DAVID GILBANK'S PICTURE
MRS. CAMPBELL, as, conducted by Mr. Hollys, she moved through the
crowded picture galleries, was congratulating herself on the clever
way in which she had avoided the trouble and distraction which Beryl's
presence would have caused. In the second room, they found one of David
Gilbank's pictures.
"Why, I declare!" exclaimed Mr. Hollys, as his eyes fell on it. "It is
Egloshayle! And he has painted Coral and Beryl."
It was a boldly-painted sketch of a seabeach, lying bathed in summer
sunshine. The tide was receding the beach, the waves in gentle,
sportive fashion rippled back from the glistening wet pebbles. Half-way
up the beach, keel upwards, lay a stoutly-built fishing-boat, and
seated in its shadow were two children, whom Mr. Hollys recognised
as Coral and Beryl; for, small as was the scale on which they were
painted, the resemblance was striking. The free, unrestrained grace of
the children's attitudes was admirable. Nothing could be more natural
than Beryl's pose as she leaned against the side of the boat, her
bright hair falling over her shoulders in vivid contrast to the dark
wood, and her feet firmly planted against the shaggy back of old Lion,
who lay just beyond the edge of the shadow, in full enjoyment of the
sunshine. Beryl's face wore a look of lazy content; but Coral, who was
leaning forward and gazing at the sea, had an expression of wondering,
childish reverie in her large dark eyes.
"It is lovely!" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell. "I never saw a prettier
picture. The children must have sat for it."
"I believe they did," returned Mr. Hollys, "for I remember now that
Beryl told me that Gilbank painted them whilst he was at Egloshayle;
but I did not think of anything so good as this. I must secure this
picture."
So, asking the ladies to excuse him for a few minutes, he went away to
make arrangements for purchasing the painting. But he quickly returned,
his face wearing a look of vexation.
"Is it not annoying?" he said. "The picture has already found a
purchaser. It was sold not half an hour ago."
"How very tiresome!" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell. "But perhaps you can come
to terms with the purchaser."
"I fear not," said Mr. Hollys; "it is no dealer who has bought it, but
a gentleman who has taken a fancy to the picture. Robert Harvey is his
name. I do not know him, though I seem to have some strange association
with the name that I cannot define."
"A very ordinary name!" remarked Mrs. Campbell. "Yes, certainly. Well,
I wish Robert Harvey, whoever he is, had not bought that picture."
As he spoke the Robert Harvey who had forestalled him in the purchase
of the picture was standing within a few yards of Mr. Hollys. He was a
tall, somewhat stern-looking man, with greyish-brown hair and a long
sweeping beard of the same mixed hues. His face was deeply coloured,
as if from constant exposure to the elements, and had, moreover, a
withered, wrinkled appearance, which made him seem older than he
was. An expression of melancholy was on his countenance, and, as he
moved through the crowd, his shy, awkward bearing betrayed a sense of
isolation even in the midst of his fellows.
He paused before the picture which he had made haste to purchase, and
looked at it with a long and earnest gaze. It had a strange fascination
for him, and the secret of the charm lurked in the grave, sweet face of
little Coral. He could not have explained how it was that that childish
face exerted such an influence over him.
It seemed to bring to life again his boyish days, so long, long buried
in the past. He saw himself a rough, strong lad leading with gentle
hand his tiny, dark-eyed sister along a pebbly shore by just such a
sunlit sea as shone in the picture. She had been very like that little
girl, only prettier; yes, he was sure that his sister was prettier. How
he had loved her, his darling, only sister! Yet he had tyrannised over
her; he had always made her will bend to his, till a time came when her
woman's will, growing strong under the stimulus of love, had dared to
rebel against his authority. She had taken her own way in defiance of
him, and he had vowed that he would trouble himself no more about her.
Now, he knew not if she were dead or alive.
He had returned to London, after being absent for many years from
England, hoping to find his sister, but had failed to do so. He had
lived to regret, with keen self-reproach, the severity with which he
had treated her. He regretted it more than ever, as little Coral's face
brought to mind one and another tender memory of his childhood.
Coral and Beryl were astonished to learn that their friend Mr. Gilbank
had put them into his picture. Of course they were eager to see the
painting, and Mr. Hollys, after some coaxing, agreed to take them to
the Academy at an early hour the next morning.
