Soft was the sound of their lyre, Crushing, consuming, destroying Darkness they spread over earth, Mute was the music of mirth, Hushed was the chorus of Graces: Back to the womb of the wave, Down the abysses of time Rolled the unchangeable ages, Reft of the glory of rhyme, Down the abysses. Now in the ends of the earth Call her again to arise Fresh from the ocean. Hot as of old are their songs, Warm as the breath of the South, Soft as the summer. Under the depth of the wave, Hearing their passionate numbers, Piercing her innermost cave, Waken her out of her slumbers, Soothed with the sound of their stain, Beautiful, merciful, mighty, Back to the nations again Comes Aphrodite. G. A. The Portrait of a Painter by Himself. BY LADY POLLOCK. PART III. It is difficult to determine whether a painful doubt or a bitter reality is harder to bear; it was the fate of Nelly Reynolds to experience both, for when her perplexity was ended, a heavy sorrow took its place. She herself declined to take any step to investigate the truth; she absolutely refused to write to her friend; but it happened that her friend wrote to her, informing her of the event which had seemed an impossibility. Sophie de la Roche had been secretly engaged for a whole year to Victor Huguenay; they had met at a friend's country house; at the end of three days' acquaintance they had each made up their mind. Sophie's grandmother, hearing of the flirtation, instantly recalled her, exhorting her to beware of a man who had no pedigree to show, and no armorial bearings. The matter ended in a concealed betrothal; Sophie relied upon the changes of time to effect a change in her position, and so soon as Victor became famous, and as she herself became legally entitled to her inheritance from her father, she confessed herself to her grandmother. It was difficult for a Madame de la Roche who had become Madame Ponsin, to hold out consistently against this marriage: she gave way, not indeed heartily and pleasantly, but with a grumbling submission. The marriage would probably take place soon, as Bellevue could no longer be an agreeable home. Sophie had often longed to tell Nelly all about it, but Victor had cautioned her, reminding her how much danger there was in any confidence when complete secrecy was a necessity. Yet he himself, when he was introduced to Miss Reynolds, had found it hard to abstain from speaking; he longed for the sympathy which he knew he should obtain from her. He found in her countenance a world of tenderness; he heard of her charming qualities on all sides; and as the chosen friend of the woman he adored she was already dear to him. Such were the contents of the letter which Nelly put into her aunt's hands three days after the trying reception at Madame de Montmorin's. Lady Reynolds devoured its contents in the first instance, and then read it over slowly a second time, as if hoping for some loophole of escape. Finding none, she burst into a storm of tears, while Nelly watched her in rigid stillness, sitting silent with no change of countenance, nor any kind of movement, till Millicent ceased to weep; then she said in accents that sounded dry and hard: "Don't cry; tears can do no good. Above all, Millicent, don't speak to me of these things. Silence I can bear, not speech; leave me for two days alone in my room, afterwards I will come back; and give me that letter, I have to answer it." Lady Reynolds gave it, and extended her arms longing to enclose Nelly in a fond embrace, but Miss Reynolds, afraid of any demonstration of emotion, retreated, and left the room without another word or sign. This forced composure in one who was of an impulsive and overflowing nature was alarming, and Lady Reynolds, frightened and exhausted, fell to weeping again as soon as she found herself alone; so absorbed was she, that she did not hear the announcement of Lord Helicon, who stood facing her before she even looked up. The sight of her distress awakened in him feelings long since subdued; he took her small hand and, folding it in his, he said: "Oh, my friend, my dear Lady Reynolds, tell me what is grieving you so greatly." Lady Reynolds gently withdrew her hand and, wiping her eyes, begged him to sit down and listen. Lord Helicon drew his chair a little nearer to her than was perhaps strictly necessary, and gave her all his attention. When she concluded, he assured her that she took the matter too much to heart. Nelly's imagination was struck with the genius of Huguenay, but he doubted her heart being deeply engaged; she would recover, he didn't doubt that. She would recover, and who could say now that there was no chance for Delorme. "Delorme," said Lady Reynolds, "is banished from us. He has never been near us since that night. Sensitive, of a jealous nature, of affections deep and exclusive, he will certainly remain away; the iron has entered into his soul." "So much the better," said Lord Helicon, "it is his best chance; but let us discuss the present rather than the future, let us think what is best now for Miss Reynolds." After some further conversation it was decided that Nelly, if possible, should appear at Lady Reynolds's next Friday reception, in order to put an end to any malignant gossip which might proceed from the St. Aignan coterie; after this, Lord Helicon was inspired with a brilliant idea. Had not Lady Reynolds an old friend at Fontainebleau in General de Chaulieu, and might she not therefore with an ostensible reason remove to Fontainebleau for a time, and thus give Miss Reynolds a release from the chatter of Paris with change of air and scene? Lady Reynolds caught at the proposal and hoped Lord Helicon would come to see them there sometimes. Gladly he would have done so, he replied, but he was going to London on business-in fact, about his comedy, which he should perhaps bring out before long. Lady Reynolds betrayed her regret, for her countenance never could be untruthful, and Lord Helicon was gratified; he promised to write to her and she pledged herself to send faithful accounts to him of Nelly, and of all that passed. There was a moment's pause before the final good-bye, and then Lady Reynolds held out her hand. Lord Helicon stooped and kissed it; he took his departure with evident reluctance. When the Friday evening came, Nelly defeated the hopes of those who expected to see her in a languishing condition. Never had she looked so brilliant, and her golden hair was dressed with special care; her eyes shone, her cheeks glowed, her movement was animated-it was impossible not to admire her. She threw herself into all the courtesies of the reception, and when she had been amiable enough to the women, she flirted with the men; Lady Reynolds observed her with anxiety, and betrayed an occasional depression, which by some of the company was imputed to the absence of Lord Helicon. When Madame St. Aignan and her intimates the Le Pères were putting on their cloaks in the ante-room, the following dialogue took place between them. M. St. Aignan, rarely allowed to speak, observed that he had never seen anything more lovely than Miss Reynolds. "For an Englishwoman," replied his wife, "she is not amiss: her eyes, hair, and complexion are good, and she moves well (thanks to her French training); but she cannot be called a beauty. Yet to-night she certainly showed a vivacity and grace far beyond anything we usually see in her countrywomen. "It was all got up," said Mademoiselle le Père, giggling: "I heard her sigh twice; and I detected rouge on her cheeks." "I doubt," said Madame St. Aignan, lowering her voice to a tone of confidence, "whether you are right as to her sentiment for the painter, for when I observed to her with perfect sincerity that I thought Mademoiselle de la Roche unworthy of him, she rejoined, Indeed! then you differ from me, for I do not know a nobler mind than hers."" "It was all got up," persisted Mademoiselle le Père, "I observed her while you spoke, and I saw her lips trembling." "Come away," said M. St. Aignan, sick of this talk, and they departed. Such was the result of the resolution taken by Miss Reynolds that she would never appear as an object of pity to the Le Pères and their friends. |