CHAPTER XXXII
BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT
Dennis went back to the store in a maze of hopes and fears, but hopepredominated. Christine could not be indifferent and treat him as shedid, if she had a particle of sincerity, and with a lover's faith hewould not believe her false, though he knew her to be so faulty.
"At any rate," he said to himself, "in this new arrangement I have allthe opportunity a man could ask, and if I cannot develop her plainlymanifested interest into something more decisive by such companionship,I may as well despair;" and he determined to avail himself of everyadvantage within his reach in making the most of what he deemed a rarestroke of fortune. His greatly increased salary enabled him to dresswith that taste and even elegance so pleasing to a lady's eye, and hehad withal acquired that ease and grace of manner which familiaritywith the best society bestows.
It is also well to tell the reader that after some hesitation Dennishad confided his feelings to his mother, and received from her thewarmest sympathy. To Ethel Fleet's unworldly nature, that he shouldfall in love with and marry his employer's daughter seemed eminentlyfitting, with just a spice of beautiful romance. And it was her son'shappiness and Christine's beauty that she thought of, not Mr. Ludolph'smoney. In truth, such was her admiration for her son, she felt thatwith all her wealth the young lady would receive a greater honor thanshe conferred. Though Dennis wrote with the partiality of a lover, hecould not so portray Christine's character but that his mother feltthe deepest anxiety, and often sighed in sad foreboding of serioustrouble in the future.
From Mrs. Fleet's knowledge of her son's passion, Christine, thoughshe knew it not, received another advantage of incalculable value.Dennis had painted an excellent little cabinet likeness of her, andsent it to his mother. In the quiet of the night she would sit downbefore that picture, and by her strong imagination summon her idealof Christine, and then lead her directly to Christ, as parents broughttheir children of old. Could such prayers and faith be in vain? Faithis often sorely tried in this world, but never tried in vain.
Day after day Dennis went to Mr. Ludolph's new home during the morninghours, and Christine's spell worked with bewildering and increasingpower. While she tortured him with many doubts and fears, his hopegrew to be almost a certainty that he had at last made a place forhimself in her heart. Sometimes the whole story of his love trembledon his lips, but she never permitted its utterance. That she determinedshould be reserved for the climax. He usually met her alone, but noticedthat in the presence of others she was cool and undemonstrative. Mr.Ludolph rarely saw them together, and, when he did, there was nothingin his daughter's manner to awaken suspicion. This perfectly actedindifference in the presence of others, and equally well acted regardwhen alone, often puzzled Dennis sorely. But at last he concluded:"She is wiser than I. She knows that I am in no condition now to makeproposals for her hand; therefore it is better that there should beno recognized understanding between us;" and he resolved to be asprudent as she. Then again she would so awaken his jealousy and fearsthat he would feel that he must know his fate--that anything was betterthan such torturing uncertainty.
As for Christine, two processes were going on in her mind--one thatshe recognized, and one that she did not.
Her artistic aims were clear and definite. In the first place she meantperfectly to master the human face as it expressed emotions, especiallysuch as were of a tender nature; and in the second place she intendedto paint a picture that in itself would make her famous. She chose amost difficult and delicate subject--of the character she had everfailed in--a declaration of love.
When Dennis began to work again in her presence, the picture was welladvanced.
In a grand old hall, whose sides were decorated with armor and weapons,a young man stood pleading his cause with a lady whose hand he held.The young girl's face was so averted that only a beautiful profile wasvisible, but her form and attitude were grace itself. The lovers stoodin an angle of the hall near an open window, through which was seena fine landscape, a picture within a picture. But Christine meant toconcentrate all her power and skill on the young knight's face. Thisshould be eloquent with all the feeling and passion that the humanface could express, and she would insure its truthfulness to lifeby copying life itself--the reality. Dennis Fleet was the human victimthat she was offering on the altar of her ambition.
Much of the picture was merely in outline, but she finished the formand features of the suppliant in all save the expression, and this shemeant to paint from his face whenever she was in the right mood andcould bring matters to a crisis.
After he had been coming to the house two or three times a week fornearly a month she felt that she was ready for the final scene, andyet she dreaded it, she had staked so much hope upon it. It alsoprovoked her to find that she was really afraid of him. His was sucha strong, sincere nature, that she felt increasingly the wrong oftrifling with it. In vain she tried to quiet herself by saying, "I donot care a straw for him, and he will soon get over his infatuationon discovering the truth."
