CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW FRIENDSHIP.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 232, 10 December 1887, Page 11

CHAPTER VIII. THE NEW FRIENDSHIP.

Of a sudden all this was changed ; for the next morning the wind was blowing freshly from the west j and the world was ablaze with colour— rich and glowing and keen ; and from that moment forward every day as it went by was tilled to overflowing with brisk work, and 1 ©creation quite as brisk. When he had done r. sufficient quantity of the former, he fell upon the latter with might and main, and flogged those surging rapids of the Shannon with a persistency and skill that won even the approval of Johnnie Ryan. And the evenings were given over now to the glorification of friendship. That was to be the future happiness. He would go back to London cured of the cruel madness of love ; and ask that beautitul, high-gifted creature to give him of her companionship, as far as that might be possible. He would prove the faith that was in him tco. Others might try to woo and win her ; he would bo her friend, no matter what befell. He had heard of such things ; and the situation might be fine in its way. And so he woi ked hard, and fished hard, and bade himself be of good cheer : he had banished the morbid love-sickness by main force ; Sabina was to be his friend. There came a large envelope containing a couple of cards for the private view of the Royal Academy. A week or two previous he had received the honour of an invitation to bo present at the banquet ; this was an additional compliment ; and highly pleased was he with both. But of course, his first thought was of Sabina, and as he guessed that old Mr Wygram would as usual have received a similar couple of tickets (this was a friendly act on the part of the Academy towards one who was not now so prosperous as pneo he had been) and as lie knew that Mrs Wypram and Janie invariably made use of these, he at once telegraphed to Miss Janie that he had a card for Miss Zembra, if she cared to go, and also bogging her to fix the engagement. That meant, naturally, that ne should escort the three ladies to Burlington House, and show them round the rooms. Bub it was all in the way of friendship. Next morning he said casually to the Lass of Limerick :— •• Nora, what do you think now would be a nice present for a young lady ? ' "Sure a sweetheart mightn't) be amiss, sir," said Nora demurely, as she was putting the eggs on the table. •' Ah, you're too facetious, Nora, alannab, for one of your tender years. How about a

salmon, now? What> if I wero to send the 3'oting lady a salmon ?" " She'd be mighty plased, sir, I suppose," j said Nora,- as she* was heaping gome more fcurf on- the fire. "But the fish oraghfe to be of my own catching:— don't yo& chink ao?" " And maybe it's Biorself you'd rather be aftfaer, sir, begging- your pardon," said Nonty darting a- gTaaxse at him from the door. "Nora>" said he gravely, "'is fclvat the fashion they have of talking in. Limerick ?" "It's the fashion- they talk all over fche wurruld, »ii> when, a young gentleman spakes about a young- lady in tneufe way — ■ and that's the truth, sir," said Nora, as she smiled maliciously and disappeared into the passage. He was not- to be deterred by the sarcasm of the Pride of Kildare (another of her names by the way). This waa a< happy inspiration that he should send a. salmon to Sabina, He did not stay to- ask himself what she could do- with it. Why, it was the right and privilege of every sportbman to make a prebenfc. of game- — salmon, or venison, or grouse, or whatever it mighi be — to whomsoever he chose, even to- a stranger. Sabina would have the compliment ; the Wyerams would have the fish. And surely this noble river, that he bad made friends with, that he had goiuc to know so well, that he had formed so great an aflection for, would yield him iv worthy prize ? Anyhow, his coloura, and block, and camp-stool, and sketching - umbrella were all left unheeded in a ©ornuv ; aud he was busy with minnows and prawns and "Jock Sc"otfcfe" and "Blue Doctors;" and forthwith he was on his way down to the coble with Johnnie Ryan and his mate. And what a day this was- for idleness, whether afloat or ashore ! The spi Inst seemed to have come upon, felbem f?ith a bound. The lilac and silver-white- April skies were tilled with blowing clouds j, and now there were dazzling floods of light,, and again the gloom of a passing shower ;. the yellow gor.se burned hob in ihe sun \. there were blush-tinted anemones iv the- leafless woods, primroses everywhere, aud shy violets ; the swallows were skimming, and dipping, and twittering. A robin sang loud and fiom the topmost twig, of a hawthorn hush. And then the splendid river, changing with every mood of the &ky ; at times sullen and dark under th.