WARNINGS
With the characteristic fitfulness of consumption, Mr. Clifton rallied,
and, for a time, seemed almost restored; but at the approach of winter the
cough increased, and dangerous symptoms returned. Several months after the
rejection of his suit, to which no allusion had ever been made, Electra sat
before her easel, absorbed in work, while the master slowly walked up and
down the studio, wrapped in a warm plaid shawl. Occasionally he paused and
looked over her shoulder, then resumed his pace, offering no comment. It
was not an unusual occurrence for them to pass entire mornings together
without exchanging a word, and to-day the silence had lasted more than an
hour. A prolonged fit of coughing finally arrested her attention, and,
glancing up, she met his sad gaze.
"This is unpropitious weather for you, Mr. Clifton."
"Yes, this winter offers a dreary prospect."
Resting her chin in her hands she raised her eyes, and said--
"Why do you not follow the doctor's advice? A winter South might restore
you."
He drew near, and, leaning his folded arms on the top of the easel, looked
down into her face.
"There is only one condition upon which I could consent to go; that is in
your hands. Will you accompany me?"
She understood it all in an instant, saw the new form in which the trial
presented itself, and her soul sickened.
"Mr. Clifton, if I were your sister, or your child, I would gladly go; but
as your pupil, I cannot."
"As Electra Grey, certainly not; but as Electra Clifton you could go."
"Electra Grey will be carved on my tombstone."
"Then you decide my fate. I remain, and wait the slow approach of death."
"No, before just Heaven! I take no such responsibility, nor shall you
thrust it on me. You are a man, and must decide your destiny for yourself;
I am a poor girl, having no claim upon, no power over you. It is your duty
to preserve the life which God gave you, in the way prescribed by your
physician, and I have no voice in the matter. It is your duty to go South,
and it will be both weak and wicked to remain here under existing
circumstances."
"My life is centred in you; it is worthless, nay, a burden, separated from
you."
"Your life should be centred in something nobler, better; in your duty, in
your profession. It is suicidal to fold your hands listlessly, and look to
me as you do."
"All these things have I tried, and I am weary of the hollowness, weary of
life, and the world. So long as I have your face here, I care not to cross
my own threshold till friendly hands bear me out to my quiet resting-place
under the willows of Greenwood. Electra, my darling, think me weak if you
will, but bear with me a little longer, and then this, my shadow, shall
flit from your young heart, leaving not even a memory to haunt you. Be
patient! I will soon pass away to another, a more peaceful, blessed
sphere."
A melancholy smile lighted his fair waxen features, as waning, sickly
sunshine in an autumn evening flickers over sculptured marble in a silent
churchyard.
How she compassioned his great weakness, as he wiped away the moisture
which, even on that cold day, glistened on his forehead.
"Oh! I beseech you to go to Cuba. Go, and get strong once more."
"Nothing will ever help me now. Sunny skies and soft breezes bring no
healing for me. I want to die here, in my home, where your hands will be
about me; not among strangers in Cuba or Italy."
He turned to the fire, and springing up, she left the room. The solemn
silence of the house oppressed her; she put on her thickest wrappings, and
took the street leading to the nearest park. A steel-grey sky, with
slowly-trailing clouds, looked down on her, and the keen, chilly wind
wafted a fine snow-powder in her face as she pressed against it. The trees
were bare, and the sere grass grew hoary as the first snow-flakes of the
season came down softly and shroud-like. The walks were deserted, save
where a hurrying form crossed from street to street, homeward bound; and
Electra passed slowly along, absorbed in thoughts colder than the frosting
that gathered on shawl and bonnet. The face and figure of the painter
glided spectrally before her at every step, and a mighty temptation
followed at its heels. Why not strangle her heart? Why not marry him and
bear his name, if, thereby, she could make his few remaining months of
existence happy, and, by accompanying him South, prolong his life even for
a few weeks? She shuddered at the suggestion, it would be such a miserable
lot.
Faster fell the snow-flakes, cresting the waves of her hair like foam, and
setting her teeth firmly, as if thereby locking the door against all
compassionating compunctions. Electra left the park and turned into a
cross-street, on which was situated an establishment where bouquets were
kept for sale. The assortment was meagre at that late hour, but she
selected a tiny bunch of delicate, fragrant, hot-house blossoms, and,
shielding them with her shawl, hastened home. The studio was brilliant with
gas-glare and warm with the breath of anthracite, but an aspect of
dreariness, silence, and sorrow predominated. On the edge of the low
scroll-sculptured mantel, supported at each corner by caryatides, perched a
large tame grey owl, with clipped wings folded, and wide, solemn, oracular
eyes fastened on the countenance of its beloved master.
With swift, noiseless steps Electra came to the red grate, and, after a
moment, drew an ottoman close to the easy chair. Perhaps its occupant
slept; perchance he wandered, with closed eyes, far down among the sombre,
dank crypts of memory. She laid her cool fingers on his hand, and held the
bouquet before him.
"My dear sir, here are your flowers; they are not as pretty as usual, but
sweet enough to atone for lack of beauty."
He fingered them caressingly, laid them against his hollow cheeks, and hid
his lips among their fragrant petals, but the starry eyes were fixed on the
features of the pupil.
"It is bitter weather out; did you brave it for these? Thank you, but
don't expose yourself so in future. Two invalids in a house are quite
enough. You are snow-crowned, little one; do you know it? The frosting
gleams right, royally on that black hair of yours. Nay, child, don't brush
it off; like all lovely things it fades rapidly, melts away like the dreams
that flutter around a boy in the witchery of a long, still, sunny summer
day."
His thin hand nestled in her shining hair, and she submitted to the touch
in silence.
