The picture-gallery was one of the chief attractions of Beechgrove; like
the grand old trees, it had been the work of generations. The Arleighs
had always been great patrons of the fine arts; many a lord of
Beechgrove had expended what was a handsome fortune in the purchase of
pictures. The gallery itself was built on a peculiar principal; it went
round the whole of the house, extending from the eastern to the western
wing--it was wide, lofty, well-lighted, and the pictures were well hung.
In wet weather the ladies of the house used it as a promenade. It was
filled with art-treasures of all kinds, the accumulation of many
generations. From between the crimson velvet hangings white marble
statues gleamed, copies of the world's great masterpieces; there were
also more modern works of art. The floor was of the most exquisite
parquetry; the seats and lounges were soft and luxurious; in the great
windows east and west there stood a small fountain, and the ripple of
the water sounded like music in the quietude of the gallery. One
portion of it was devoted entirely to family portraits. They were a
wonderful collection perhaps one of the most characteristic in England.
Lord Arleigh and his young wife walked through the gallery.
"I thought the gallery at Verdun Royal the finest in the world," she
said; "it is nothing compared to this."
"And this," he returned, "is small, compared with the great European
galleries."
"They belong to nations; this belongs to an individual," she
said--"there is a difference."
Holding her hand in his, he led her to the long line of fair-faced
women. As she stood, the light from the setting sun falling on her fair
face and golden hair, he said to himself that he had no picture in his
gallery one-half so exquisite.
"Now," he said, "let me introduce you to the ladies of my race."
At that moment the sunbeams that had been shining on the wall died out
suddenly. She looked up, half laughingly.
"I think the ladies of your race are frowning on me, Norman," she said.
"Hardly that; if they could but step down from their frames, what a
stately company they would make to welcome you!"
And forthwith he proceeded to narrate their various histories.
"This resolute woman," he said, "with the firm lips and strong, noble
face, lived in the time of the Roses; she held this old hall against her
foes for three whole weeks, until the siege was raised, and the enemy
retired discomfited."
"She was a brave woman," remarked Lady Arleigh.
"This was a heroine," he went on--"Lady Alicia Arleigh; she would not
leave London when the terrible plague raged there. It is supposed that
she saved numberless lives; she devoted herself to the nursing of the
sick, and when all the fright and fear had abated, she found herself
laden with blessings, and her name honored throughout the land. This is
Lady Lola, who in time of riot went out unattended, unarmed, quite
alone, and spoke to three or four hundred of the roughest men in the
country; they had come, in the absence of her husband, to sack and
pillage the Hall--they marched back again, leaving it untouched. This,
Lady Constance, is a lineal descendant of Lady Nethsdale--the brave Lady
Nethsdale."
She clung to his arm as she stood there.
"Oh, Norman," she said, "do you mean that my portrait, too, will hang
here?"
"I hope so, my darling, very soon."
"But how can I have a place among all these fair and noble women," she
asked, with sad humility--"I whose ancestors have done nothing to
deserve merit or praise? Why, Norman, in the long years to come, when
some Lord Arleigh brings home his wife, as you have brought me, and they
stand together before my picture as I stand before these, the young wife
will ask: 'Who was this?' and the answer will be: 'Lady Madaline
Arleigh.' She will ask again: 'Who was she?' And what will the answer
be? 'She was no one of importance; she had neither money, rank, nor
aught else.'"
He looked at the bent face near him.
"Nay, my darling, not so. That Lord Arleigh will be able to answer: 'She
was the flower of the race; she was famed for her pure, gentle life, and
the good example she gave to all around her; she was beloved by rich and
poor.' That is what will be said of you, my Madaline."
"Heaven make me worthy!" she said, humbly. And then they came to a
picture that seemed to strike her.
"Norman," she said, "that face is like the Duchess of Hazlewood's."
"Do you think so, darling? Well, there is perhaps a faint resemblance."
"It lies in the brow and in the chin," she said. "How beautiful the
duchess is!" she continued. "I have often looked at her till her face
seemed to dazzle me."
"I know some one who is far more beautiful in my eyes," he returned.
"Norman," she said, half hesitatingly, "do you know one thing that I
have thought so strange?"
"No, I have not been trusted with many of your thoughts yet," he
returned.
"I have wondered so often why you never fell in love with the duchess."
"Fate had something better in store for me," he said, laughing.
She looked surprised.
"You cannot mean that you really think I am better than she is, Norman?"
"I do think it, darling; ten thousand times better--ten thousand times
fairer in my eyes."
"Norman," she said, a sudden gleam of memory brightening her face; "I had
almost forgotten--the duchess gave me this for you; I was to be sure to
give it to you before the sun set on our wedding-day."
She held out a white packet sealed securely, and he took it wonderingly.
He tore off the outer cover, and saw, written on the envelope:
"A wedding present from Philippa, Duchess of to Lord Arleigh. To be read
alone on his wedding-day."