CHAPTER I.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 8156, 2 November 1904, Page 4

CHAPTER I.

Th& room had grown dark by almost Imperceptible degrees, and the great pointer had been forced, at last, to lay hit brushes down. He did so with a long sigh at regwfc, because the sittings were over, and the picture finished — and still he was not satisfied. Tie small, dark head did not seem graceful or delicate enough— it did not rise out of tfoe mists of white, with the flower-like effect that had always touched Phosbe's graceful tMpc with poetry! He set the ea*el in different lights now, and felt dissatisfiedwith each result. At last he turned it resolutely to the wall, and came slowly across the roonL " Let me forget it, Miss Middleton," he said. "It is not a success; may- I draw the curtains and shut it all out? Have you ever noticed the decorative effect of a fire?" ■■ •/■ "It is so mysterious and uncertain," said ' Phoebe. " Yes, draw the curtain, please, and let us be cosy. I am glad you are so far human, Mr Earie. as to like a fire ! But X don't want to shut out my lovely portrait — I long to be an old woman, so that I may say to other girls, 'That is my beautiful youth.'" She had poured out a cup of tea, and was standing before him in the dusk, touched by the firelight. It stained her hair, and the straight folds of her grey dress; it shone in her eyes, too, and showed the sweet, pleased ; .- smile upon her lips. As she laid the cup down on the arm of his chair her hand brushed his sleeve, as softly as the wings ; of a bird, and, with the touch, it seemed as if some sleeping force awoke. He felt himself no longer a great painter, with ▼ague dreams and far-away ambitions,, but aUtrtan who was solitary and sad — who, once,' on life's great highway, had felt a woman's healing touch, and, in that divine moment, had lived a thousand years! , ' Whilst Phoebe was still standing startled, looking down, he rose suddenly and held the. small hand in both of his. - ■ipj( My dear," he said, in a quick, rough y' fpice, " I am such a. fool that I do not even know how to ask a practical, everyday question. Ido not know any soft phrases in which to tell a woman that I Joy? her." . • '''"'Js.that a practical, everyday question? <>■■ Biuf JPhoebe, with a sort ,of sob. ; 5He loosed her hand and touched the curly dark head, holding it against his shoulder. *D 6 you love me? Is it possible?" he asked, in' • kind of wonder. "Do you know, Phoebe, I have never dreamt of marri»gd until this momenlb — it was the touch of ydur ■'■'■ hand — the look of your dear eyes in the ;..; firelight. I have loved you for years, I think, without knowing it !" },'■ -. " But yon know it now?" she asked, ma. fcjwyjy voice. "You really mean' it? It is : W&tc ;too. g o<K * to be true?" r^She. slipped out of his arms, and stood in - #c firelight, looking up at him, with soft, ••" gitey* .eyes. )■ ■ . •■=■-.■ vVSay it again, if ft if really true! PerM ftaps you will not feel the same again, un- . leas I touoh you." , He looked at her witti his kind-, absemt «ryos, that were always full of dreams. " I think I have always felt that sort of charm about you," he said, "but it used to be nn abstract charm. Sometimes I have fjdt as if my whole life was a dream, but I •in awake at last." a •!- v "You will not forget me?" she said', in ■'■''.'her quick voice. ""Surely that i* impossible?" ■;,.. "Oh, I hope bo," she said, earnestly. ,' "It sounds uncanny even to suggest it, biit • lam not going to be an abstract charm any more." .- ' "I am improving already," he said, hold- ■ , ing her at arm's length, "I washing to kiai you once more, to prove how real you w«rt>, but I remembesred that I ihave on my »ld verveteen coat, discoloured with paint, -' and I haven't the cheek " ... I 1 For answer she laid her flower-like lace againet the worn brown velvet. " That is my cheek, not yours," she said!, with a happy laugh. The great painter was really great, ai- \ though jfe did not write R.A. after his * i feme, nqr was he catalogued! in any ecchibiBon. He had ai curious, picturesque;, untidy »tudio in tfce- Fulham Road, in w-bioli price--1 iem tetpestiies were nailed upon the walls, >%a a background to gems of padnting, or ! day, or marble models. The painter's" greatCoat hung acros* the bmk&n arm of a Venue .—stacks of forgotten ."ketches made a tem--1 porary shelter, in one cottier, for a. wirehairej terrier! On the maaitelpiece .a: sixpenny tobacco jar held a profusion of bank aott-fc, pressed dpwn and running ovei. Whon tine sordid things of life were pretented to h*m in the ahape of large folio letjers commencing " whereas," he dived into the jar, and honestly paid hie debts ! When *c was Imngry, Polly, the witoh-like guarJiaii of lib home, cooked mysterious dishes on his studio fire ; when he was thirsty ie drank whatever came handiest ; but, through all the disturbances and difitraofcoorjs of daily life, he lived in ai serene atm'osphßre of^Teams — dreams, translated, by the genius of his pencil into living creations jf tangible beauty,* crowning iis walls, and slotihugj them with a brief and flowing flory. '■'•■■As to his manner of life, it was afl bri'liai|t : a.iwi erratic as a comet's. He ddned! ttut when he remembered his numerous in^ nia|.ioas, or when someone WBs kind, enough tO'itke him in charge, and present him at tie n^ht moment, and ajt the right door. Tqafc he himself, apart from iis art, was v lovable, oame to him always as a new amd 1 'Ambling revelatdon, and he worked with a fresh inspiration whenever the knowledgo reached him.' > , Perhaps it reaicihed him most persistently > Inrougb Lady Midli'leton and Phcebe-^" Lit- *" tie Phcebe "as she had been to hjm in the cast, evolving, through distinct stages, into i tjhie Miw Middleton of to-day ! Growing out of a rather ugly, pathetic, black-hadrei /^psy, into a beautiful, gentle girl, who found t!he world a v »ry haippy place, but who could not rule that troublesome thing, lei-heart! _ ' ' *" " As to the painter, his heart had! : given him any trouble at aIL It ikd never beaten any quicker for a wo'man's touch — no girlish laugh — no misdirected arrow, from the quiver of a misthievous god, had ever reached or stirred it Into life : but, as he saw the smell, b^nfc head, as he watched the slim hands pert^ffming their little, womanly duties— as he heard the sweet voice— felt her touch, a rery passion of love had surged up within bim, and he was conscious that his heart *woke! At that moment, for one thrilling kour, he forgot bis work, his future, his dreams, and- his ambitions, and he would

willingly have oast them all away, if they had been the price of Phoebe's love. So he stood, as she had left him,, leaning up •gainst the mantelpiece, and looking out at the glimmering square of fading light. He was tall and handsome, .with a pointed beard, and a capable mouth and chin-' a little contradicted by the dreamy Tbrown j eyes, and the brilliant smile. Something that he had unconsciously missed amoig the hurrying, jostling, human crowds, had come to him to-night, and lay, Uke a jewel, in bis-hand. He looked at it with genuine ■urprise and tenderness, holding it very dear and precious, but, presently, he walked over to the window, drew the blind carefully, and turned the beautiful picture, bo that it faced him, against the crimson background.. Then he went back to the fireplace, and stood looking at it until a wave of satisfied ambition blurred it before his eyes. Even to himself it *wmed a beautiful* thing, the pale grey draperies-~the touoh of yellow at the feetr-the flower-like look of the amaU head, the sparkle of the eyes, like an fawriaoned sunbeam! Jle knew that he ha* touched the supreme point of his art. Away from the radiant model, he felt almost eatisfied, and the fire died down as he stood and looked. Then he roused himself with a sigh,, and covered it regretfully. He was no longer a man, but an artist!