CHAPTER X.
It is not our object to weary the reader with superfluous detailsrelating to the doings and sayings of the members of the club, nor tofollow up the story of their lives from day to day. We will, therefore,suppose some two years to have passed away since our artist's departurefor Rome. In two years' time much may transpire, _i.e._, in a large townwhere there is much business and traffic. In this ancient hostelry,however, situated about a mile from any habitable dwelling, things wenton from year to year in much the same monotonous way. Jack Hearty wasjust as genial and attentive as ever, and looked no older. Dame Heartywas just as active, bustling, and good-humoured. And Helen, what of her?Ah! here _was_ a change. Was she falling into a decline? Did her cheekgrow paler and paler, her step listless, her eye vacant, her mannerdistracted? No; nothing of the sort. All these signs had vanished longago, thanks to a course of steel that Dr. Bleedem had prescribed forher, and insisted on her taking. What a feather in the good doctor's capit was when he saw the sallow, sunken face fill out, the rose of perfecthealth once more return to her cheek, the elasticity to her step, andthe merry ring to her voice. No wonder he blew his own trumpet. Whowould not have done the same?
But there was one among the members who smiled quietly, and with an airof superiority, whenever the doctor vaunted himself.
"I don't know what you mean, sir," said Dr. Bleedem, one day, irritatedat what he conceived to be an expression of incredulity on ourantiquary's countenance, "but if you think that my medicine did noteffect the marvellous cure we have been discussing, I should like toknow what did, that's all."
"Well, sir," replied Mr. Oldstone, still with a quizzical look in hiseye, "I said nothing."
The doctor, far from being pacified, gave a snort, then resumedseverely, "And I'll tell you what it is, Oldstone, if you don't takemore care of your constitution, you won't last much longer. You maydepend upon that. If you pass many more nights like that one on the eveof Mr. McGuilp's departure, and think that you know better than I do,your sand will run speedily down. Then will follow a state of utterprostration--the death rattle--the silent tomb. Ha! ha! how will youlike that?"
Having thus delivered himself, this son of AEsculapius felt better, anddeeming he had completely vanquished his antagonist, he proceeded tofill his yard of clay with some of his most pungent tobacco, lighted it,and throwing himself back in his chair, and crossing his legs, gaveseveral defiant puffs at his pipe, causing the smoke to stream throughhis nostrils, which gave him somewhat the appearance of a fiery dragon.
"Well, man," said Mr. Oldstone, meekly, "don't croak like a bird of illomen. It is like having the skeleton at the feast, as was the customamongst the ancient Egyptians."
"Yes, by Gumdragon! it is," assented the leech, "and it would be goodfor several of you if you profited by the lesson, for I could mentionsome who have progressed precious little since those times."
"Come, come, doctor," insisted Oldstone, "I've seen you yourself takevery kindly to your little glass of punch at our convivial meetings."(Here the antiquary winked furtively at some of the older members, as ifhe had scored something.)
"No, sir; never to the extent of being carried to bed helplessly drunk,as I have seen you, sir--not unfrequently, I regret to say," replied thedoctor, indignantly.
A general laugh from all the members of the club, in which our antiquaryheartily joined, was a signal for a cessation of hostilities, and goodhumour was restored.
It may interest our readers, before we go further, to learn some news ofour artist since his departure. According to his promise he had written,first from London and later from Rome, to announce his safe arrival. Hehad written many times since, and always to Mr. Oldstone. His firstletters had been short, and contained little more than the bare news wehave stated; desiring, at the same time, to be remembered to all theinmates of the hostel, including our landlord and his family.
These letters were promptly and voluminously replied to by ourantiquary, who, besides local news, of which there was certainly adearth, managed to fill up his letters with wise saws and some fatherlyadvice, delicately, not obtrusively given--such as is not unbecomingfrom an elderly man towards one considerably his junior. The tone ofthese letters seemed to call for a reply something in the same spirit.It was impossible for our artist to ignore the fact that the old man hadtaken a prodigious liking to him--loved him, in fact, as we have said,like a son. He could not reply curtly or coldly to words that soevidently came from the good man's heart, so he sat him down and pennedequally long epistles, relating his adventures, the people he had met,and the places he had seen; thanking our antiquary at the same time forthe kindly interest he had always taken in him.
