A Face Illumined Part 55

Ida returned shyly, and it would seem that some of the color of her flower had found its way into her cheeks.

"Mr. Eltinge," she said, hesitatingly, "I don't believe I can make you understand how much I would like a picture of this pear-tree and yourself sitting under it as I have seen you for the past two days. I must admit that the wish to have such a sketch was one of the motives that led me to bring Mr. Van Berg." Then she added, with deepening color still, "my conscience troubles me when I hear Mr. Van Berg condemn himself so harshly. I have learned that I misjudged him as truly as he did me, and I have since realized how sadly both facts and appearances were against me."

"Well, Miss Ida," said the old gentleman, musingly, "I am inclined to think there has been more of misunderstanding than of intentional and deliberate harshness. My long life has taught me that it is astonis.h.i.+ng how blind we often are to the thoughts and feelings of others. But I warn everybody to be careful how they visit this old garden, for it's a wonderful place for bringing out the truth.

Nature is in the ascendant here," and he looked keenly and humorously at the artist, who remained, however, unconscious of his scrutiny, for his eyes were following Ida. She had suddenly turned her back upon them both again, and was soon bending over the little brook whose murmur he faintly heard.

"These allusions to the past are all painful to her," he thought, "and she refers to them only because, as she says, her conscience compels her to. It must be my task to make her forget the past in the present and future."

"Mr. Van Berg," she said, returning, "you have visited the Jordan I believe, but I doubt whether its waters did you more good than that little brook over there does me. That's right," she added, looking over his shoulder at the outlines he was rapidly tracing; "I'm glad you are losing no time."

"I remember the condition on which you allowed me to come," he replied, looking up with a smile into her face, "and I've already learned, as Mr. Eltinge suggests, that nothing will do in this garden but downright honesty." Something in her face caused his eyes to linger, and he added hastily: "You're right about the Jordan. The brook seems much more potent, for apparently it has washed your trouble all away, but has left--well you might think it flattery if I should tell you all I see. this garden seems to contain the elixir of life for you, Miss Ida. My heart was aching to see how pale you were becoming, but here---"

"Mr. Van Berg," said Ida, abruptly, "will you pardon a suggestion?"

He looked up at her again a little wonderingly and bowed.

"There has been a sort of necessity," she resumed, "that my faulty self should be the theme of our conversation to-day, but all the mystery in which you imagined me enveloped must have vanished since you came here. I now must ask that we dwell hereafter on more agreeable subjects than Ida Mayhew."

"I must bring this tendency to personal allusions to an end at once,"

she thought, "or else I shall betray myself to my bitter mortification."

He looked up with a deprecating smile, "I am at your mercy," he replied, "and as I said before I will submit to any conditions."

"This is an easy one," said Ida, with emphasis, and then she took up the Bible and began reading to Mr. Eltinge, who from his seat under the pear-tree had been watching them with a pleased and placid interest on his serene old face. Their young life appeared beautiful now, and full of hope and promise, but he did not envy it. The prospect before him was better than the best that earth could offer.

Van Berg never forgot the hour that followed. His pencil was busy but his thoughts were busier. He felt his artist life and power kindling within him in a way that was exhilarating and grand. While his themes were simple he felt that they were n.o.ble and beautiful in the highest degree. The tree--a pretty object in itself--had been endowed with a human interest and suggested a divine philosophy.

Mr. Eltinge, who sat at its foot, became to him one of the world's chief heroes--a man who had met and vanquished evil for almost a century. His white hair and silver beard were a halo of glory around the quiet face that was turned in kindly sympathy towards his companion, and Van Berg did his best to bring out the n.o.ble profile.

But the maiden herself--why did his eyes turn so often to her, and why did he, unasked, introduce her into the sketch with a care and lingering delicacy of touch that made even her pencilled image seem a living girl? When not affected or rendered conventional by society, her voice was singularly girlish and natural, and there would often be a tone in a plaintive and minor key that vibrated like a low, sweet chord in his heart rather than in his ears. It must be admitted that he gave little heed to the sacred words she read; but the flexible music of her voice, mingled with the murmur of the brook, the rustle of the leaves and the occasional song of a bird, all combined to form the sweetest symphony he had ever heard.

As an artist he exulted. His hand had not lost its cunning, and his ruling pa.s.sion, which the strange experiences of the past few weeks had held in abeyance, was rea.s.serting itself with a fuller, richer power than he had known before. That WAS Ida Mayhew's face that was growing beautiful and full of her new and better life under his appreciative and skilful touch, and the consciousness of success in the kind of effort in which success meant to him so much, filled him with a strong enthusiasm.

Once or twice Ida glanced shyly at him, and his appearance did not tend to fix her thoughts wholly on the sacred text.