He regarded her with an expression of sorrowful tenderness, and his hand
trembled as he placed it upon her head. "I know not what is to become of
you. Oh, Electra! if you would only be warned in time."
The warmth of the room had vermilioned her cheeks, and the long black
lashes failed to veil in any degree the flash of the eyes she raised to his
face. Removing the hand from her head, she took it in both hers, and a
cold, dauntless smile wreathed her lips.
"Be easy on my account. I am not afraid of my future. Why should I be? God
built an arsenal in every soul before he launched it on the stormy sea of
Time, and the key to mine is Will! What woman has done, woman may do; a
glorious sisterhood of artists beckon me on; what Elizabeth Cheron, Sibylla
Merian, Angelica Kauffman, Elizabeth Le Brun, Felicie Fauveau, and Rosa
Bonheur have achieved, I also will accomplish, or die in the effort. These
travelled no royal road to immortality, but rugged, thorny paths; and who
shall stay my feet? Afar off gleams my resting-place, but ambition scourges
me unflaggingly on. Do not worry about my future; I will take care of it,
and of myself."
"And when, after years of toil, you win fame, even fame enough to satisfy
your large expectations, what then? Whither will you look for happiness?"
"I will grapple fame to my empty heart, as women do other idols."
"It will freeze you, my dear child."
"At all events, I will risk it. Thank God! whatever other faults I confess
to, there is no taint of cowardice in my soul."
She rose, and stood a moment on the rug, looking into the red network of
coals, then turned to leave him, saying--
"I must go to your mother now, and presently I will bring your tea."
"You need not trouble. I can go to the dining-room to-night."
"It is no trouble; it gives me great pleasure to do something for your
comfort; and I know you always enjoy your supper more when you have it
here."
As she closed the door, he pressed his face against the morocco lining and
groaned unconsciously, and large glittering tears, creeping from beneath
the trembling lashes, hid themselves in the curling brown beard.
To see that Mrs. Clifton's supper suited her, and then to read aloud to her
for half an hour from the worn family Bible, was part of the daily routine
which Electra permitted nothing to interrupt. On this occasion she found
the old lady seated, as usual, before the fire, her crutches leaning
against the chair, and her favourite cat curled on the carpet at her feet.
Most tenderly did the aged cripple love her son's protegee, and the
wrinkled, sallow face lighted up with a smile of pleasure at her entrance.
"I thought it was about time for you to come to me. Sit down, dear, and
touch the bell for Kate. How is Harry?"
"No stronger, I am afraid. You know this is very bad weather for him."
"Yes; when he came up to-day I thought he looked more feeble than I had
ever seen him; and as I sit here and listen to his hollow cough, every
sound seems a stab at my heart." She rocked herself to and fro for a
moment, and added mournfully--
"Ah, child! it is so hard to see my youngest boy going down to the grave
before me. The last of five, I hoped he would survive me; but consumption
is a terrible thing; it took my husband first, then, in quick succession,
my other children, and now Harry, my darling, my youngest, is the last
prey."
Anxious to divert her mind, Electra adroitly changed the conversation, and,
when she rose to say good night, some time after, had the satisfaction of
knowing that the old lady had fallen asleep. In was in vain that she
arranged several tempting dishes on the table beside the painter, and
coaxed him to partake of them; he received but a cup of tea from her hand,
and motioned the remainder away. As the servant removed the tray, he looked
up at his pupil, and said--
"Please wheel the lounge nearer to the grate; I am too tired to sit up
to-night."
She complied at once, shook up the pillow, and, as he laid his head upon
it, she spread his heavy plaid shawl over him.
"Now, sir, what shall I read this evening?"
"'_Arcana Coelestia_,' if you please."
She took up the volume, and began at the place he designated; and as she
read on and on, her rich flexible voice rose and fell upon the air like
waves of melody. One of her hands chanced to hang over the arm of the
chair, and as she sat near the lounge, thin hot fingers twined about it,
drew it caressingly to the pillow, and held it tightly. Her first impulse
was to withdraw it, and an expression of annoyance crossed her features;
but, on second thought, she suffered her fingers to rest passively in his.
Now and then, as she turned a leaf, she met his luminous eyes fastened upon
her; but after a time the quick breathing attracted her attention, and,
looking down, she saw that he, too, was sleeping. She closed the book and
remained quiet, fearful of disturbing him; and as she studied the weary,
fevered face, noting the march of disease, the sorrowful drooping of the
mouth, so indicative of grievous disappointment, a new and holy tenderness
awoke in her heart. It was a feeling analogous to that of a mother for a
suffering child, who can be soothed only by her presence and caresses--an
affection not unfrequently kindled in haughty natures by the entire
dependence of a weaker one. Blended with this was a remorseful
consciousness of the coldness with which she had persistently rejected,
repulsed every manifestation of his devoted love; and, winding her fingers
through his long hair, she vowed an atonement for the past in increased
gentleness for the remainder of his waning life. As she bent over him,
wearing her compassion in her face, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
"How long have I slept?"
"Nearly an hour. How do you feel since your nap?"
He made no reply, and she put her hand on his forehead. The countenance
lighted, and he said slowly--
"Ah! yes, press your cool soft little palm on my brow. It seems to still
the throbbing of my temples."
"It is late, Mr. Clifton, and I must leave you. William looked in, a few
minutes since, to say that the fire burned in your room, but I would not
wake you. I will send him to you. Good night."
She leaned down voluntarily and kissed him, and, with a quick movement, he
folded her to his heart an instant, then released her, murmuring huskily--
"God bless you, Electra, and reward you for your patient endurance. Good
night, my precious child."
She went to her room, all unconscious of the burst of emotion which shook
the feeble frame of the painter, long after she had laid her head on her
pillow in the sound slumber of healthful youth.