©- heavy rain-clouds ; and then again, when these had passed and the heavens were bountifully flooding the world with light, this great mass ot water became a mighty highw ay of flashing, vhid, in tense cobalt blue, lying between these soft gi-een meadows- and that high bank crowned with its golden furze. "We ought to got a* fish to-day, Johnnie," he said, as lie was flogging away at the water. " Bedad, and it's moic than one we'll have before going home this night, your honour," was Johnnies confident answer. Moreover, the prophecy came true, for that evening as they went home through the dusk, the men had three very nice fish to carry, one of them weighing twentyeight pounds ; and it was the twenty eight pounder, of couioe, that was to go to Kensington Square. A twenty-eight pound salmon ; a ticket for the p,i\ate view of the Academy ;_ a water-colour drawing of a rose-grey evening over the beautiful river ; these were the gifts he now had for Sabina ; but they were not to show her that he was continually thinking of her ; they were not to beg for her fjuour in any way ; they were merely to cement the now friendship. All the same, ho began to wonder why Janie had nob written. lie watched the posts. He tormented himself with doubts. Perhaps ho had been too bold. Perhaps Sabina was ill. To think of her— while here he was in this blowing- April weather, with the spring flowerscarpetingrthewoodandtheweslwincift. redolent of the full-blossomed gorse, and the great liver shining back the deep bine of the young year's skies— to think of her as perchance in a dull room in that grey Kensington Square, lying pale and wan, ifc might be, with white fingers limp on the coverlet 1 Why was he not in London, that he might go straight to Janie and ask ? If Sabina wore ill, however slightly, small messages from the outside world might vary the monotony of the sick room— flowers and fruit, and books, and an occasional word of remembrance and sympathy— those could do no harm. Then again he would argue himself out of this fear. Sabina was very busy. Janie, too, had many things to look after. Perhaps she was waiting to see whether Sabina could definitely fix about the private view. Nevertheless, lie came downstairs early in the morning lest there should be an envelope waiting for him on the breakfast table. And sometimes he would leave the fishing just as the evening looked most promising and wander back to the inn, hoping for an answer from Kensington Square. But all anxiety, and needless alarm, and torturing speculation had nothing to do with love or lovo-sickness ; it was but part of newly established friendship. Nora was a good-hearted lass, and shrewd withal ; and she had got to suspect that MiLindsay was troubling himself about the non-arrival of a letter; so that one day, when the afternoon post brought a little batch of correspondence for him, sho straightway sought out a small, shockheaded boy, and sent him down with the parcel to the boat. The letter from Janie had come at last, and eagerly enough ib was opened. She apologised for not having answered sooner, but said she had been extremely busy. The young gentleman who had met with the accident had left Lancaster Gate; following that, Sabina had many arrears of her own particular work to attack, and Janie had been helping her. And as he read on, remorse of conscience struck him. •It appeared that his letter had very much distressed this tender soul. Any charge, however slight or remote, against her beloved Sabie, was a cause of deep concern to her, and she had got ifc into her head that Mr Lindsay was rather hinting that Sabina was impervious to the claims of friendship ; and she considered this to be most especially ungrateful on his part. "Don't think me impertinent, dear Mr Lindsay," she wrote, " but really I cannot help asking what you would like more. You write as if you and Sabie were strangers ; that you were coming back to beg for a little friendship from her ; and that is all you have to say in roturn for the way she treated you that night at your house ! Why, she just devoted herself to you the whole evening ; and had scarcely a word or look for anyone else— so much so that ifc was remarked ; and was as kind to you as an unmarried girl could be. I think you want a little too much, if 1 must speak my mind. If you think that Sabie is not already your friend I can only say that you are very ■much mistaken \ and friendship with Sabie means something. And she is very much interested in your work, as I know ; and when I told her where you were, among such beautiful things — well, I confess I was mean enough to say it was lucky for some folk that they could go away and live among green fields and spring flowers and woods and all that, for we were walking through a horrid little lane over in Bafctersea— she was quite sharp with me, and said it was a very good thing some people could go away and ring us back reports how beautiful the

