Chapter 12

THE PORTRAIT IN THE GALLERY.

"So I gave him one of the rabbits," said Meg, concluding a long story of which Dan was the hero, "and he took it to his camp."

"As a matter of fact, you provided his dinner," observed Miss Linisfarne, languidly. So far she had not taken much interest in the story.

"I suppose so. Dan said he was fond of stewed rabbit."

"No doubt. All gipsies are."

"But Dan is not a gipsy!" said the girl, laughing. "He tries to be one, but fails. He is a gentleman."

"My poor child, you must be making a mistake," replied the elder lady, in a pitying tone. "Gentlemen do not travel in caravans, or take rabbits from unknown young women."

"This one does, Miss Linisfarne. I am sure I am right. Dan is a gentleman, and a very handsome one too."

"Handsome!" echoed Miss Linisfarne, with a flush. "You did not tell me that, Meg. Describe his looks."

"He is tall, with brown hair and moustache. His eyes are of a dark grey, and laugh with his lips. He is," said Meg, concluding this feminine description with a feminine epithet such as is to be found in the novels of the gentle sex--"he is a Greek god."

"A most attractive person, according to your description. Are you sure your enthusiasm does not carry you away? For all I know, he may not be a bit better-looking than Parson Jarner. He also is a Greek god, though more like Silenus than Apollo."

"Parson Jarner!" echoed Meg, in a tone of ineffable contempt. "Why, he is as old as old can be, and as red in the face and white in the hair as anything! Dan is really good-looking, like--like--oh," she cried, breaking off suddenly with a twinkle in her eyes, "I know who he is like."

"What is the matter, child?"

"Would you care to see Dan?"

Miss Linisfarne shrank back on her couch with a quick sigh, and covered her face with her hands.

"No! no!" she said in a low whisper; "how can you ask such a thing, child? I have seen no one but Mr. Jarner for years and years. I am dead--I am buried--I am forgotten. Do not bring a stranger to my sepulchre. Even this common wanderer must not see me as the wreck I am."

Bather startled by this outburst, which she was far from expecting, Meg arose to her feet and bent over the couch with a pretty expression of penitence in her eyes. Gently she removed the hands hiding the face of her hostess.

"You do not understand--you do not understand! It is not Dan himself I would show you, but his portrait."

"His portrait!" repeated Miss Linisfarne, in blank astonishment. "Are you out of your mind, Meg?"

"Come with me to the picture-gallery, and I will show you the portrait of Dan."

Much bewildered by this invitation, Miss Linisfarne mechanically arose from the couch and linked her arm with that of Meg. She had not the remotest idea of what the girl meant to do, and so yielded to her curiosity. That the picture of a vagrant should be in Farbis Court picture-gallery seemed incredible. No portraits but those of the Breels hung there; and unless one of them had come to life again, she by no means understood how Meg intended to fulfil her promise.

"You foolish child!" she said, with a low laugh. "This is some trick."

"No, it is not. Come to the picture-gallery, and I will show you Dan."

Thus adjured, Miss Linisfarne, leaning on Meg's shoulder, passed beyond the screen and across the polished floor of the room. They entered the hall, and slowly ascended the wide staircase. Miss Linisfarne was by no means strong, and, even with the assistance of her vigorous guest, found it impossible to move otherwise than at a snail's pace. At length they reached the gallery, which extended the whole length of the east wing, and here Meg paused before a portrait.

"There!" she said, clapping her hands and laughing gaily, "that is Dan. The picture was painted three hundred years ago, but it is my caravan-owner for all that!"

Miss Linisfarne looked steadily at the picture, which represented a handsome young man in Elizabethan costume. His face was, indeed, very like that of Dan, though naturally Miss Linisfarne was ignorant of such resemblance. Masterful look, firm lips, bold eyes--it was as though the painter of the portrait had transferred to his canvas the features of the vagrant.

The more Meg looked at it, the more marked seemed the resemblance, and she glanced at Miss Linisfarne with a mischievous smile.

"It is Dan," she repeated; "or else Dan is the ghost of Sir Alurde."

"Sir Alurde is the original of this portrait, I know," said Miss Linisfarne; "but I am ignorant by what means a vagabond comes to resemble one of the proudest courtiers of Elizabeth. Are you sure the man you speak of resembles Sir Alurde?"

"I am certain. See, here is a pencil-portrait, drawn from memory."

She handed it to Miss Linisfarne, who glanced at it for a moment, and then looked around with a sigh of fatigue.

"Bring me a chair, Meg, and place it before Sir Alurde's portrait. Thank you, child. I soon grow weary if I keep on my feet. Is this Dan's picture?"

"Yes--from memory."

"It is certainly very like the Elizabethan. But, as you have seen Sir Alurde's face some hundreds of times, and this vagabond's but once, I fancy you must unconsciously have drawn the countenance of the former."