It soon became apparent to our artist, from sundry hints carefullyworded by his antiquarian friend, that the latter was no stranger to thesecret he held within his breast. He doubted not but that all themembers of the club knew it, and this thought caused him some annoyance;but there was something in the veiled sympathy of this fatherly old man,with his covert innuendos, his tact and discretion, that touched himdeeply, and made it impossible not to open his heart to him and pourforth the secrets of his soul.
The ice was broken. Letters poured in thicker than ever, and the othermembers, recognising always the same handwriting, wondered what therecould be so much in common between a young man like McGuilp and one ofMr. Oldstone's years. Moreover, they noticed that the antiquary nevervouchsafed to read these letters aloud, merely certain portions here andthere, where it referred to themselves, and these were short enough,while they watched their aged member as he gloated over page after pageof close writing with evident satisfaction. There seemed a certain wantof confidence in this, which each secretly resented; but they saidnothing, merely venting their spleen among themselves by alluding to ourartist as "the old un's protege."
Now, about a year previous, Mr. Oldstone had received some importantnews from his young friend in Rome. He had lately completed a life-sizehalf-length portrait, in which he had made use of the study he had takenof our landlord's daughter. The head he had copied from this study, buthe had added a figure, which made it more interesting as a picture. Thework had been finished in Rome, and sent to England to be exhibited atthe Royal Academy, then held at Somerset House. It had not only beenaccepted, but hung upon the line, besides receiving high eulogiums fromthe President, Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, on a private view day, had beenobserved holding forth before a knot of students and expatiating uponthe merits of this _chef d'oeuvre_.
One of the students, a friend of our artist, had written to him tocongratulate him on his success, at the same time enclosing him a slipfrom the _Athenaeum_, being a critique in which his work was extolled tothe skies, and alluded to as _the_ picture of the season, and thepainter as "a great genius who had taken the world by storm, and hadalready reached the temple of fame."
This excerpt our artist in his turn enclosed to his friend Oldstone, andwound up his letter by saying that the picture had already been sold fora considerable sum to Lord Landborough, a great patron of art, whopossessed a magnificent gallery at his country seat, Feathernest, inMiddleshire, filled with the choicest specimens of ancient and modernart, in which company our artist's picture, which he had chosen todesignate "The Landlord's Daughter," was destined to find a place. In apostscript he referred to having just read an account of a visit fromtheir Majesties King George III. and Queen Charlotte to Somerset House.They had taken their eldest son, George, Prince of Wales, with them tosee the pictures. It is reported that the young prince was so enamouredof the portrait entitled "The Landlord's Daughter," that he cried whenthey took him away, and said that he wanted her for his nurse. HisMajesty, ever indulgent towards his children, suggested that to discoverthe original of the portrait would not be impossible, in which case----.But here his royal spouse interposed, and with a vicious tap at hersnuff-box declared she would never allow such a face in _her_household--not _she_. So the King of England caved in.
Now, our antiquary affected no
secrecy with regard to this particularletter. There was no reason for it. On the contrary, it treated of apublic event which, in all probability, the members of the club wouldread for themselves in the papers, so calling our host and hostess aswell as their daughter together, he began thus in the presence of all:
"You remember Mr. McGuilp, Jack?"
"Ay, sir, sure enough," responded our host. "I hope he is very well."
"I believe so, Jack," said Oldstone. "Now listen to this, all of you."
Here he read the letter aloud, from beginning to end, adding, at itsconclusion, on his own account, "There, I knew my boy had it in him. Isaw it from the first, as soon as I set eyes on the portrait he paintedof our Helen."
