Tales of the Wonder Club Volume III Part 22

"Oh! I don't want any medicine, thank you," interrupted McGuilp. "I a.s.sure you I am all right. A little loss of appet.i.te, as you say; perhaps from the sudden change in the weather, which always affects me more or less. The fact is, I didn't sleep very well last night, and----"

"Yes, I can see _that_," continued Dr. Bleedem.

By this time the other members were getting interested, and our artist found himself suddenly the cynosure for all the scrutiny of the club.

How he cursed the doctor's officiousness! Why couldn't he mind his own business?

"Yes, now you mention it, doctor, I can see that our young friend does _not_ seem quite up to the mark to-day," remarked Mr. Oldstone.

"By his appearance I should say the young gentleman had something on his mind," suggested Mr. Hardcase. "His countenance seems sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," quoted Mr. Blackdeed from his favourite author.

Then each member had something to say in turn, till our artist felt himself blus.h.i.+ng up to the roots of his hair. In vain did he give himself a twisted pinch in the fleshy part of his leg under the table.

The blush would rise, and there was no checking it. He fancied he could see the members give side glances one to the other, or trying to conceal a smile; but this may have been imagination.

Breakfast being now over, each member rose from the table, some gathering round the fire, one or two of them peering out into the murky gloom. Then Helen entered to clear away the breakfast things. She, too, seemed less lively than her wont, her face paler, and she went about her domestic duties mechanically, with downcast eyes.

"Why, Helen, my girl," exclaimed Dr. Bleedem, "you don't look as bright as usual. Have _you_ been having a sleepless night? Have _you_ been losing your appet.i.te?"

The girl looked up confusedly, and a deep blush suffused her face and neck. The fame of Dr. Bleedem was great in the neighbourhood. She believed herself to be in the presence of a man who could read the secrets of her inmost soul, and that all attempts to mask them from his scrutinising gaze would be worse than useless.

"What has come to you young people of late, I don't know," continued Dr.

Bleedem. "Now, here is Mr. McGuilp, he, too, has been losing his appet.i.te, and suffering from insomnia."

Oh! how our artist wished that the ground would open at his feet and swallow him up. In vain he trod on his toes and turned his face towards the window, as if peering into the snow that was now falling fast. His ears continued to burn like fire, and all he could do, by mopping his forehead with his pocket-handkerchief, was inadequate to keep back the traitor blush.

"Oh! oh!" muttered Dr. Bleedem to himself, whilst gazing from one to the other. "Is that the way the wind lies?"

The members now began to look sideways, one at the other. One of them raised his eyebrows; another winked; a third suppressed a t.i.tter; but as this all took place behind our artist's back, who was still looking out intently at the snow, there was nothing to wound his sensibilities.

At length Mr. Oldstone broke the silence. "When are you thinking of beginning the copy of our Helen's picture, Mr. McGuilp?"

"I? Oh yes, just so," replied our artist, waking up out of a reverie.

"Well, the fact is, we are most unfortunate in the weather. It is impossible to begin if it continues like this. Should it clear up later, I will at once set to work."

"Good. And now gentlemen, what do you all propose doing to while away the time? A rubber of whist, a game of chess, backgammon, or what?"

inquired the antiquary.

After a little discussion, it was decided that Dr. Bleedem, Professor Cyanite, Mr. Crucible, and Mr. Oldstone, should form a party at whist.

Mr. Blackdeed and Mr. Hardcase played a game of chess, while the poet and the painter, not being disposed to join in any game, retired into a corner together, and were soon deep in a discussion upon the arts of painting and poetry. A couple of hours pa.s.sed away, and still the members were absorbed, each in his favourite pursuit, when the weather began to clear up, and the sun shone brightly.

This decided our artist to set about his allotted task; so breaking off the conversation with his poet friend, he repaired to the studio, and placing a clean canvas, the same size as that of the portrait, upon the easel, he commenced his copy; and here we will leave him to continue his task for the present.

