Conclusion
THE winter passed swiftly and happily for the household at Haresdown
House, and before the days began to lengthen, Mr. Willis had finished
his picture. It was exhibited in his studio to the friends he had
made in Wreyford ere it was safely packed for its journey to town.
No one knew better than Angel how the artist had pinned his most
cherished hopes on the success of this piece of work, once laid aside
through no fault of his own, now completed in every detail with the
greatest care. She and Gilbert Mickle had many a long talk about it,
never doubting either of them but that others would be as
appreciative of Mr. Willis' talent as themselves. Nor were they to be
disappointed, for, in due course, the picture was hung on the walls
of Burlington House in a most excellent position, and known to be the
picture of the year. 'Righteousness and Peace' was declared,
in artistic circles, to be the work of a genius, and Angel and
Gerald's delight knew no bounds, whilst Mr. Bailey felt vastly proud
of his nephew.
One beautiful May evening, when the fresh spring breeze was sweet
with the scent of hawthorn and wild flowers, a very happy party was
congregated in the Mickles' dining-room—Mrs. Mickle and her four
children, Miss Goodwin, and Angel and Gerald Willis. The two latter
had lately arrived upon the scene: they had explained that they were
going to the station to meet their father and uncle, who were
returning from London that night, but that having half an hour
to spare before the train was due to reach Wreyford, they thought
they would pass the time with their friends.
"We wanted to tell you about the papers father has sent us from
London," Angel said, her grey eyes sparkling with excitement;
"they all speak so well of 'Righteousness and Peace,' and Uncle
Edward wrote and told us that when he went to Burlington House there
was quite a crowd around father's picture, and every one was admiring
and praising it."
"It is a most marvellous piece of work, to my mind!" Miss Goodwin
exclaimed. "How proud we ought to feel, dear Mrs. Mickle, that we
were privileged to have a private view of the picture, which I am
informed, is by far and away the best in the Royal Academy this year.
We were indeed most fortunate!"
"So I think," Mrs. Mickle replied, smiling. "What is that, my dear?"
she asked, as Angel pulled an envelope from her pocket.
"It's a letter from Mrs. Steer," Angel answered; "you know who
she is—our old landlady in London. I should like you to read what
she says, because it's mostly about father. Please read it aloud,
Mrs. Mickle; I dare say the others would like to hear it too."
Mrs. Mickle took the letter from the little girl's hand, smiled into
the eyes that met her own full of a great happiness; then turned her
attention to Mrs. Steer's rather indistinct handwriting, and read
aloud, slowly, as follows—
"MY DEAR MISS ANGEL,—"
"I am sending you a few lines, because I think
you will like to know I have seen your dear pa
twice. First, he called on Saturday, and asked me
to go with him to look at his picture at
Burlington House; but, as Saturday is always the
busiest day of the week with me, as I dare say
you remember, I couldn't go then, and so I told
him. He said I was to study my own convenience,
being as considerate as he ever was, dear Miss
Angel, and as nice, and good-tempered. Well,
I told him I could go on Tuesday, and on Tuesday
he fetched me in a cab, and we drove off together.
One of my lodgers had told me as how your pa's
picture is a great deal thought of by them who
understand such things, and that every one
is talking of it, so you may imagine I was a bit
curious to see it, but I wasn't prepared for the
fuss folks made about it. There was a crowd of
people around the picture, gang at it with all
their eyes, and saying such flattering things
about your pa; one gentleman kept on repeating
to himself— 'Beautiful! beautiful! What perfection
of colouring!' and after he had gone away, and I
thought I had seen the last of him, he came back,
and stared at the picture again and again."
"Of course, as you know, dear Miss Angel, I had
seen that picture times enough before it was
finished; I had watched it grow from shadows so
indistinct that you couldn't make out what they
were meant for into those two women going towards
each other to kiss; and, as your pa said,
I couldn't be expected to look at it with quite
the same eyes as other people—it was like watching
a conjurer's trick when you know all the while
how it's done—but I must say it's a most wonderful
picture—so real, I felt as though I had only to
stretch out my hand, and touch two living women,
and I didn't wonder any longer that your pa is
considered clever. I think it was very nice
of him to take me to see 'Righteousness and Peace;'
but there, Miss Angel, I always did say your pa
meant well. He tells me as how it is better times
for you now; that he is earning more money, and
that the success of this picture of his has made
you all very happy. Dear Miss Angel, I am very,
very glad. I must say I think you understood
what your pa could do better than I did, for you
always thought he would be famous some day, and
it seems he is, and I am proud to speak of him as
having once lodged in my house—as kind a man
as I ever knew, and a perfect gentleman."