moment, if trouble came. To me, Sabina (I may call her this in confidence, and you will burn this letter) will always bo beautiful, even when ■ her eye 3 have lost that lustre that at present is jusfc a littlo too bewildering for some unhappy mortals. You have helped me to understand what this is ; and tho friendship of such a splendid creature would mean more to me than I can well tell you. I suppose nothing else is possible. You say so ; and you ought to know. At the same time, lam aware that you don't wish her to marry anybody ; and that, if it were a matter of advice, that is the advice you would give hor. Now, let me warn you, dear Miss Janio, that you have not been very much of the world ; and that to give advice in such a serious matter, to anyone, involves a gravo responsibility. It is all very well just now. Sabina is young and vigorous, self confident in bho audacity of her health and good spirits, and happy enough in shedding tho bounty of her generous disposition upon all comers. But it cannot be always so. She cannot bo always so. She might want a helping hand ; she is away fiom her family; sickness might overtake her ; she might get robbed of her good looks— which are an easy passport just now to everybody's favour. In any case, she must inevitably grow old. Is it wise to ask such a woman to face the coming years alone ? You know better than anyone how sensitive she is, though she pictends not to be ; how eager &ho u that people should like her ; how &ho seems to crave for sympathy and affection. Well, I'm not going to rave about her any more, for you would think it was all special pleading ; but you just be careful, dear Miss Janie, not to do any mischief whore tho life-long interests of your host and dearest friend are concerned. If she will go that way, it is well. Each human being has his or her own ideal, I suppose. And anyhow, I'm going to try to banish all thib mystification and glamour out of my head ; and when I come back to London," I hope to be able to understand what Sabina leally is— and no doubt she is a groat deal finer than any of my imaginings about her ; and you will help us to become good, true friends, and somakeasabihfactoiyendofthewholonmttor. And I'm going to send your mother a salmon, as •boon as I catch one." It was a very sensible letter, to bo written by a man whoso brains had got so thoroughly bewildered ; and no doubt at the moment ho believed every word he had written. But as he sat there later on, staring into tho fire, perhaps some other Ai-=ions may have arisen before him— only it is not necessary they should be put down here.

one in fact. His Wigtonshir© patrimony had relieved him from the necessity dk labouring for the market ; and his reputation, which Was distinct and marked, prevailed chiefly among artists themselves, who were wont to become very enthusiastic indeed about Walter Lindsays drawings. Of course? there were those who deciied his method, and called him an Impressionist, and tho like. And ho was an Impressionist of a kind ; but his impressionism was of the higher order that refuses to deal with thnt which is unnecossary, not the Impressionism which is chiefly marked by & clever avoidance of difficulties. He began by being a realist of the severest type; for years ho had laboured, in Switzerland, in Sweden, in Holland, at patient and faithful studies of rocks, and foliage, and water, and sky ; but gradually he had emancipated himself ; Nature was no longer his master aucl tyrant ; he chose for himself ; he left undone what he did not think worth doing, but what he did do was done with tho reverence born of knowledge. Nature was his friend and companion, if no longer his master ; and hitherto he had been Avel l content to wander away by him&elf into any kind of solitude, working bomotimes, idling sometimes, but always more or less uu consciously studying. And if ho uas not scrupulous about detail, where he did put in detail it was right ; ho was none the worse a painter than he was also a skilled geologist, and that his herbarium was of his own collection, and bore record of many a toilsome pilgrimage. And now he began to pick up his courage again, for the effect proved lasting, and he was getting on. The beautiful ethereal rose-greys still dwelt in the higher heavens : the leafless trees grew even warmer in their purple, and the gome bushes burned gold in the pallid shadow of the bank. He glanced at Johnnie Ryan from time to time, for Johnnie was fighting a salmon further down the stream, and he wanted to see tho end of that struggle. And then he wondered whether Saijina would care for a bit of a sketch. It was not of the chromo-lithographic kind ; it was not striking ; moreover, a good deal of compromise was necessary even with what was before him. But lie thought he could make something out of it ultimately— a tender kind of a thing ; not strong in colour, perhaps ; rathoi ethereal and delicate, but if possible luminous and fine. He hoped Sabina would like it. Would she understood the reticence of it ? Would she understand what had made him hold his hand somewhat? Of course, he could do the other thing if he chose. But it was