At last Mr. Eltinge said: "That will do for to-day. I think, under the circ.u.mstances, you have given most praiseworthy attention to what you have read, and to what little I could say in the way of explanation. Now for the picture, and I confess I'm as eager as a child to see it;" and they came and looked over Van Berg's shoulder.

Almost instantly Ida clapped her hands, exclaiming with delight: "The tree is perfect, and oh, Mr. Eltinge, I shall always have you now, with your dear kind face turned towards me as I have seen it to-day!" Suddenly her manner changed, and in a tone full of disappointment she added, "Oh, Mr. Van Berg, how could you spoil my picture? You have put me in it."

"Certainly," he replied demurely, "you were a part of the picture."

"Not a necessary part. I did not ask you to do that," she answered, in a way that proved her feelings were hurt.

"I am willing to do more than you ask, and if you insist on it I will efface your image, although I should much regret to do so."

"I protest against that," cried Mr. Eltinge. "So far from spoiling the picture, your being there makes it invaluable to me. I'm going to tax Mr. Van Berg's generosity, and ask for this in the hope that he will make another drawing of the old man and the tree only, for you."

"Would you like to have it so very much?" said Ida, much pleased with this arrangement.

"Yes, my dear, very much indeed, and I'll place it near my favorite chimney corner, where I can see you all winter. Mr. Van Berg, I congratulate you; I'm not much of a judge of art, but this is my little friend here, true to life. You have been very happy in catching the expression which I am learning to know so well."

"Your words have a fuller meaning than you think," replied the artist, heartily. "I have indeed been very happy in my work. I never enjoyed a morning more in my life."

"But I'm to go home without any picture," said Ida, trying to hide her pleasure by a.s.sumed reproachfulness.

"There is no picture yet, for any one," he answered, "this is only a sketch from which I shall try to make two pictures that will suggest a scene particularly attractive to one of my calling, to say the least."

As he placed the sketch in his book, the work he had been engaged on that morning when Ida met him by the roadside, dropped out, and she saw herself leaning on the bal.u.s.ter rail of the staircase, with her hand half extended as a token of forgiveness and reconciliation.

Her cheeks flushed instantly, but she was able to remark quietly:

"I suppose that is the way you artists keep a memorandum of current events."

He replied gravely, but with some answering color also: "Yes, Miss Mayhew, when the current is deep and strong."

Van Berg felt himself happy in securing from Mr. Eltinge an invitation to come again. As they were riding home, Ida remarked, shyly:

"I did not know you could draw so well."

"Nor did I either before. That old garden is enchanted ground."

"Yes," said Ida, "poor Eve was driven out of the Garden of Eden, but I feel as if I had found my way into it. I only wish I could stay there," and her sigh was long and deep.

"Does the world outside seem very full of thorns and thistles?" he asked, kindly.

After a moment she replied, simply and briefly, "Yes."

He looked at her sympathetically for a moment, and then said earnestly:

"Miss Ida, pardon me if I venture a prediction. Wherever you dwell, hereafter, all that is good and beautiful in life and character which the garden typifies will begin to take the place of thorns and thistles."

"I hope so," she faltered, "but that involves bleeding hands, Mr.

Van Berg. I am not cast in heroic mould. I am weak and wavering, and as a proof I am dwelling on the very subject that I had forbidden.

I trust that you will be too manly to take advantage of my weakness henceforth and will try to help me forget myself."

"That may be a harder task than you think, but I will attempt whatever you ask," and from her pleased and interested expression it would seem that during the next half hour he succeeded remarkably well. Suddenly, as if a happy thought had struck him, he said a little abruptly:

"I foresee that you and Miss Burton are destined to become great friends. You have not yet learned what a lovely character she possesses and how broad and deep are her sympathies."

Ida's silence caused him to turn and look at her, and he saw that the light and color had faded from her face, but she said, emphatically:

"Miss Burton is even more admirable than you think her to be, if that were possible."

"I am pleased to hear one lady speak so strongly and generously of another. It is not usual. I shall do my utmost to make you better acquainted with each other, and in this pleasant task am sure I shall render you a very great service."

"Mr. Van Berg, I beg you will not," she exclaimed, hastily, and he saw with surprise that she appeared painfully embarra.s.sed.

"Pardon me, Miss Mayhew," he said; "I did not mean to be officious."

Ida saw no way of extricating herself save by promptly changing the subject, and this she did; but she could not fail to observe that her companion was hurt by her apparent unfriendliness towards one on whom he believed he had bestowed the best a man could give. The remainder of the drive was not enjoyed by either of them as the earlier part had been, and something like constraint tinged the manner and words of both.