But she had a lesson to learn as well as he, for as we have intimated,unrecognized as yet, there was a process going on in her mind that intime would make strange havoc in her cold philosophy. Her heart's longwinter was slowly breaking up; her girlish passion, intense as it wasfoolish, proved that she had a heart. Everything had been against her.Everything in her experience and education, and especially in herfather's strong character and prejudices, had combined to deaden andto chill her; and had these influences continued, she would undoubtedlyhave become as cold and hard as some whom we find in advanced lifewith natures like the poles, where the ice gathers year after year,but never melts.
But in Dennis Fleet she met a nature as positive as she was becomingnegative. He was so warm and earnest that when she commenced to fanhis love into a stronger flame for purely artistic purposes, as shevowed to herself, some sparks of the sacred fire fell on the cold altarof her own heart and slowly began to kindle.
But this awakening would not now be that of a child, but of a _woman_.Therefore, Mr. Ludolph, beware!
But she had yet much to learn in the hard, strange school of experiencebefore she would truly know herself or her own needs.
Success in art, however, was still her ruling passion. And thoughstrange misgivings annoyed and perplexed her, though her respect forDennis daily increased, and at times a sudden pity and softness madeher little hands hesitate before giving an additional wrench to therack of uncertainty upon which she kept him; still, she would not forthe world have abandoned her purpose, and such compunctions were asyet but the little back eddies of the strong current.
One day, in the latter part of August, Christine felt herself in themood to give the finishing touch to the principal figure in her picture.The day was somewhat hazy, the light subdued and favorable for artisticwork. Though she had prolonged Dennis's labors, to his secret delightand great encouragement, she could not keep him employed much longer.
She sent for him to come over in the afternoon. "Some brackets,carvings, and pictures had come for her studio, and she wished him toput them up," she said, coolly, as he entered.
He had come glowing with hope and almost assurance, for, the last timethey had parted, she had dismissed him with unusual kindness. But herewas one of those capricious changes again that he could not understand.
She took her seat at her easel, saying, with a nod and a smile, "I candirect you here, for I am in a mood for work this afternoon."
He bowed quietly and went on with his task. Her rather cool receptionoppressed him, and the tormenting question presented itself, for thehundredth time, "Can she in any degree feel as I do?" He longed tosettle the matter by plain, straightforward action.
Her maid knocked at the door, saying, "The mail, mademoiselle."
A dainty note was handed her, which seemed decidedly pleasing, andDennis noticed as she read it that she wore on her finger a solitairediamond that he had not seen before. His latent jealousy was aroused.She s
aw that her spell was working, and smiled. Soon she said: "Mr.Fleet, you seem very grave. What is the matter?"
He answered, curtly, "Nothing."
She looked at him with a pretty, pained surprise. At the same time herheart smote her. His face was so pale and thin, and indicated suchreal suffering, that she pitied him more than ever. But she would havesuffered much herself for the sake of success, and she was not one tohesitate long over the suffering of another. She compressed her lipsas she said, mentally: "Art is first, and these transient feelings aresecondary. There is little in the world but that has cost some onedeeply." She did not know how profound a truth this was.
After a few moments Dennis said, in a tone that had a jealous tinge,"Miss Ludolph, your correspondent seems to interest you deeply."
"And you also, I think," she replied, with an arch smile; "and youwill be interested still more when you have read this;" and she offeredhim the note.
"I have no right--do not think me prying," said he, flushing.
"I give the right. You know a lady can give many rights--if shechooses," she added, significantly.
He looked at her eagerly.
Her eyes fell consciously, and her cheeks glowed with excitement, forshe felt that the critical moment had come. But instantly her proud,resolute nature aroused as never before, and she determined to makethe most of the occasion, let the consequences be what they might.Therefore she worked eagerly and watched him closely. Never had shebeen so conscious of power. She felt inspired, capable of placing onthe canvas anything she chose. If in this mood she could succeed inbringing into his face just the expression she desired, she could catchit and fix it forever, and with it make a laurel (not a hymeneal)wreath for her own brow. But what could Dennis know of all this? Tohim the glowing cheek and eyes so lustrous told a different tale; andhope--sweet, exquisite, almost assured--sprang up in his heart.
