THE TWO HEIGHTS
Dennis went home in a strange tumult of hopes and fears, but hope
predominated, for evidently she cared little for Mr. Mellen. "The ice
is broken at last," he said. It was, but he was like to fall through
into a very cold bath, though he knew it not. He was far too excited
to sleep, and sat by his open window till the warm June night grew
pale with the light of coming day.
Suddenly a bright thought struck him; a moment more and it became an
earnest purpose. "I think I can paint something that may express to
her what I dare not put in words."
He immediately went up into the loft and prepared a large frame, so
proportioned that two pictures could be painted side by side, one
explanatory and an advance upon the other. He stretched his canvas
over this, and sketched and outlined rapidly under the inspiration of
his happy thought.
Christine came with her father to the store, as had been her former
custom, and her face had its old expression. The listless, disappointed
look was gone. She passed on, not appearing to see him while with her
father, and Dennis's heart sank again. "She surely knew where to look
for me if she cared to look," he said to himself. Soon after he went
to the upper show-room to see to the hanging of a new picture.
"I am so glad your taste, instead of old Schwartz's mathematics, has
charge of this department now," said a honeyed voice at his side. He
was startled greatly.
"What is the matter? Are you nervous, Mr. Fleet? I had no idea that
a lady could so frighten you."
He was blushing like a girl, but said, "I have read that something
within, rather than anything without, makes us cowards."
"Ah, then you confess to a guilty conscience?" she replied, with a
twinkle in her eye.
"I do not think I shall confess at all till I have a merciful
confessor," said Dennis, conscious of a deeper meaning than his light
words might convey.
"'The quality of mercy is not strained,' therefore it is unfit for my
use. I'll none of it, but for each offence impose unlimited penance."
"But suppose one must sin?"
"He must take the consequences then. Even your humane religion teaches
that;" and with this parting arrow she vanished, leaving him too excited
to hang his picture straight.
It all seemed a bewildering dream. Being so thoroughly taken by surprise
and off his guard, he had said far more than he meant. But had she
understood him? Yes, better than he had himself, and laughed at his
answers with their covert meanings.
She spent the next two days in sketching and outlining his various
expressions as far as possible from memory. She would learn to catch
those evanescent lines--that something which makes the human face
eloquent, though the lips are silent.
Dennis was in a maze, but he repeated to himself jubilantly again,
"The ice is broken." That evening at Mr. Bruder's he asked for studies
in ice.
"Vy, dat is out of season," said Mr. Bruder, with a laugh.
"No, now is just the time. It is a nice cool subject for this hot
weather. Please oblige me; for certain reasons I wish to be able to
paint ice perfectly."
Arctic scenery was Mr. Bruder's forte, on which he specially prided
himself. He was too much of a gentleman to ask questions, and was
delighted to find the old zest returning in his pupil. They were soon
constructing bergs, caves, and grottoes of cold blue ice. Evening after
evening, while sufficient light lasted, they worked at this study.
Dennis's whole soul seemed bent on the formation of ice. After a month
of labor Mr. Bruder said, "I hope you vill get over dis by fall, or
ve all freeze to death."
"One of these days I shall explain," said Dennis, smiling.
The evening of the second day after the little rencounter in the
show-room, Mr. Ludolph sat enjoying his cigar, and Christine was at
the piano playing a difficult piece of music.
"Come, father," she said, "here is a fine thing just from Germany.
There is a splendid tenor solo in it, and I want you to sing it for
me."
"Pshaw!" said her father, "why did I not think of it before?" and he
rang the bell. "Here, Brandt, go down to the store, and if Mr. Fleet
is there ask him if he will come up to my rooms for a little while."
Brandt met Dennis just starting for his painting lesson, but led him
a willing captive, to give Christine instruction unconsciously.
She, whose strategy had brought it all about, smiled at her success.
It was not her father's tenor she wanted, but Dennis's face; and her
father should unknowingly work her will. The girl had learned so much
from the wily man of the world that she was becoming his master.
Dennis came and entered with a thrill of delight what was to him
enchanted ground. Mr. Ludolph was affable, Christine kind, but she
looked more than she said.
Dennis sang the solo, after one or two efforts, correctly. Then Mr.
Ludolph brought out a piece of music that he wished to try; Christine
found others; and before they knew it the evening had passed. Quite
a knot of delighted listeners gathered in the street opposite. This
Christine pointed out to her father with evident annoyance.
"Well, my dear," he said, "hotel life in a crowded city renders escape
from such things impossible."
But a purpose was growing in her mind of which she spoke soon after.
Throughout the evening she had studied Dennis's face as much as she
could without attracting notice, and the thought grew upon her that
at last she had found a path to the success she so craved.
"You seem to have gone to work with your old interest," said her father,
as he came out of his room the next morning and found Christine at her
easel.
"I shall try it again," she said, briefly.
"That is right," said he. "The idea of being daunted by one partial
failure! I predict for you such success as will satisfy even your
fastidious taste."
