maimed hands to her. A notion that much brooding and many sleepless nights had created her warred 'with an" idea that she' had been sent by Pro•videnco to av'ertr-the inevitable. Then somehow thoy'werb'upstairs and. in his room, arid alio was on her knees; crying as though her. heart would .break. ' . "I've—Oh ! :Miv Blyth—to think I've seen you . at. last. .i. And L felt, overy kind of a hypocrite when Pops told mo to come round arid coax you •to ; s6ll-that, picture. . . . You wouldn't see mo before, and I didn't know why you should want to see mo now." : "Wouldn't see you before?" ho echo dazedly. ....... "At the hospital,'' she said, raising her head. "Don't you' understand?" - ' "You?" I 'lio."began, and then stopped. "You—?" "Oh I Mr. Blyth, I'm your ovil genius. I inspired your' greatest work, they tell me, and I've taken away , your power of doing any-more. . Fate's a queer thing, isn't it?"" . "But you?" he repeated again, feeling for words which Were but foolish" when they came: "Why should you sleep on a mountain?" , She., smiled sadly, and laid her hand timidly :bn .his arm.'; >. ,','Wliy..shouldn't I?" sho said. "Pops had dragged me twenty mortal miles over your Welsh. hills—ho sprints liko a CanadianPacific locomotive when he's in tho mood — and I was just dono for. Next spring ho saw the picture and knew it in a minute, but he had a big deal on at home and was obliged to run back; and. whilo he was away, tho —tho fire came, arid then you just loathed mo and I'm not surprised." Sho was crying agiiinV-crying bitterly. "And now I_ know you ro'proud, and I honour you for it, and I know.you won't touch our 'infernal dollars' as 1 heard you call them to tho nurse 0110 day,. but will you soli—it —that picture—for any prico you liko to ask?" ; '. , Ho "laughed: still this sconiod to him a dolioious dream. '; ' •. "My price is a big one?" ho said. "Yes—yes—?", ... | "A very big ono." . 1 "But what?" . "It ,is tho, animate, for tho inanimate: if I give up 'My Lady Slumbering,' I must liavo |My Lady 'Waking.' 1. am mad to say this, of course— ; only.wo'ro not strangers; but I am a pauper—arid you—' "I'd bo worse than a pauper," said sho, "if- you .hadri't' said it. Just becauso I'd have lost everything worth having in my life." . Then Huriiphrey, ; still (as ho deemed it) an irresponsible figuro in a glorious vision, kissed her. Everything was so amazing, • that it couldn't matter what he did—besides, in dreams nothing matters. "Do you know I've never been kissed before?" she whispered: "I'm so glad." Then lib awoke.' And ho had just reason enough loft to contradjet. her statement, and to seal tho contradiction, when tho woman wbo "did for him" returned sniffling. Sho took the tinmistakablo atmosphere of joy which met her on the threshold -as a personal affront.— Chris Sewel], in "M,A,P.