"Never blush, girl!" ventured Mr. Parnassus, but a stern look from Mr.Oldstone checked further banter.
"Well, well, well!" muttered our landlord. "To think that _our_ daughtershould have her portrait exhibited at the Royal Academy. That the Royalfamily should see it, and, moreover, that it should have been bought bya peer of the realm, and paid for money down. Why! it passes belief.Don't it Molly?" Our hostess thus appealed to by her spouse, admittedthat it _did_ seem strange, and suggested that perhaps all that gotinto the papers might not be true. The suggestion was instantly howleddown. Cries of "Yes, yes, every word of it," from Mr. Crucible."Especially that part where the Queen wouldn't have such a face abouther at any price," chimed in Professor Cyanite.
"Just like the old cat, jealous of her husband," added Mr. Blackdeed.
"Exactly so," agreed Dr. Bleedem.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, a truce to this," now interrupted Mr. Oldstone."I propose that we meet together this evening at eight o'clock, over asteaming bowl of rum punch, such as our good host here understands sowell how to brew, and that we drink to the health of our artist friend,with a three times three." This proposition was unanimously applauded,and subsequently carried out. We much fear that on this occasion ourworthy chairman was again carried away rather too much by his--emotion.
The next morning our antiquary came down late for breakfast, rathermuddled in the upper regions, with, moreover, several sharp twinges ofgout, which reminded him that he was not so young as he used to be. Hiscoffee had got cold, and he had been left to finish his breakfast alone,all the other members having been drawn away to their severalavocations.
"Do you want anything, sir?" asked Helen, appearing at the door.
"Well, yes, my girl," answered Oldstone. "I want you to sit down here,and keep me company."
"I can't stay for long, sir," replied Helen. "Mother is sure to becalling me."
"No matter. Wait till she calls. Now, Helen, tell me, what do you thinkof that letter I read out to you yesterday--eh?"
For answer Helen rubbed her hands together for joy, and flushed all overher face. Then clasping her hands upon her breast, and looking upwards,muttered as if unconscious of anyone's presence, "I _knew_, I knew heloved me!"
"Yes, I am afraid he does, you dangerous young puss," observed Oldstone."Too much so for his peace of mind, poor boy!"
"Perhaps, but not more than _I_ love _him_. _That_ were impossible."
"And you're not afraid of confessing as much to _me_, you brazen hussy?"demanded the old man, playfully chucking her under the chin.
"To _you_, you know I am not," replied the girl. "To you, sir, I feel Icould, nay, I _must_, tell everything, and oh! it _is_ such a comfort tohave a real true friend from whom one need hide nothing!"
"Well, well, my dear," said Oldstone, "I am sure I have always wished tobe your true friend, but whether I am doing right in encouraging you ina passion which cannot end wisely----"
"It need never end," interrupted Helen. "I will love him eternally, evenif he should cease to love _me_."
"You would!" exclaimed the antiquary with surprise, looking at hercuriously.
"Yes, sir, I would. What of that?"
"But if he could not marry you," rejoined her counsellor.
"Didn't I tell you that the thought of marriage never entered my head,"persisted the girl.
"You did, my child, but it won't do in this world," and the old manshook his head.
"What! can I not love the man of my choice--especially if I know that heloves me? Who will prevent me loving him, thinking of him, praying forhim, _dying_ for him, if need be? Who shall tear his image from myheart, through whatever trials I may have to pass for _his_ sake?"
"Helen, you are a noble girl?" cried our antiquary with enthusiasm. Ihave no more arguments to use. I wish there were a few more like you inthe world. But hark ye, my child, there are others who have felt likeyourself for a time--but how long has it lasted?
"The greater part of your sex, I fear, find it easy to overthrow an oldlove for a new one. Then follow other new ones in succession, till theyend perhaps in marrying someone they don't love, and can't love; all forwealth, title, or position."
"You surely don't think _I_ could be so base, Mr. Oldstone," cried thegirl, recoiling in horror.