And he meant that it should be assured. He would speak that day if itwere possible, and _know_ his happiness, instead of fondly believing andhoping that all was sure. Then he would be as prudent and patient as shedesired. Thus Christine was destined to have her wish fulfilled.
She continued: "The note is from a special friend of yours; indeed Ithink you form a little mutual-admiration society, and you are spokenof, so I think you had better read it."
"I shall not read the note," said Dennis; "but you may tell me, if youchoose, what you think the writer will have no objection to my knowing."
"And do you mean to suggest that you do not know who wrote the note?I can inform you that you are to be invited to a moonlight sail andmusicale on the water. Is not that a chance for romance?"
"And will _you_ go?" asked Dennis, eagerly.
"Yes, if _you_ will," she said, in a low tone, giving him a sidelongglance.
This was too much for Dennis, the manner more than the words, and takentogether they would have led any earnest man to committal. He was aboutto speak eagerly, but she was not quite ready.
"Moreover," she continued, quickly, while Dennis stood before her withcheeks alternately hot and pale, "this special friend who invites youwill be there. Now don't pretend ignorance of her name."
"I suppose you mean Miss Winthrop," said Dennis, flushing.
"Ah, you blush, do you? Well, it is my turn to ask pardon for seemingcuriosity."
He drew a few steps nearer to her, and the expression she had so longedto see came into his face. She looked at him earnestly with her wholesoul in her eyes. She would photograph him on memory, if possible. Fora moment or two he hesitated, embarrassed by her steady gaze, andseemingly at a loss for words. Then, in a low, deep tone he said, "You,better than any one, know that I have no cause to blush at the mentionof Miss Winthrop's name."
She did not answer, but was painting rapidly. He thought this was dueto natural excitement expressing itself in nervous action. But she didnot discourage him, and this he felt was everything. With his heartin his eyes and tones, he said: "Oh, Christine, what is the use ofwearing this transparent mask any longer? Your quick woman's eyehas seen for weeks the devoted love I cherish for you. I have heard muchof woman's intuitions. Perhaps you saw my love before I recognized itmyself, since your grace and beauty caused it to grow unconsciouslywhile I was your humble attendant. But, Christine, believe me, if youwill but utter in words what I fondly believe I have read in yourkindly glances and manner, though so delicately veiled--if you willgive me the strength and rest which come of assured hope--I know thatnot far in the future I shall be able to place at your feet more thanmere wealth. I, too, hope to be an artist, and you have been my chiefinspiration. I could show you a picture now that would tell more ofwhat I mean than can my poor words. There is a richer and happier worldthan you have yet known, and oh, how I have prayed that I might leadyou into it!" and in words of burning eloquence he proceeded to tellthe story of his love.
She heard him as in a dream. She understood his words, remembered themafterward, but so intent was she on her darling purpose that she heededthem not. His voice sounded far away, and every power of mind and bodywas concentrated to transfer his expression to the canvas before her.Even he, blinded as he was by his emotions, occupied by the long pent-uptorrent of feeling that he was pouring into her unheeding ear, wonderedat her strange, dazzling beauty and peculiar manner.
After speaking a moment or two, the blur over his eyes and the confusionof his mind began to pass away, and he was perplexed beyond measureat the way she was receiving the open declaration of his love. She waspainting through it all, not with the nervous, random stroke of onewho sought to hide excitement and embarrassment in occupation. She wasworking earnestly, consciously, with precision, and, what was strangestof all, she seemed so intent upon his face that his words, which wouldhave been such music to any woman that loved, were apparently unheard.He stopped, but the break in his passionate flow of language wasunnoted.
"Christine, listen to me!" he cried, in an agony of fear and perplexity.The tone of his appeal might have stirred a marble bosom to pity, butshe only raised her left hand deprecatingly as if warding off aninterruption, while she worked with intense eagerness with her right.
"Christine!" a frown contracted her brow for a second, but she workedon.
He looked at her as if fearing she had lost her reason, but there wasno madness in her swift, intelligent strokes. Then like a flash thethought came to him: "It is my face, not myself, that she wants! This,then, has been the secret of her new hope as an artist. She would notfeel, as I told her she must, but she would call out and copy myemotion; and this scene, which means life or death to me, is to herbut a lesson in art, and I am no more than the human subject under thesurgeon's knife. But surely no anatomist is so cruel as to put in hislancet before the man is dead."
