THE PORTRAIT IN THE GALLERY.
"So I gave him one of the rabbits," said Meg, concluding a long story
of which Dan was the hero, "and he took it to his camp."
"As a matter of fact, you provided his dinner," observed Miss
Linisfarne, languidly. So far she had not taken much interest in the
story.
"I suppose so. Dan said he was fond of stewed rabbit."
"No doubt. All gipsies are."
"But Dan is not a gipsy!" said the girl, laughing. "He tries to be
one, but fails. He is a gentleman."
"My poor child, you must be making a mistake," replied the elder lady,
in a pitying tone. "Gentlemen do not travel in caravans, or take
rabbits from unknown young women."
"This one does, Miss Linisfarne. I am sure I am right. Dan is a
gentleman, and a very handsome one too."
"Handsome!" echoed Miss Linisfarne, with a flush. "You did not tell me
that, Meg. Describe his looks."
"He is tall, with brown hair and moustache. His eyes are of a dark
grey, and laugh with his lips. He is," said Meg, concluding this
feminine description with a feminine epithet such as is to be found in
the novels of the gentle sex--"he is a Greek god."
"A most attractive person, according to your description. Are you sure
your enthusiasm does not carry you away? For all I know, he may not be
a bit better-looking than Parson Jarner. He also is a Greek god,
though more like Silenus than Apollo."
"Parson Jarner!" echoed Meg, in a tone of ineffable contempt. "Why, he
is as old as old can be, and as red in the face and white in the hair
as anything! Dan is really good-looking, like--like--oh," she cried,
breaking off suddenly with a twinkle in her eyes, "I know who he is
like."
"What is the matter, child?"
"Would you care to see Dan?"
Miss Linisfarne shrank back on her couch with a quick sigh, and
covered her face with her hands.
"No! no!" she said in a low whisper; "how can you ask such a thing,
child? I have seen no one but Mr. Jarner for years and years. I am
dead--I am buried--I am forgotten. Do not bring a stranger to my
sepulchre. Even this common wanderer must not see me as the wreck I
am."
Bather startled by this outburst, which she was far from expecting,
Meg arose to her feet and bent over the couch with a pretty expression
of penitence in her eyes. Gently she removed the hands hiding the face
of her hostess.
"You do not understand--you do not understand! It is not Dan himself I
would show you, but his portrait."
"His portrait!" repeated Miss Linisfarne, in blank astonishment. "Are
you out of your mind, Meg?"
"Come with me to the picture-gallery, and I will show you the portrait
of Dan."
Much bewildered by this invitation, Miss Linisfarne mechanically arose
from the couch and linked her arm with that of Meg. She had not the
remotest idea of what the girl meant to do, and so yielded to her
curiosity. That the picture of a vagrant should be in Farbis Court
picture-gallery seemed incredible. No portraits but those of the
Breels hung there; and unless one of them had come to life again, she
by no means understood how Meg intended to fulfil her promise.
"You foolish child!" she said, with a low laugh. "This is some trick."
"No, it is not. Come to the picture-gallery, and I will show you Dan."
Thus adjured, Miss Linisfarne, leaning on Meg's shoulder, passed
beyond the screen and across the polished floor of the room. They
entered the hall, and slowly ascended the wide staircase. Miss
Linisfarne was by no means strong, and, even with the assistance of
her vigorous guest, found it impossible to move otherwise than at a
snail's pace. At length they reached the gallery, which extended the
whole length of the east wing, and here Meg paused before a portrait.
"There!" she said, clapping her hands and laughing gaily, "that is
Dan. The picture was painted three hundred years ago, but it is my
caravan-owner for all that!"
Miss Linisfarne looked steadily at the picture, which represented a
handsome young man in Elizabethan costume. His face was, indeed, very
like that of Dan, though naturally Miss Linisfarne was ignorant of
such resemblance. Masterful look, firm lips, bold eyes--it was as
though the painter of the portrait had transferred to his canvas the
features of the vagrant.
The more Meg looked at it, the more marked seemed the resemblance, and
she glanced at Miss Linisfarne with a mischievous smile.
"It is Dan," she repeated; "or else Dan is the ghost of Sir Alurde."
"Sir Alurde is the original of this portrait, I know," said Miss
Linisfarne; "but I am ignorant by what means a vagabond comes to
resemble one of the proudest courtiers of Elizabeth. Are you sure the
man you speak of resembles Sir Alurde?"
"I am certain. See, here is a pencil-portrait, drawn from memory."
She handed it to Miss Linisfarne, who glanced at it for a moment, and
then looked around with a sigh of fatigue.
"Bring me a chair, Meg, and place it before Sir Alurde's portrait.
Thank you, child. I soon grow weary if I keep on my feet. Is this
Dan's picture?"
"Yes--from memory."
"It is certainly very like the Elizabethan. But, as you have seen Sir
Alurde's face some hundreds of times, and this vagabond's but once, I
fancy you must unconsciously have drawn the countenance of the
former."