"No, my dear. That is the very last thing I should believe of _you_,"replied her friend.
"I am glad of that," said the girl.
"Helen!" cried the voice of Dame Hearty, outside; "Where are you?""Here, mother," answered her daughter. "I was only having a word withMr. Oldstone," and she hurried away, leaving the antiquary alone withhis writing materials.
The breakfast having been cleared away, Oldstone drew his chair up tothe table and proceeded to pen a reply to his young protege. When theletter was concluded, our antiquary reperused it, carefully dotting each_i_ and crossing each _t_, until he found no more to correct.
If our reader is not more scrupulous than we are ourselves, he willjoin us, in imagination, in an act not generally consideredrespectable--viz., that of playing the spy on the old man, by peeringover his shoulder, and reading what he has written, before he folds itup, seals it, and sends it to the post.
_Letter from Mr. Oldstone to Mr. Vandyke McGuilp._
"MY DEAR BOY,
"I cannot express to you the joy and pride I felt in perusing your last letter, and I hasten to offer you my best congratulations, and I think I may add those of the rest of our members, on having achieved what I must needs call such unprecedented success. I read your letter, together with the critique from the _Athenaeum_ enclosed, aloud, before the whole club, our worthy host and his family being also present. You should have seen the blush that suffused our dear Helen's cheek at the mention of the success of her portrait. It was as if she had said, 'Lo, he has become great, and all through _me_. _My_ face it was that inspired him to achieve such fame. _My_ prayers and good wishes that buoyed him up with energy to thus distinguish himself!' Some such thoughts must have passed through her mind, if I am any reader of faces--and I think I am.
"One of the younger members seemed disposed to offer some banter, but I frowned him down. I never will sanction any unseemly levity towards that girl, or allow her to be treated as if she were a mere hackneyed barmaid, used to the coarse jokes of any Tom, Dick or Harry. To me she is something very precious, and I love her as my own child. Poor little one! She always comes to me for sympathy in her troubles. Not even to her own parents will she confide everything--much less to the other members. If you were to see the change that has come over her of late! She has lost all that raw awkwardness so common to growing girls, and has now developed into mature womanhood.
"Since your departure, young man, I could not but pity the poor child with her sunken cheek, her downcast eyes, and listless manner. I knew she had a secret that weighed upon her, and I guessed what it was. I came forward to offer her my friendship and advice, and encouraged her to open her heart to me. The poor child's gratitude was so touching! There _must_ be an outburst when the heart is full, and she could confide in no one else.
"Ever since she found she had a true friend to lean on, I have noticed a marked change in the girl. The rose returned to her cheek, the light to her eye, an expression came into her
face that I never observed before--nay, a variety of expressions which seem to chase each other with marvellous rapidity over a countenance lovely, intelligent, and pure.
"Dr. Bleedem, poor man! seeing her looking mopish, prescribed her a course of steel medicine. She declares that he only gave her one dose, which he made her take in his presence. The rest of the medicine he left her to take by herself. Now the girl insists positively that, not liking the medicine, she threw it all away.
"Dr. Bleedem, of course, is under the impression that she took it all, and naturally attributes her sudden change of health for the better to his drugs. I am of opinion that it was medicine of another sort that brought back the roses to her cheek. She is now eighteen, and by our peasantry would be considered of a marriageable age; but oh! I _do_ begrudge her to any of these country bumpkins, who come in for their mug of ale and their chaff. There is no one for miles round anything like good enough for her. Of one thing, however, I feel quite certain, and that is, that she would never allow herself to be coaxed, cajoled, or threatened into marrying any man whom she did not love, however advantageous the match might appear in the eyes of the world. No, the girl has character, and would never give her hand where she had not set her affections. She would far sooner not marry at all. Whoever should win her affections will be a lucky man, for he will get a treasure in such a wife.