Every particle of color receded from his face, and he watched hermanner for the confirmation of his thought.
Her face was indeed a study. A beautiful smile parted her lips, hereyes glowed with the exultation of assured and almost accomplishedsuccess, and she looked like an inspired priestess at a Greek oracle.
But a bitterness beyond words was filling his heart.
A few more skilful strokes, and she threw down her brush, crying inecstatic tones, "Eureka! Eureka!" as she stood before the painting inrapt admiration. In an instant he stood by her side. With all the prideof triumph she pointed to the picture, and said: "Criticise that, ifyou can! Deny that there is soul, life, feeling there, if you dare!Is that painting but a 'beautiful corpse'?"
Dennis saw a figure and features suggesting his own, pleading with allthe eloquence of true love before the averted face of the maiden inthe picture. It was indeed a triumph, having all the power of thereality.
He passed his hand quickly across his forehead, as if to repel someterrible delusion, while yet he whispered its reality to himself, insilent, despairing confession: "Ah, my God! How cold she must be whenshe can see any one look like that, and yet copy the expression asfrom a painted face upon the wall!"
Then, hi
s own pride and indignation rising, he determined at once toknow the truth; whether he held any place in her heart, or whether thepicture was all, and he nothing.
Drawing a step nearer, as if to examine more closely, he seized a brushof paint and drew it over the face that had cost both him and Christineso much, and then turned and looked at her.
For a moment she stood paralyzed, so great seemed the disaster. Thenshe turned on him in fury. "How dare you!" she exclaimed.
Only equal anger, and the consciousness of right, could have sustainedany man under the lightning of her eyes.
"Rather, let me ask, how dare you?" he replied, in the deep,concentrated voice of passion; and lover and lady stood before theruined picture with blazing eyes. In the same low, stern voice hecontinued, "I see the secret of your artistic hope now, Miss Ludolph,but permit me to say that you have made your first and last success,and there in that black stain, most appropriately black, is the result."
She looked as if she could have torn him to atoms.
"You have been false," he continued. "You have acted a lie before mefor weeks. You have deceived in that which is most sacred, and withsacrilegious hands have trifled with that which every true man regardsas holy."
She trembled beneath his stern, accusing words. Conscience echoed them,anger and courage were fast deserting her in the presence of the arousedand more powerful spirit of her wronged lover. But she said, petulantly,"Nonsense! You know well that half the ladies of the city would haveflirted with you from mere vanity and love of power; my motive wasinfinitely beyond this."
Until now this had almost seemed sufficient reason to excuse her action,but she distrusted it even to loathing as she saw the look of scorncome out on his noble face.
"And is that your best plea for falsehood? A moment since I loved youwith a devotion that you will never receive again. But now I despiseyou."
"Sir!" she cried, her face scarlet with shame and anger, "leave thisroom!"
"Yes, in a moment, and never again to enter it while Christine Ludolphis as false in character as she is beautiful in person. But before Igo, you, in your pride and luxury, shall hear the truth for once. Notonly have you been false, but you have been what no true woman evercan be--cruel as death. Your pencil has been a stiletto with which youhave slowly felt for my heart. You have dipped your brush in humansuffering as if it were common paint. Giotto stabbed a man andmercifully took him off by a few quick pangs, that he might paint hisdying look. You, more cruel, accomplish your purpose by slow,remorseless torture. Merciful Heaven only knows what I have sufferedsince you smiled and frowned on me by turns, but I felt that if I couldonly win your love I would gladly endure all. You falsely made mebelieve that I had won it, and yet all the while you were dissectingmy heart, as a surgeon might a living subject. And now what have youto offer to solace the bitterness of coming years? Do you not knowthat such deeds make men bad, faithless, devilish? Never dream ofsuccess till you are changed utterly. Only the noble in deed and intruth can reach high and noble art."
She sat before the disfigured picture with her face bowed in her hands.
She thought he was gone, but still remained motionless like one doomed.A few moments passed and she was startled by hearing his voice again.It was no longer harsh and stern, but sad, grave, and pitiful. "MissLudolph, may God forgive you."
She trembled. Pride and better feeling were contending for the mastery.After a few moments she sprang up and reached out her hands; but hewas gone now in very truth.