"No; I have drawn Dan's face. It is true," added Meg, demurely--"it is
true that I have only spoken once to Sir Alurde's double, but I have
seen him at least a dozen times. Often and often I have been hidden in
the pine trees above his dell, and looked down on him without his
knowing I was there. And sometimes I have sung songs and led him a
dance through the wood, like Puck did the Athenian lovers. You
yourself, Miss Linisfarne, said that I was quick at catching a
likeness; and if that sketch is not as like Dan as Sir Alurde is like
him, then call me--well, anything you please."
"You foolish, foolish child!" said Miss Linisfarne, letting the sketch
fall on her lap. "How can you indulge in such wild ways? Do you not
know that you are twenty years of age, and must not act like an
uneducated rustic?"
"I am a rustic," replied Meg, smiling--"but not uneducated, thanks to
you and Mr. Jarner. Oh," she continued, laughing at the recollection,
"if you only had seen his face when I spoke like the villagers! He
nearly fainted with surprise and horror."
"I don't wonder at it," said Miss Linisfarne, severely. "You have no
business to play such tricks. If this man is a gentleman, which I can
hardly believe, he must have been shocked at your illiterate speech."
"He was--very much shocked," assented Miss Merle, readily; "but I only
spoke half a dozen words in the style of Audrey. Afterwards my
language was most correct."
"What did you converse about, child?"
"I am afraid we talked nonsense! But as it was our first meeting, you
can hardly wonder at that. He asked me to visit him in his dell."
"You did not accept his invitation?"
"Yes, I did! Why not? There is no harm in going there."
The elder lady was nonplussed for the moment. Meg was so innocent and
unsophisticated that it was really a matter of difficulty to set her
right on some points. Miss Linisfarne did not wish to suggest anything
detrimental to the character of the vagrant, if only because she did
not think it advisable to put ideas into the mind of her _protégée_
which were not there already. She therefore evaded a direct reply, and
spoke lightly, as though the matter were of no consequence.
"My dear child, you must take care of your heart," she said, with
forced gaiety. "I cannot have you falling in love with the first
handsome scamp who comes to Farbis."
"I fall in love!" laughed Meg. "What a funny idea! I don't think Dan
is the kind of young man with whom I would fall in love. And then,"
she added reflectively, "I don't know what love is."
"I hope you never will know," said Miss Linisfarne, vehemently. "Keep
your heart free while you may, child. Love is a sweet poison which
brings nothing but pain. Love!" she added, with a bitter laugh, "it is
a curse--a curse, child, and not a blessing."
"Were you ever in love, Miss Linisfarne?"
The lady looked at the bright young creature before her, and a greyish
pallor overspread her face. For some moments, as if not grasping the
full purport of the question, she remained silent. When she did speak
it was in a low dreamy voice, as though her thoughts were far away.
"Yes, child! I loved once, but it led to nothing but madness and
despair. He was a god in my eyes, as this vagrant is in yours. But his
noble looks hid a base soul. He lied and plotted, and made me what I
am. For his sake have I been condemned to this living tomb for these
long, long, dreary years. I was young and fair when I came here. Look
at me now--look at me now!"
Overmastered by her passion, she rose to her feet and clenched her
hands in impotent rage. Anger gave her momentary strength, and she
paced up and down the long gallery like a panther in its cage.
"There is no honour, no justice, no love, in this world!" she
cried in a fierce voice. "Those who say there are such things lie. Who
knows that better than I? To be tricked and betrayed and rendered
unhappy--that is the lot of women. There is no hope for me--no escape.
As I sowed, so have I reaped; and plentiful--plentiful has been the
harvest of my sins. Child, child! go not near this man. Avoid him as
you would a viper. If you neglect my warning----"
She raised her hands in menace and looked at the girl. Something in
Meg's face arrested the fury of her passion, and, letting her arms
fall, she returned to her chair. It was not her duty to give Meg to
eat of the tree of knowledge, and she abruptly stopped those
confessions which hinted at sin and punishment.
"Don't heed me, child--don't heed me," she said feverishly. "I talk at
random. Bring this man here and let me see him. I will then be able to
tell you if he is as you think. But I doubt it--I doubt it."
"Will you see him, Miss Linisfarne?"
"No, no! Bring him to this gallery. I dare not speak to him face to
face, but view him from a distance. That will be sufficient for me! I
love you, Meg, as though you were my own child, and would not have
your heart tortured as mine has been. There, there! Go, child--go!
Leave me here; I wish to be alone."
Meg bent over her for a moment and kissed her cold forehead, then
flitted rapidly away in obedience to the order. When her footsteps
died away, Miss Linisfarne lifted her haggard face, and, clinging to
the wall, advanced a few steps to where a mirror was placed. This gave
back the reflection of a pale face, grey hair, and eyes filled with
anguish. At the sight a moan escaped from her lips.
"Oh, my lost beauty!" she sobbed; "oh, my lost beauty!"