world was, and give us pictures of it that we could look at again and again with delight, in the middle of all our troubles and worry. Yes, and &he met the President of the Academy at somobody's house- the orher evening, and he was saying very nice things about you, and she camo home and repeated every ono of them, and was very much pleased about it, and said how fine a thing it must be for one in your position to have such a career before him, and to have won such esteem already from your own brothers in ai t. But that isn't friendship — oh, no ! That is the carelessness of a stranger. However, lam not going to scold any more, for I don't know that .there was not some make-believe in your letter. Only it does seem hard on 'Sabie. I suppose you don't know how kind &ho was to you thab evening? Or how much attention do you expect, if 1 may ■speak frankly? I wondered that none of the other gentlemen wore jealous of the v/ay she devoted hoi self to you, both during supper and in the studio ; but I suppose they find girls like Miss Sadleir and Tottie Morrison more atti'aclivc. Well, they're welcome, so long as they leave me my Sabic She I old me you had offered her that beautiful old wine-cup, and she thougH it was very kind of you; but of course it would bo no use to her. Besides, you could nob expect her to accept so valuable a gift. Mother, who has very sharp eyts, says that something else happened just about this; Lime. Do you know ? Of course, I would not ask Sabie for worlds. But did it happen ? That was not friendship, anyway? And yet you seem to think that Sibic is not kind to you."' He took her scolding manfully, and only wished for more. For it was grateful to him to lme it so hotly argued and proved, by oae who ought to kuow, that Sabina held him in some little regard ; and the references to that evening- in the studio recalled an abundance of happiness, and ho liked to be told thai Sabina had shown him so much favour. Ho read the scolding over and over again, aid did not care whethi rhe merited it or not ; it was allabout Sabina, and thab was sufficient. But thab chance remaik about the lane in Battersea gave him a twinge of conscience. lie could see the two girls trudging through those squalid thoroughfares, on their errands of kindness and help, the air fa-tid around them, the .skies hidden away from them. While as for him, look at his surroundings at this moment ! The afternoon happened to be strangely still and peaceful — it wa» like an evening in summer. On the higher meadows lay a soft and mellow radiance, streaming over from the west ; but down hcie the wide stream was in shadow ; and odd enough was the contrast between the turmoil of the water — with its sharp and sudden gleams of blue black and silver-grey — and that peiccful golden landscape, and the pale cloudless over-arching sky. Here and there a bird was singing ; and ever cheie wao the lulling ra^h of the river, a muiniur filling the still evening air. And then lie thought of Battersea, and of Sabina ; and of her generous defence of him ; and all he could buy for himself was this — that if any of his transcripts of the^e pjace ful and beautiful scenes on the Shannon had a trace of iutore-b in her eyes, or could make a dull corner of th n . house in Kensington Squrac ono whit the blighter, she was welcome to her choice of them or to all of them put together. There w.i^ luilhcr good ne.vs for him in the postscript. "About the private \iew of the Academy/ MUs Wygram wrote, " Sabiesays 1 am to thank you very much for remembering her, and she will be erlad to go with us, if nothing unusual should happen." Now here was a notable thing ; for though he was neither Academician nor Associate, he would bo in a certain sense Sabina's ho t o>i thi-> occasion, and responsible for her boin rt ' pleaded and entertained. And what, could he do ? Was there no special favour he could obtain for her? Numbers of both Academicians and Associates were amongst his most intimate fiiends ; perhaps they could proem c for him the use of some small room somewhere, so that Miss Zembra and the little party he might make up could have lunch in peace and quiet, instead of amongst the heated crowd ? Failing that (and it did nob sound possible somehow) by going early surely he could secure a table in the refreshmentroom, up at the window end ? And who could pio\e himself a bettor guide to her as bhe went i">und the galleues ? For eacli year he was in the habit of sending in a little water colour, nob fco ask for public favour at all, bub merely to gain for him a ticket for the Varnishing-day ; and he would devote the whole of thab day to a rapid survey of the Exhibition, so thab when Sabina staited on her round of tie rooms ho could take her without trouble and exploration to everything worth secIng. On private view day, as cvei7 one knows, the women-folk rather leb bhembelves loose in the v/ay of conspicuous attire. And if Sabina should come amongst them in her simple gown of plain brown homespun, with its black buttons and frilled tight cuffs ! lie hoped she would. It was the dress he used to look out for in Kensington High-street ; it was the dress tha,t. used f- - lint ' Ke "n" n i s heart leap— before ihe era of their friendship had opened, And better than any extravagance of fashion, it seemed to suit the tall and lithe and graceful form. But for the consideration of these and other high-stirring projects and fancies, he wanted more freedom and the excitement of motion ; this coble amid the hurrying waters of the Shannon wag all too narrow and confined j so he surrendered his rod to •Jch'uiiiC ?