The children were very pleased with David Gilbank's work. Their
childish vanity was gratified by his exact representation of them as
they had appeared last summer, even to the very sun-bonnets, which
they had thought so ugly when Lucy had insisted on their wearing them
for the sake of their complexions. Beryl was delighted too with the
excellence of Lion's portrait.
"Now, papa, you will take us to see Mr. Gilbank, will you not?" Beryl
exclaimed.
"Certainly I will; it is a promise, you know," he replied. "I will try
to manage it to-morrow."
"I hope Mrs. Campbell won't want to go with us," said Beryl.
"Why not?" asked her father in surprise. "I thought you were so very
fond of Mrs. Campbell."
"I am not so very fond of her now," said Beryl, with an odd emphasis on
the very.
In truth, Beryl's feelings towards that lady had so changed that,
instead of being fond of her, she was beginning to dislike her. She
watched Mrs. Campbell's words and ways with a child's keen observation,
and found much to criticise in her confidences with Coral. Moreover,
something scarce definable in the words and looks of those about
her made Beryl fear that Mrs. Campbell would exercise a disturbing
influence on her childish future. This fear took definite form on the
evening following their visit to the Academy.
Beryl, who complained of a headache, had been sent to bed rather
earlier than usual by Mrs. Campbell. She was not in the best temper
at this, despite the honeyed words with which that lady had dismissed
her. As she approached the nursery, she found that Lucy was enjoying a
gossip with Mrs. Campbell's maid. Ere she entered, Beryl's quick ears
caught the words uttered by Lucy:—
"Then you think they will make a match of it!"
To which the other servant replied, "I feel pretty sure of it. You
should see how particular my lady is about her dress whenever she is
going to see Mr. Hollys. Poor Miss Beryl! I wonder how she will like to
have a stepmother."
"Hush!" said Lucy with a warning glance, as Beryl appeared.
Lucy thought that the child could not have heard; but as she began to
undress her she wondered what could have put the young lady so much out
of temper.
When Lucy was brushing her hair, Beryl said suddenly—
"Lucy, what were you and Mrs. Campbell's maid talking about when I came
in?"
"Oh, nothing particular, Miss Beryl!" replied Lucy evasively.
"Leastways, nothing that concerns you."
"That's not true, Lucy," returned Beryl hotly. "I heard what you were
talking about. You were saying that papa would marry Mrs. Campbell. But
it's not true; I know it's not."
"Well, I never, Miss Beryl!" exclaimed Lucy, in affected astonishment.
"I'm sure you can't say that you heard me say that!"
"You may not have said exactly those words, but was what you meant,"
cried Beryl excitedly; "but it's not true. I know it can't be true."
Beryl's emotion quite overpowered her, and she burst into hot,
passionate tears. Lucy did her best to soothe her.
"Come, come, Miss Beryl; don't cry for nothing!" she said. "You're
overdone, that's what it is. You've had a long, tiring day. You'll feel
better when you get to bed."
But she did not tell Beryl that it was unlikely she would have a
stepmother, and Beryl, whose ideas of stepmothers had been gathered
from story books, regarded such a possibility with the utmost dread.
Especially did she dislike the thought of Mrs. Campbell's filling such
a position towards her.
Beryl woke the next morning with a heavy sense of trouble; there came
a gleam of comfort, however, with the recollection that she should see
Mr. Gilbank that day.
But, unfortunately, as Beryl had feared, Mrs. Campbell contrived to
make one of the party who set out for the artist's studio. As they
drove to St. John's Wood, Beryl gravely eyed her father and the lady,
as they sat side by side on the opposite seat. She was watching for
some sign that should confirm the rumour that had caused her such
uneasiness. Presently Mr. Hollys was struck with Beryl's unusually
grave expression.
"What is the matter, Beryl?" he asked.
"I am thinking, papa," said Beryl.
"That is an extraordinary proceeding on your part, I suppose," he said
lightly; "a penny for your thoughts!"
"Oh, I could not tell you them now," said Beryl blushing, and
involuntarily glancing at Mrs. Campbell.
"Ah, I am afraid Beryl's thoughts concern poor me," said that lady with
a laugh; "she is going to find fault with me when my back is turned."
Beryl's cheeks grew hotter, and she looked so guilty that her father
hastily introduced another subject, in order to cover her confusion.
David Gilbank's studio was neither grand nor luxurious, but it struck
the children as one of the most charming places they had ever visited;
for it was furnished in simple, artistic style, had plenty of pictures,
and a large supply of the picturesque knick-knacks artists love.
