and took in the details of the poor studio, which was such a faithful
copy of another dear to both, he could not restrain his emotion. All
that Dora had kept back from his knowledge, this pathetic room revealed
to him. He had difficulty in keeping back his tears.
"Dora is there," whispered Lorimer, pointing to the room.
"Ah, she is there!"
He stepped softly over on tiptoe. Through the door of this room, the
heart of Philip sent a message to Dora: "If a man's devotion can revive
a woman's long-lost smile, and redeem the wrong that he has
thoughtlessly inflicted, you shall live joyously once more, cherished
and adored. The remainder of my life shall be consecrated to your
happiness."
Dr. Templeton came into the studio, and announced that Dora was
sleeping.
"To tell you the truth," said he to Lorimer, "your plan frightened me
somewhat at first. I was afraid that the shock might be a little too
much for our fragile patient. She is far from strong, she has been
overtaxing her strength, and the emotions of this day, followed up by
such a scene as you have planned, would, I feared, be a heavy strain to
subject her to. However, I have just carefully sounded her heart, and,
thank Heaven, I feel relieved. It is beating regularly enough now, and I
think we can, in all security, try the little manoeuvre you suggest.
It is a trifle melodramatic perhaps, but an excellent idea for all
that."
"Well, then, to work at once," said Lorimer. "Let us proceed to make
this room a still more faithful copy of the St. John's Wood studio than
Dora has done, by adding to it the artist himself."
Philip, docile as a child in the hands of these two friends, lent
himself to the scheme, and did exactly as he was bid. He began by taking
off his coat and donning his working jacket, then, palette and brush in
hand, he seated himself on the stool in front of the easel that bore the
portrait of Dora.
"Perfect," said Lorimer, who surveyed every detail, as if he had been
superintending a rehearsal of one of his plays. "If I am successful
to-day, this scene will be my _chef-d'oeuvre_."
Dr. Templeton went to Dora's room and found her sleeping soundly.
"She sleeps still," he said, as he rejoined the others; "do not let us
disturb her. When she wakens, Hobbs is going to let me know, and I will
go in and fetch her."
They remained talking together in hushed tones for about twenty minutes.
Hobbs opened the door, and made a sign to signify that the patient was
awake.
Immediately Dr. Templeton rose and went to the bedroom, while Lorimer
lowered the blinds and darkened the studio, so that nothing could be
clearly distinguished. Philip again took up his position at the easel.
"As soon as ever the room gets lighter, work away at the picture, so as
to give the impression that you are finishing it, and take no notice of
anything else around you.... Hush, I think I hear her coming!"
Sounds were heard coming from Dora's room.
The door was opened slowly.
"Now then, attention!" whispered Lorimer, "and quite steady, please, as
the photographers say."
The doctor led in Dora, followed by Hobbs.
"How dark it is!" said Dora; "have I slept a long while? Mr. Lorimer is
gone, I suppose?"
Lorimer was watching from behind a screen the working out of his
stratagem.
"Dear Mrs. Grantham," said Dr. Templeton, "I am going to make a
particular request of you. I want to try an experiment. Just to please
me, would you mind taking this palette and these brushes, and seating
yourself in front of that easel?"
The reader remembers that Dora had placed, side by side, in her poor
room, the two easels that had so stood in Philip's studio.
"It is not exactly a favour I ask, it is a prescription that I have
great faith in for you, and that may have great results--I beg of you!"
"Why, of course, with pleasure," said Dora, allowing herself to be drawn
towards the second easel.
"Now, mix your colours and prepare to do some painting."
"But what shall I mix?" demanded Dora; "I am only too willing to obey."
"Oh, never mind what--I am making a little experiment with you--that is
all; I will tell you later on more about it--come, you can't refuse me.
"But, my dear doctor, the room is too dark; I cannot see; is it evening
already?"
"You are right. I will give you some more light."
Little by little, the doctor raised the blind. Philip did not stir.
Faithful to his instructions, as soon as the light was let in, he began
assiduously using his brush.
Dora, languid and ignoring all that was taking place around her, was
mechanically mixing her colours, while waiting for Dr. Templeton to tell
her that he had finished his experiment, and that she might rise from
her seat. The room was now quite light.
"Well, doctor," said she, "is it over?" She turned round, and saw Philip
at work on the portrait, and absorbed in his occupation, as he had been
in the dear old days gone by. Palette and pencils fell from her hands.
She gazed silent and breathless. She took her head in both hands, as if
to assure herself that she was awake and not dreaming.
Philip turned with an imploring look in his eyes. Then, laying down his
brush and palette, he rose slowly and stood with open arms.
Dora uttered one cry, "Philip!" and, sobbing with joy, she buried her
face in her husband's breast.
"Dora, my Dora!" repeated Philip, caressing the beautiful head that lay
once more in his embrace.
They remained for several minutes, oblivious of everything around,
united in a new-found exquisite bliss.
Hobbs ran to hide her own tears and emotions in the bedroom of her
beloved mistress.
"Well, my dear doctor," said Lorimer, "we have had an afternoon's work,
but it has been successful, eh?"
"Yes," replied Dr. Templeton, "she is saved."
"And now I am going to wind up the old clock and set it going once
more," said Lorimer.
This done, the two men softly stole out of the studio.
And the old clock, with its good, round, cheery face, seemed to smile at
Philip and Dora, while its tick-tack said, as plainly as could be, "Here
are the good days come again, and I will count their hours for you."
THE END
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