*yan, got put ashore, and presently was walking rapidly along the unfrequented highway in the direction _of Lough Derg. And what, he was < asking himself, ought he nob to strive for, in order to prove himself worthy of this rare companionship that was to be his : how was he to win further favour in her eyes ? Women, he understood, rather liked the society of famous men— of men who had " done something " and who were known to the world. Well, now, he had striven to win the appreciation of his brother artists, and he had succeeded in a most enviable degree ; but chiefly, it may be said, he worked for absolute love of itself. His Wigtonshire property rendered him independent of the dealers and of any caprice of public fashion ; he did his work in his own way ; he could afford to linger over it, and produce his best ; and the ultimate fate of it, or the effect it would have on his reputation, did not bother him much. But if woman liked the society of famous men? Surely there was nothing unworthy in seeking the public approval, in doing something definite, in making his work perhaps a little more consecutive ? He was walking near to the Shannon on this placid and golden evening. And it suddenly occurred to him that a series of drawings illustrative of the mighty river from its source away in bhe north, down to its disappearance in the aea, might show a certain coherence, and appeal to thcpublic with more effect than any mere number of disconnected waller-colours'. It was a bold project, for the Shannon during its course of 200 milos Hows through almost every kind of country. He would have to face mountain scenery and lake scenery, and gentle pastoral .scenery ; and he would have to deal with the varied character of the river itself, now widening out into such inland seas as

Lough Roe and Lough Derg, again gliding swiftly by peaceful meadows, or wildly racing and chasing over the rocky barriers of Castle Connell. And then look at the result of these two or three years' labour : an exhibition room in Piccadilly or King-street-a private view day all to himself — Sabina making her appearance, along with the Wygrams, about four in the afternoon — Sabina, as ever, gracious, and benignant and srniling-eyed. This newly-formed friendship seemed to demand a good deal of reverie ; and it is to be observed that not only did the figure of Sabina loom large and constant in these visions of the future, but also that the society and companionship he was arranging for her was very curiously limited. In fact, there did not appear to be any room for a third or a fourth person. The Wygrams, of course, did not count ; they might bo regarded merely as attendants upon Sabina ; while as for anyone else, there was no one else. Sabina and he were to bo friends ; the outer world— especially the male creatures of the outer world - might surround that distinctly limited circle if they chose, at a little distance Now, friendship is not ordinarily so exclusive. But perhaps this was a new kind. " I'm afraid I'm very late for dinner, Nora, acushla," said he, as he got back to the inn an hour and a half after the proper time. "Oh, well, sir," said Nora, goodnaturedly, "we expect the gentlemen to come in at army time. If it's bad luck they're having with the fishing, they come home, and if it's good luck they stay out. I sent you down your letters, sir." " Thank you kindly," said ho. "I hope there was good news in them, sir," said Nora, as she was giving the last touch to the turf fire. " Indeed there was," he rejoined. " Well, it's glad lam of that, sir," said Nora, who had been forming her little cuesses, " for sometimes a letter has a dale to say." "I'm going back to England on Monday." "Arc ye now, <=ir? Well, that'&a pity, to be sure !— ind Tim O'Connor declaring the weather was going to be splendid for the fishing." "Yes, I must be off; but some clay or another I'll be coming «back. No fear about that ; you're r,oo good to me over j here." " And the next time you come, fair,"' said Nora, in her demure way, as she was- leaving the room, "sure I hope yell not be coining alone." Theie was no particular need that he should go back on Monday ; but he knew that the ait world of London was now entei ing upon ite annual period of excitement ; the studios would all b_e a-munnur-ing ; and the air surcharrjed with stories of rejections, and rage at the hanging, and wonder at the good luck of some folks in selling their pictures. Of course, he was interested in such things ; and it was natural he should return to London at such a time. As for any other reason, or subtle hope, or fascination ? — no, he answered himself, there wa3 none. He was quite heartwhole now. Those weeks of hard work', and hard exercise, and wholesome air on the shores of the Shannon, had cured him of that hateful and febrile sadness that had made his life in London unendurable. lie was going back to assiduous and happy labours in his studio ; and if by chance he were to meut Sabina in the street — down by KensingtonSquare, it might be, or Hyde Park Gate, or Cromwell Gardens— ho would be able to take her hand without a tremor, and she should find nothing but friendship — placid, and assured, and abiding — in his eyes. (To be Continued.)