Over a fortnight had pa.s.sed since we left our artist at his work. The task was now completed. He had found it necessary to have one or two extra sittings from Helen herself on the copy, just to give more truth to it, as he said. However, as everything on this earth comes to an end, there was an end also to these sittings.

"Helen," said our artist to his model at the last, "I must go. My affairs call me back to Italy. I have been keeping my studio on all this time, and I have certain business to settle which will brook no delay."

Helen's countenance fell, and her lip quivered. Her eyes grew moist and downcast. In a voice that she endeavoured to render firm, she ventured to inquire: "And will it be for long, sir?"

"For very long, Helen? Perhaps for ever."

Helen had no answer to this. Her sobs were choking her. The tears stole silently down her cheeks, but she whisked them away with her handkerchief, and did her best to appear outwardly calm.

Our artist, too, felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes suffused with tears.

"Perhaps, sir," meekly suggested the girl, "when you have settled all your affairs abroad, you may think of taking a holiday, and be paying us a flying visit, just to see Mr. Oldstone and the other gentlemen, you know. I'm sure both father and mother will be glad to see you again."

"I am afraid not, Helen. I am afraid not," and our artist slowly and sadly shook his head.

"What! _never_--never again!" almost shrieked the child.

Here she broke down completely. All restraint and propriety flew to the winds. Nature, till now trampled upon and held in abeyance, at this point rebelled and relieved herself in a torrent of the bitterest sobs and tears.

"Helen! dear Helen! What is this?" cried McGuilp, running to her a.s.sistance, his own tears falling fast the while!

"Oh! what a brute I have been! Quick, rouse yourself. There are footsteps in the pa.s.sage. Somebody is coming." Thus warned, there was a sudden mopping of eyes and blowing of noses, when the door opened, and Dame Hearty presented herself to ask if Helen could be spared to a.s.sist her in the kitchen.

"Oh! certainly," replied our artist, averting his face and busying himself with putting away his palette and brushes, whilst a.s.suming a firm voice. "Yes," continued he, still turning his back, "I think I may say that I have finished with her now. This is the last sitting in fact.

There is the copy I intend to present to the club. This one here is the first one, which I am going to keep for myself. Which of the two do you prefer, Dame Hearty?"

In this way he rattled on to hide his confusion. Helen had slipped noiselessly away, bathed her face in cold water, and returned to the kitchen.

"Well, sir," replied Dame Hearty, in answer to our artist's question, "I really don't know what to say. They are both so lovely, there's not a pin to choose between them."

Then, scanning our artist's countenance, she observed:

"You appear to have a bad cold, sir."

"I am afraid I have, Dame Hearty," said McGuilp; "the weather has been very uncertain, and I think I must have committed some imprudence."

"Let me make you a basin of gruel, sir. No? It's a capital thing, and you should keep out of all draughts, and----"

"And keep my bed, perhaps you'll tell me, my good woman," interrupted McGuilp. "No, no; I've no time to coddle. Do you know, Dame Hearty, I must be off to-morrow to London by the stage, as I have to return to Rome without further delay. Already I am long after my time."

"So soon! Why, you _have_ paid us a short visit," exclaimed the hostess.

"Well, sir, you knows best. All I can say is that my husband and I will be most glad to see you again, when next you be pa.s.sing this way."

A knock at the door, and our host entered to ask if he might be allowed to see the copy.

"Certainly, my good host, here it is," said McGuilp.

Jack Hearty went into ecstacies over it, saying he didn't know which he liked best.

"Mr. McGuilp says he is off again to-morrow, Jack," began our hostess.

"Yes," broke in McGuilp. "What time does the stage start? Early? I'd better begin my packing at once," and off he went to his bedroom to make preparations.

The fact was, he wanted to be alone, for it was an effort to keep up a cheerful appearance with a sad heart. He locked himself within his room, and having collected together a few articles of clothing--enough to fill his valise, he threw himself into an arm-chair and gave himself up to meditation.