"I send my best respects to Master Gerald and
yourself; your pa says one of these days he may
bring you up to town, and he has promised
we shall meet."
"I am, dear Miss Angel,"
"Your old friend and well-wisher,"
"MARIA STEER"
There were amused smiles on the faces of the listeners as Mrs. Mickle
read the above epistle; but the moment her voice ceased, Gilbert
exclaimed, with some indignation in his tones—
"She evidently doesn't properly appreciate your father's talent,
Angel! She must be a very ignorant old woman! Does she always speak
of Mr. Willis as 'your pa'?"
"Always," Angel and Gerald responded together.
"It is a very kind letter," Mrs. Mickle said, "and if she does not
appreciate Mr. Willis' talent—and I agree with you, Gilbert, that she
does not—she appreciates his character, nevertheless. She remarks,
you see, that he is as kind a man as she ever knew, and a perfect
gentleman."
"Yes," Angel cried brightly. "I am very fond of Mrs. Steer; she was
always good to me, and used to take me out shopping with her
sometimes; and if she was not too busy, she would often come into our
sitting-room and talk to me when father was at work in his studio,
and Gerald was at school. Then, too, she used to lend me story-books
to read. I hope father will take us to London to see her some day.
Mrs. Steer was my friend when I had no others."
"You have a faithful heart, my dear," Mrs. Mickle said, as she drew
the little girl to her side and kissed her; "you have many friends
now, I am sure."
"Oh, yes!" Angel responded quickly; "and so has Gerald."
Her eyes rested contentedly on her brother, who was discussing the
prospects of the cricket season with Tom; then she felt a light touch
upon her arm, and turned to meet Miss Goodwin's gentle glance.
"Do you know, my dear, sometimes you remind me of myself when I was
your age?" the old lady said seriously.
"Do I?" Angel exclaimed in surprise.
"Yes. I, too, had a brother whom I dearly-loved, and—"
"Oh, I never knew that!" Dora interposed quickly. "Oh," she cried,
meeting her mother's reproving look, "do forgive me for so rudely
interrupting you, but—I was so astonished! Is your brother dead,
Miss Goodwin?"
"Yes, dear child. He died—a great while ago—in India."
"In India!" Dora repeated, her wondering blue eyes scanning the old
lady's withered face, which wore a pensive expression, that presently
gave place to a look of trouble and doubt.
"It was long, long ago," Miss Goodwin said slowly, after a short
pause. She sat with her thin little hands clasped tightly in her lap.
"I was trying to remember the other day how old my brother would be
if he was alive now," she continued, "but I forget—I have lost count
of time."
"Never mind," said Mrs. Mickle gently. "don't worry about it. Time
only affects the things which perish; love is for eternity. I am sure
you love your brother now as much as you ever did."
"Yes!" Miss Goodwin cried, the cloud from her face suddenly clearing.
"When I see Angel and Gerald, I always think of my brother and me.
Circumstances parted us in life, but his last message to me was one
of love. Yes, love is for eternity."
She fell into a train of happy thought, and a few minutes later Angel
and Gerald took their departure. When they reached the garden gate
they turned and waved their hands to the group of smiling faces at
the dining-room window, then hurried on in the direction of the
railway station.
"Angel," said Gerald suddenly, "do you remember last summer, when
father and Uncle Edward went to London, and all that happened whilst
they were away? Of course you do! As though you would be likely
to forget! It's a foolish question to ask."
"Yes, I remember," Angel answered gravely.
"How I dreaded father's return!"
"So did I."
"For my sake! Oh, Angel, how unkind I used to be to you sometimes!
And so selfish too! I am ashamed to think how often I must have
grieved you! Then, I was always terribly jealous when people liked
you better than me. I am sure it was no wonder they did. That night
when I slipped into the clay pit, and thought I was going to be
drowned, I remembered all the selfishness and wickedness of my
conduct, and wondered what you and father and Uncle Edward would
think of me when I was dead, and—"
"Oh, Gerald, pray say no more about it," Angel interrupted, with a
shudder; "that is all past now. I do not believe you will ever behave
so badly again."
"I hope not," Gerald responded earnestly. "I shall never forget how
good father was to me then. Here we are at the station. Only just
in time, too, for I believe I hear the train coming."
