Anna started for her home, and when she had arrived, she slowly ascended
to her room, flung herself upon her couch, and buried her face in its
cushions.
"Edgar," (for that was the artist's name, and Anna knew him,) "Edgar is
cold hearted." She did not meet the family at tea that evening, but when
her mother came to inquire if she was ill, she related all the sad story
of the childless mother, and asked what could be done. The next
morning, Anna and her father went to see the artist. He was not in
attendance, but one to whom they were well known brought forward the
picture, at Anna's request, and which she had before seen. While they
were looking at it, the artist came in.
"Pardon me, sir," said Anna's father, "for examining your beautiful
picture during your absence, but my daughter has a very earnest desire
to possess it. Is it for sale?"
Edgar replied, "I have painted this picture for the coming artist's
exhibition, and, therefore, I have made no design as to its disposal,
but it would be an honor to me to have you and Miss Anna its purchasers.
I would wish, however, previously to its being given up, that it might
be exhibited, according to my intention, at the rooms, which open on
Monday next."
Mr. H. hesitated--the vessel, which was to carry away the sorrowing
mother, was to sail in a little more than two weeks--they must have the
picture at that time, if ever; and he said to the artist, "I am aware
that this is a beautiful painting, and I will pay you your price, but I
must be allowed to take it at the expiration of ten days, if at all."
Edgar reflected a few moments, and being well aware that, in the mansion
of Mr. Hastings, his elegant picture would be seen by persons of the
most accomplished manners, and of excellent taste, concluded to sell the
picture. The bargain was made and Anna and her father departed, leaving
the artist somewhat elated at the thought of having Mr. H. the owner of
his picture.
That night Edgar dreamed that Flora, who had been buried a few weeks,
and of whose image his picture was the exact resemblance, stood before
him, pleading him to have pity on her lonely mother--he dreamed her hand
clasped his, and he awoke trembling.
He raised himself upon his elbow, and pressed to his lips some flowers
which were left on his table, and then rejoiced that the ocean would
soon lie between him and the wearisome old woman who had so long annoyed
him about the picture.
The Monday morning came, and with it the portrait of Flora, which had
been admired at the exhibition rooms the previous week. A simple frame
had been prepared for it, and for a few moments Anna gazed on the
picture, and with a love for the buried stranger, looked for the last
time into the deep dark eyes which beamed on the canvas.
The ship Viola, bound for the port of Naples, lay at the wharf, the
passengers were all hurrying on board, the flags were flying, and all
wore the joyous aspect of a vessel outward bound. A carriage drawn by a
pair of horses came down to the vessel. Mr. Hastings and Anna alighted,
and were followed by a servant, who took the safely cased portrait in
his arms, and accompanied them on board the ship. They soon met the
mother of Flora, and Anna took the picture and presented it to her, and
promised to care for the rose buds which bloomed at Flora's grave. Mr. H
received from the gallant captain a promise to take special charge of
the Italian widow, and her aged father, and to care for the valued
picture of Flora. Thanks and farewells closed the scene, when Anna, with
her father, returned home. There she found a note from Edgar, the
artist, requesting permission to call on Anna that evening. She wrote a
reply, saying that a previous engagement would forbid her complying with
his request, at the same time enclosing a check for $200, saying, "My
father requests me to forward this check to you, in payment for the
portrait of _Flora Revere_"