"We shall see," she said. "I hope, too." But she would not have her
father know on what grounds. He might regard the experiment as a
dangerous one for herself as well as for Dennis, and she decided to
keep her plan entirely secret.
She now came to the store daily, and rarely went away without giving
Dennis a smile or word of recognition. But he noticed that she ever
did this in a casual manner, and in a way that would not attract
attention. He also took the hint, and never was obtrusive or
demonstrative, but it was harder work for his frank nature. When
unobserved, his glances grew more ardent day by day. So far from
checking these, she encouraged them, but, when in any way he sought
to put his feelings into words, she changed the subject instantly and
decidedly. This puzzled him, for he did not understand that looks could
be painted, but not words. The latter were of no use to her. But she
led him on skilfully, and, from the unbounded power his love gave her,
played upon his feelings as adroitly as she touched her grand piano.
Soon after the company at Miss Winthrop's, she said to him, "You
received several invitations the other evening, did you not?"
"Yes."
"Accept them. Go into society. It will do you good."
Thus he soon found himself involved in a round of sociables, musicales,
and now and then a large party. Christine was usually present, radiant,
brilliant, the cynosure of all eyes, but ever coolly self-possessed.
At first she would greet him with distant politeness, or pretend not
to see him at all, but before the evening was over would manage to
give him a half-hour in which she would be kind and even gentle at
times, but very observant. Then for the rest of the evening he would
find no chance to approach. It appeared that she was deeply interested
in him, enjoyed his society, and was even becoming attached to him,
but that for some reason she determined that no one should notice this,
and that matters should only go so far. Poor Dennis could not know
that he was only her unconscious instructor in painting, paid solely
in the coin of false smiles and delusive hopes. At times, though, she
would torture him dreadfully. Selecting one of her many admirers, she
would seem to smile upon his suit, and poor Dennis would writhe in all
the agonies of jealousy, for he was very human, and had all the normal
feeling of a strong man. She would then watch his face grow pale and
his manner restless, as quietly and critically as an entomologist
regards the struggles of an insect beneath his microscope. Again, she
would come to him all grace and sweetness, and his fine face would
light up with hope and pleasure. She would say honeyed nothings, but
study him just as coolly in another aspect.
Thus she kept him hot and cold by turns--now lifting him to the pinnacle
of hope, again casting him down into the valley of fear and doubt.
What she wanted of him was just what she had not--feeling, intense,
varied feeling, so that, while she remained ice, she could paint as
if she felt; and with a gifted woman's tact, and with the power of one
loved almost to idolatry, she caused every chord of his soul, now in
happy harmony, now in painful discord, to vibrate under her skilful
touch. But such a life was very wearing, and he was failing under it.
Moreover, he was robbing himself of sleep in the early morning, that
he might work on his picture in the loft of the store, for which he
asked of poor Mr. Bruder nothing but ice.
Mrs. Bruder worried over him continually.
"You vork too hart. Vat shall we do for you? Oh, my fren, if you love
us do not vork so hart," she would often say. But Dennis would only
smile and turn to her husband in his insatiable demand for painted
ice. At last Mr. Bruder said, "Mr. Fleet, you can paint ice, as far
as I see, as veil as myself."
Then Dennis turned around short and said, "Now I want warm rosy light
and foliage; give me studies in these."
"By de hammer of Thor, but you go to extremes."
"You shall know all some day," said Dennis, entering on his new tasks
with increasing eagerness.
But day by day he grew thinner and paler. Even Christine's heart
sometimes relented; for, absorbed as she was in her own work and
interests, she could not help noticing how sadly he differed from the
vigorous youth who had lifted the heavy pictures for her but a few
short weeks ago. But she quieted herself by the thought that he was
a better artistic subject, and that he would mend again when the cool
weather came.
"Where shall we go for the two hot months?" asked her father the morning
after the Fourth.
"I have a plan to propose," replied Christine. "Suppose we go to
housekeeping."
"What!" said her father, dropping his knife and fork, and looking at
her in astonishment. "Go to all the expense of furnishing a house,
when we do not expect to stay here much more than a year? We should
hardly be settled before we left it."
"Listen to me patiently till I finish, and then I will abide by your
decision. But I think you will give me credit for having a slight turn
for business as well as art. You remember Mr. Jones's beautiful house
on the north side, do you not? It stands on ---- Street, well back,
surrounded by a lawn and flowers. There is only one other house on the
block. Well, Mr. Jones is embarrassed, and his house is for sale. From
inquiry I am satisfied that a cash offer would obtain the property
cheaply. The furniture is good, and much of it elegant. What we do not
want--what will not accord with a tasteful refurnishing--can be sent
to an auction-room. At comparatively slight expense, if you can spare
Mr. Fleet to help me during the time when business is dull, I can make
the house such a gem of artistic elegance that it will be noted
throughout the city, and next fall some rich snob, seeking to vault
suddenly into social position, will give just what you are pleased to
ask. In the meantime we have a retired and delightful home.