"No; I have drawn Dan's face. It is true," added Meg, demurely--"it is true that I have only spoken once to Sir Alurde's double, but I have seen him at least a dozen times. Often and often I have been hidden in the pine trees above his dell, and looked down on him without his knowing I was there. And sometimes I have sung songs and led him a dance through the wood, like Puck did the Athenian lovers. You yourself, Miss Linisfarne, said that I was quick at catching a likeness; and if that sketch is not as like Dan as Sir Alurde is like him, then call me--well, anything you please."

"You foolish, foolish child!" said Miss Linisfarne, letting the sketch fall on her lap. "How can you indulge in such wild ways? Do you not know that you are twenty years of age, and must not act like an uneducated rustic?"

"I am a rustic," replied Meg, smiling--"but not uneducated, thanks to you and Mr. Jarner. Oh," she continued, laughing at the recollection, "if you only had seen his face when I spoke like the villagers! He nearly fainted with surprise and horror."

"I don't wonder at it," said Miss Linisfarne, severely. "You have no business to play such tricks. If this man is a gentleman, which I can hardly believe, he must have been shocked at your illiterate speech."

"He was--very much shocked," assented Miss Merle, readily; "but I only spoke half a dozen words in the style of Audrey. Afterwards my language was most correct."

"What did you converse about, child?"

"I am afraid we talked nonsense! But as it was our first meeting, you can hardly wonder at that. He asked me to visit him in his dell."

"You did not accept his invitation?"

"Yes, I did! Why not? There is no harm in going there."

The elder lady was nonplussed for the moment. Meg was so innocent and unsophisticated that it was really a matter of difficulty to set her right on some points. Miss Linisfarne did not wish to suggest anything detrimental to the character of the vagrant, if only because she did not think it advisable to put ideas into the mind of her prot�g�e which were not there already. She therefore evaded a direct reply, and spoke lightly, as though the matter were of no consequence.

"My dear child, you must take care of your heart," she said, with forced gaiety. "I cannot have you falling in love with the first handsome scamp who comes to Farbis."

"I fall in love!" laughed Meg. "What a funny idea! I don't think Dan is the kind of young man with whom I would fall in love. And then," she added reflectively, "I don't know what love is."

"I hope you never will know," said Miss Linisfarne, vehemently. "Keep your heart free while you may, child. Love is a sweet poison which brings nothing but pain. Love!" she added, with a bitter laugh, "it is a curse--a curse, child, and not a blessing."

"Were you ever in love, Miss Linisfarne?"

The lady looked at the bright young creature before her, and a greyish pallor overspread her face. For some moments, as if not grasping the full purport of the question, she remained silent. When she did speak it was in a low dreamy voice, as though her thoughts were far away.

"Yes, child! I loved once, but it led to nothing but madness and despair. He was a god in my eyes, as this vagrant is in yours. But his noble looks hid a base soul. He lied and plotted, and made me what I am. For his sake have I been condemned to this living tomb for these long, long, dreary years. I was young and fair when I came here. Look at me now--look at me now!"

Overmastered by her passion, she rose to her feet and clenched her hands in impotent rage. Anger gave her momentary strength, and she paced up and down the long gallery like a panther in its cage.

"There is no honour, no justice, no love, in this world!" she cried in a fierce voice. "Those who say there are such things lie. Who knows that better than I? To be tricked and betrayed and rendered unhappy--that is the lot of women. There is no hope for me--no escape. As I sowed, so have I reaped; and plentiful--plentiful has been the harvest of my sins. Child, child! go not near this man. Avoid him as you would a viper. If you neglect my warning----"

She raised her hands in menace and looked at the girl. Something in Meg's face arrested the fury of her passion, and, letting her arms fall, she returned to her chair. It was not her duty to give Meg to eat of the tree of knowledge, and she abruptly stopped those confessions which hinted at sin and punishment.

"Don't heed me, child--don't heed me," she said feverishly. "I talk at random. Bring this man here and let me see him. I will then be able to tell you if he is as you think. But I doubt it--I doubt it."

"Will you see him, Miss Linisfarne?"

"No, no! Bring him to this gallery. I dare not speak to him face to face, but view him from a distance. That will be sufficient for me! I love you, Meg, as though you were my own child, and would not have your heart tortured as mine has been. There, there! Go, child--go! Leave me here; I wish to be alone."

Meg bent over her for a moment and kissed her cold forehead, then flitted rapidly away in obedience to the order. When her footsteps died away, Miss Linisfarne lifted her haggard face, and, clinging to the wall, advanced a few steps to where a mirror was placed. This gave back the reflection of a pale face, grey hair, and eyes filled with anguish. At the sight a moan escaped from her lips.

"Oh, my lost beauty!" she sobbed; "oh, my lost beauty!"