Beloved Giudice remained many days under my care, until he became
convinced that he was my dog absolutely, and had no claim on any other
human being. He more than paid for his board and medical attendance, by
sitting repeatedly for his portrait; in which at last I succeeded to his
and my own satisfaction. Though by no means a conceited dog, there was
nothing he loved better than having his likeness taken; and directly
after breakfast he always assumed the most becoming attitude, and
watched intently for the appearance of the pencil with his massive head
a little on one side, and his dark brown eyes full of dignified
interest, and his great ears curving down through russet tufts, like
tawny cascades in autumn, he seemed fit study for a real artist, who
should quicken as well as copy him. However, he was too much of a
gentleman to sneer at my weak efforts, for he saw that I did my best.
Oftentimes he would gaze steadfastly at the portrait and then at me, and
hobble up, and nudge me, and whine, a little, and then sigh in
self-abasement at his want of speech. Whenever he did this, I knew that
he wished to have something altered; but it was long before I could
discover what that something was. I tried every change of line or
colour that I could think of--all to no purpose. At length it struck me
that as he criticised more with nose than eyes, the defect must be in
the smell. Happy idea! I satisfied my Giudice at last, and did it
thus. After shading around the nose and mouth, before laying on the
colour, I took a clean dry brush, and passed it lightly round the
hollows of his own sweet saltish nostrils, carefully avoiding the cut;
then one turn of the brush, not on the palette, but on a dry square of
colour, and with that I expressed the dear dog's nose so well, that he
would have spoiled it in a sniffing ecstasy, if I had not pulled it
away. His portrait now possessed the life which he required.
Meanwhile I received almost daily visits from Isola and her brother; the
latter was, of course, very anxious about his poor dog, and could only
relieve that anxiety by long interviews with him. It happened strangely
enough, yet more and more often as time went on, that Isola during these
interviews felt an especial desire for Mrs. Shelfer's society, which she
could only enjoy by betaking herself to the kitchen. There, with all
the pets, except old Tom, who was constancy itself, and the lame
blackbird who was all gratitude, her influence began to supersede mine,
and even Mrs. Shelfer's; for this I cared but little, so long as Giudice
kept to me.
Over that great dog, as he turned upon his side, and lifted one hind leg
(the canine mode of showing submission to the will of God), over him we
bent, Conrad and I, in most interesting diagnosis, until it seemed the
proper thing that our hair should flow together, and our breath make one
soft breeze. From this position we would rise with a conscious colour
in our cheeks, and a flutter at the heart, and a certain awe of one
another. Then it would be ever so long before either of us dared to
seek the other's eyes. Haply when those eyes were met--unwitting yet
inevitably--they would drop, or turn away, or find some new attraction
in the dog or clouds.
Then some weak remark would follow, for which the hearer cared no whit,
yet feigned deep interest therein.
Why labour thus to cheat ourselves--each other we cannot cheat--why feel
we so confused and guilty, why long so heartily to be a hundred leagues
away, yet knowing thoroughly that, if it were so, all the space between
were void and heartache? The reason neither we nor other mortal knows;
the cause is this, that we love one another.
I have felt that it must be so, at least on my part, ever since the day
he came with Isola, and knew me not, though I knew him so well. Does he
know me now as the Clara Vaughan whom he once avoided? These eyelashes
are as long and dark as ever; the large eyes, shaded by them, are as
deep a gray as twilight in a grove of willows. My cheeks have regained
their curve, my hair was never injured; let me hie to the glass now he
is gone, and see if I be like myself, and whether I have face and form
likely to win Conrad's love.
No, I am not like myself. No wonder he does not know me. The gloom
habitual to my face is gone. It is the difference betwixt a cavern well
and a sunny fountain. I see a laughing graceful girl, with high birth
marked in every vein, and self-respect in every motion; her clear cheeks
glowing with soft wonder, her red lips parted with delight, her arching
neck and shoulder curve gleaming through a night of tresses, her
forehead calm and thoughtful still, half-belying the bright eyes where
love and pleasure sparkle. For a moment self-approval heightens the
expression. At my silly self my foolish self is smiling; but the smile
has warmer source than maiden's light conceit. I smile because I see
that, as regards exterior, he who slights me must be hard to please; and
some one, whom I think of, is not hard to please. Straight upon the
thought of him--Ah well.
My father used to quote from the "Hero and Leander" a beautiful verse,
which neither he nor any other could in English render duly,
[Greek: _Aidous hyron ereuphos apostazousa prosopou_.]--v. 173.
"Showering from her cheek the flowing carmine of her shame."