A few minutes later the train appeared in sight, and as it slowed
into the station the children caught sight of their father. He sprang
out on the platform, followed by Mr. Bailey; the bright faces of both
showed they had had a happy visit to town. Their first questions were
how Angel and Gerald had spent the time during their absence from
home, and if all had gone well at Haresdown House. There was nothing
to hide or be ashamed of now, so the young people gave a detailed
account of their doings.
Not until they had passed Myrtle Villa on their way home, and were
walking up Haresdown Hill, did Mr. Willis mention that he had a piece
of good news to tell.
"Try and guess what it is," he said, looking from his uncle to the
children with a smiling glance; "it is something that indirectly
concerns us all."
"What can it be?" Angel cried. "Do you know, Uncle Edward?"
she questioned, turning to Mr. Bailey.
"I do," he admitted, his kindly face beaming with pleasure. "Don't
keep them in suspense, John," he said, turning to his nephew, "better
tell them at once; or, shall I? Well, then," he proceeded, as
Mr. Willis nodded acquiescence, "our great piece of news is simply
this—your father has sold his picture."
"Sold his picture!" both children echoed. "Oh, I am so glad,
so glad!" Gerald cried excitedly, whilst Angel flung herself,
half laughing, half-crying, into her father's arms, quite unmindful
of the fact that they were in a public road, where an outsider might
come upon them at any moment.
Afterwards it was explained that "Righteousness and Peace" had been
purchased by a rich man, who had already a fine collection of
pictures, and who had willingly paid the amount of money at which
Mr. Willis had priced his work.
"Why, father, we shall be rich!" Angel said, her face full
of wonderment at the thought.
"Well, not exactly rich," he replied, smiling, "but we shall be
better off, of course. I believe the long years I have worked
are beginning to tell at last."
"Just as mother said they would."
"Yes," Mr. Willis agreed, with a faint sigh.
His eyes were dim as he thought of the wife who had always believed
in him when others had doubted his capabilities, who had
uncomplainingly helped him to bear the load of poverty, who had
perhaps carried more than her share of the weight of care, which had
been the result of small means, by reason of a temperament far more
anxious than his. He knew the everyday worries of life, which to his
sanguine disposition had been very small worries indeed, had
oppressed her heavily, and it hurt him to think that though he had
loved her so deeply, he had never been able to free her from them.
It seemed hard that she, who had shared his disappointments and
failures, should not be with him in the time of his success.
Perhaps Mr. Bailey guessed the thoughts which were passing through
his nephew's mind, for by-and-by he said—
"I often wish your wife and I had met, John. I will not say I wish
she was here now, for I know she is with Christ, which is far
better."
Mr. Willis made no reply, but the trouble left his face, and when he
spoke again it was quite cheerfully. The conversation turned to
Mrs. Steer, and Angel took out her letter from her pocket and read it
aloud amidst much merriment. By that time they had reached Haresdown
House, where they found supper awaiting them, and Mrs. Vallance ready
to assure her master that everything had gone well during his
absence.
There remains but little of my story to be told. Mr. Willis' picture—
"Righteousness and Peace" —made him famous as a painter, and he has
often been heard to say that only one who has waited can understand
the sweetness of the realization of hope deferred. He and his
children still make their home with Uncle Edward at Haresdown House.
Gerald is becoming a fine manly fellow, and the path he is humbly
trying to walk is very different to that broad road he pursued on his
arrival at Wreyford. Angel's affection for her brother is as deep and
unselfish as it always was; but she has real cause to be proud of him
nowadays, when she knows she may trust in his sense of honour and
believe in his word. Gilbert Mickle is in Paris, studying in a
well-known art school, happy in the work he has chosen, whilst the
other Mickle children are still at home, on the best of terms with
the young folks at Haresdown House. Reginald Hope has lately entered
a large London hospital as a medical student; he means when he has
taken his diploma to join his father in practice at Wreyford; he has
wonderfully changed of late for the better, so that those who are
interested in him trust that, by God's grace, he will become a good
and trustworthy man.
Miss Goodwin is much the same as ever; perhaps a few lines have been
added to the network of wrinkles on her face, but the clear blue eyes
retain their youthful expression. She still tends her flowers,
and is, in short, the same odd mixture of shrewdness and
childishness, incapable of understanding the flight of time as she
was when we first made her acquaintance. A few simple words
Mrs. Mickle once said to her made a deep impression on her mind, and
she has acquired the habit of repeating them softly to herself—
"Time only affects the things which perish; love is for eternity."
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London