"Excuse the wanderings of an old dotard, my friend, but when I once get upon this topic, I am inexhaustible; and as for local news, there simply is none. When last I spoke to Helen about writing to you, she desired me to send her duty to you. Pretty soul! _duty_ indeed. Now, my dear boy, I must really draw this epistle to a close. Trusting that you are enjoying the best of health and spirits, and wishing you continued and ever increasing success in your art.
"I remain, "Your doting but affectionate old friend, "OBADIAH OLDSTONE."
We have said that Mr. Oldstone was prompt in answering the letters ofhis protege. Neither was our artist, as a rule, tardy in answering thoseof his aged friend. Seldom more than a month passed between a letter andits answer, on either side. Yet to this letter no reply came. Monthfollowed month, and no tidings arrived of our artist. Such delay wasmost unusual, and Mr. Oldstone now began to be seriously alarmed. Whathad happened to the boy? Was he ill? He knew by experience that thesummer months in Rome were extremely unhealthy, on account of themalaria. Was he laid up with Roman fever? Had he met with an accident?Or was there anything in the tone of his letter that had given offence?He tried to recollect. No, he thought not; in fact, he did not know whatto think. The gloomiest fancies rushed across his mind as he paced thebreakfast room alone.
Presently his eye caught the portrait of Helen, that McGuilp hadpresented to the club, and which he, Oldstone, had with his own handshung up over the mantel. "Ah! my pretty puss," said he, addressing thepainted canvas smiling down at him, "I dare not infect you with myfears. I don't want to make _you_ unhappy."
Just then the door gaped ajar, and the original of the portrait appearedat the opening. As the antiquary had not yet noticed her, his eyes beingstill fixed on the portrait, Helen stepped into the room and closed thedoor behind her. Then, walking straight up to Oldstone, she said,"Please sir, has anything happened?"
"Happened, my dear! What should happen in this dead-and-alive place?Nothing ever happens here."
"Ah! sir," rejoined Helen, "you but evade my question. You know what Iwould ask."
"My dear, how should I?" demanded her friend and counsellor, with mostprovoking _sang froid_.
A gesture of impatience escaped the girl. Then fixing her eyes steadilyon those of the antiquary, as if to read his inmost soul, she said withsome approach to severity in her tone, "Mr. Oldstone, you are keepingsomething from me. Something has happened to Mr. McGuilp, and you won'ttell me what it is."
"On my honour, my sweet child," replied her friend, "I know no more thanyou do yourself. I wish I did. Here have I been waiting now about sixmonths for a reply to my letter, when he used often to write by returnof post. I can't make head or tail of it."
"Then something _is_ wrong, you may depend upon it," cried the girl."Oh, dear! oh, dear! Surely he is laid up with some dreadfulillness--away from me, and in a strange country, with no one to attendupon him. Oh, merciful Heaven! help him! Oh, help him. Whatever it is,let me know the worst!"
"I don't want to frighten you, my pet," broke in Oldstone; "but I own Iam much perplexed myself. Perhaps he never received the letter.Sometimes letters get lost. At any rate, we'll hope for the best."
"Oh, sir, sir!" cried the girl in agony, "do you think that likely?"
"Certainly, my dear. Why not? All sorts of things happen to preventletters arriving--especially those sent abroad. Vessels go down at sea;the mail may be detained by an accident. Who can tell? Come, cheer up,girl; there is no good in brooding. If I don't hear from him in anotherweek I'll write again."
"Why not write at once, sir?"
"Not a bad idea, Helen; so I will."
At this juncture voices and footsteps were heard outside. The othermembers of the club had just returned in time for their mid-day meal. Sothe letter was postponed.
Helen ran to lay the cloth, and the repast was served. The meal beingover, pipes were lit, and some desultory conversation ensued,interspersed with wonderments about our artist's long silence andsuggestions as to the reason of it. The weather still being fine, themembers suggested a stroll, so off they went together, Mr. Oldstonebeing also of the party. Thus, what with one interruption and what withanother, the writing of the letter was put off for that day.
Tales of the Wonder Club, Volume III Page 10