The artist was at work when they entered; but he cheerfully laid aside
his brush to give his visitors a cordial greeting. It was an unexpected
pleasure to him to see his little friends from Egloshayle, and he
greeted them warmly.
Mr. Hollys soon began to speak of the picture that had so pleased him.
"I wish I could have had it," he said, almost impatiently. "You might
have let me know that you had painted the children."
"I would have done so had I considered the faces to be portraits," said
Mr. Gilbank. "But the picture is little more than a sketch made on
the beach at Egloshayle. It was after considerable hesitation that I
decided to send it to the Exhibition."
"Do you know anything of the purchaser?" enquired Mr. Hollys.
"He is a man named Robert Harvey, who has made a fortune out in
Australia," said Mr. Gilbank. "I wonder what made him take a fancy to
my picture."
"Robert Harvey," repeated Mr. Hollys; "what is it makes that name seem
so familiar to me?"
"Why, papa!" burst in Beryl eagerly. "I remember Coral's mamma told you
that her brother's name was Robert Harvey. I was in the room when she
said it."
"To be sure! How strange that I should have forgotten it!" exclaimed
Mr. Hollys. "The child is right. Robert Harvey was the name I
advertised so freely, and without result. We came to the conclusion
that he was dead. Surely this man cannot be Coral's uncle!"
Little Coral uttered a startled cry, and looked frightened at the
suggestion.
"Mrs. Despard said that he had gone to Australia," remarked Beryl.
"Yes, she did," replied her father; "but Australia is a large place,
Beryl, and there might easily be more than one Robert Harvey there.
However, I will try to find this man. Do you know his address, Gilbank?"
"Yes, no; they have it at the Academy; but I omitted to take it down; I
am so careless in regard to these matters. But I will get it, and send
it to you."
"Thank you," said Mr. Hollys; "I had better call on him, though I do
not at all expect to find that he is Coral's relative."
The children were so eager to talk to Mr. Gilbank and examine his
pretty things, that Mr. Hollys was persuaded to leave them with the
artist for a little time whilst he went to his club. Mrs. Campbell
drove away to do some shopping in Regent Street, so Coral and Beryl,
greatly to their delight, were left alone with their friend. They had
so much to tell him, and talked so fast, that Mr. Gilbank did not find
it easy to understand them, as they told him what a good angel Miss
Burton had proved to them, of the Sunday school they had started at
Egloshayle, and of their labours at the Dorcas meeting.
At last Mr. Gilbank put a question that made Beryl pause.
"So you still strive to live as 'children of the kingdom,'" he said
gently; "I am glad to know that."
Beryl's cheeks flushed, and she hung her head. She suddenly became
aware that she had thought little of the kingdom since she came to
London. She had indeed daily uttered the petition, "Thy kingdom come,"
but with scarce a thought about the meaning of the words. Amid the
excitements of her new life she had found no time for reading the
Saviour's words, and thinking upon His blessed life. And meanwhile
there had been springing up in her heart anger and hatred and strong
self-will.
"Mr. Gilbank," she said humbly, "I don't think it is so easy to be a
'child of the kingdom' in London as it is at Egloshayle."
"Why not?" he asked in surprise.
"Because there is so much else to think about," she said; "shopping,
and dressing, and seeing sights. And then people are so horrid, one
cannot help getting cross sometimes."
"A child of the kingdom has no excuse for getting cross, however
'horrid' people may be," said her friend; "and shopping, dressing, and
sight-seeing are poor things to keep one from communing with the King.
God, your Father, is as near to you in London as at Egloshayle; and
if you have greater temptations, He will help you to overcome them if
you ask Him. Remember, child, that being good comes before doing good.
The kingdom of God is righteousness and peace and joy; and unless that
kingdom is within you, you cannot serve the King."
"But, Mr. Gilbank," said Beryl, "how can you feel peace and joy, when
your life seems to be going all wrong, and you are afraid everything
will be spoiled for you?"
"What, child, have you come to that thus early?" said Mr. Gilbank,
looking at her with a tender smile. "Well, I know of but one way of
keeping calm amidst threatening troubles,—it is by trusting the love of
God. Your Father in heaven loves you; He will not let anything really
harm you, and nothing can happen to you but with His knowledge and by
His will."
And Beryl resolved that she would try thus to trust God. And though,
when her father presently called for them, she left the artist's studio
feeling sad and humbled, she was in a happier and better frame of mind
than that in which she had started for the visit.