"Moreover, father," she continued, touching him on his weak side, "it
will be a good preparation for the more difficult and important work
of the same kind awaiting me in my own land."
"Humph!" said Mr. Ludolph, meditatively, "there is more method in your
madness than I imagined. I will think of it, for it is too important
a step to be taken hastily."
Mr. Ludolph did think of it, and, after attending to pressing matters
in the store, went over to see the property. A few days afterward he
came up to dinner and threw the deed for it into his daughter's lap.
She glanced it over, and her eyes grew luminous with delight and
triumph.
"See how comfortable and happy I will make you in return for this
kindness," she said.
"Oh, come," replied her father, laughing, "that is not the point. This
is a speculation, and your business reputation is at stake."
"I will abide the test," she answered, with a significant nod.
Christine desired the change for several reasons. There was a room in
the house that would just suit her as a studio. She detested the
publicity of a hotel. The furnishing of an elegant house was a form
of activity most pleasing to her energetic nature, and she felt a very
strong wish to try her skill in varied effect before her grand effort
in the Ludolph Hall of the future.
But in addition to these motives was another, of which she did not
speak to her father. In the privacy of her own home she could pursue
that peculiar phase of art study in which she was absorbed. Her life
had now become a most exciting one. She ever seemed on the point of
obtaining the power to portray the eloquence of passion, feeling, but
there was a subtile something that still eluded her. She saw it daily,
and yet could not reproduce it. She seemed to get the features right,
and yet they were dead, or else the emotion was so exaggerated as to
suggest weak sentimentality, and this of all things disgusted her.
Every day she studied the expressive face of Dennis Fleet, the
mysterious power seemed nearer her grasp. Her effort was now gaining
all the excitement of a chase. She saw before her just what she wanted,
and it seemed that she had only to grasp her pencil or brush, and place
the fleeting expressions where they might always appeal to the sympathy
of the beholder. Nearly all her studies now were the human face and
form, mainly those of ladies, to disarm suspicion. Of course she took
no distinct likeness of Dennis. She sought only to paint what his face
expressed. At times she seemed about to succeed, and excitement brought
color to her cheek and fire to her eye that made her dazzlingly
beautiful to poor Dennis. Then she would smile upon him in such a
bewitching, encouraging way that it was little wonder his face lighted
up with all the glory of hope.
If once more she could have him about her as when rearranging the
store, and, without the restraint of curious eyes, could play upon his
heart, then pass at once to her easel with the vivid impression of
what she saw, she might catch the coveted power, and become able to
portray, as if she felt, that which is the inspiration of all the
highest forms of art--feeling.
That evening, Dennis, at Mr. Ludolph's request, came to the hotel to
try some new music. During the evening Mr. Ludolph was called out for
a little time. Availing himself of the opportunity, Dennis said, "You
seem to be working with all your old zest and hope."
"Yes," she said, "with greater hope than ever before."
"Won't you show me something that you are doing?"
"No, not yet. I am determined that when you see work of mine again the
fatal defect which you pointed out shall be absent."
His eyes and face became eloquent with the hope she inspired. Was her
heart, awakening from its long winter of doubt and indifference,
teaching her to paint? Had she recognized the truth of his assurance
that she must feel, and then she could portray feeling? and had she
read in his face and manner that which had created a kindred impulse
in her heart? He was about to speak, the ice of his reserve and prudence
fast melting under what seemed good evidence that her smiles and
kindness might be interpreted in accordance with his longings. She saw
and anticipated.
"With all your cleverness, Mr. Fleet, I may prove you at fault, and
become able to portray what I do not feel or believe."
"You mean to say that you work from your old standpoint merely?" asked
Dennis, feeling as if a sunny sky had suddenly darkened.
"I do not say that at all, but that I do not work from yours."
"And yet you hope to succeed?" "I think I am succeeding."
Perplexity and disappointment were plainly written on his face. She,
with a merry and half-malicious laugh, turned to the piano, and sung:
From Mount Olympus' snowy height
The gods look down on human life:
Beneath contending armies fight;
All undisturbed they watch the strife.
Dennis looked at her earnestly, and after a moment said, "Will you
please play that accompaniment again?"
She complied, and he sang:
Your Mount Olympus' icy peak
Is barren waste, by cold winds swept:
Another height I gladly see,
Where God o'er human sorrow wept.
She turned a startled and almost wistful face to him, for he had given
a very unexpected answer to her cold, selfish philosophy, which was
so apt and sudden as to seem almost inspired.
"Do you refer to Christ's weeping over Jerusalem?" she asked.
"Yes."
She sat for a little time silent and thoughtful, and Dennis watched
her keenly. Suddenly her brow darkened, and she said, bitterly:
"Delusion! If He had been a God He would not have idly wept over sorrow.
He would have banished it."
Dennis was about to reply eagerly, when Mr. Ludolph entered, and music
was resumed. But it was evident that Dennis's lines had disturbed the
fair sceptic's equanimity.