CHAPTER XI.
Beloved Giudice remained many days under my care, until he becameconvinced that he was my dog absolutely, and had no claim on any otherhuman being. He more than paid for his board and medical attendance, bysitting repeatedly for his portrait; in which at last I succeeded to hisand my own satisfaction. Though by no means a conceited dog, there wasnothing he loved better than having his likeness taken; and directlyafter breakfast he always assumed the most becoming attitude, andwatched intently for the appearance of the pencil with his massive heada little on one side, and his dark brown eyes full of dignifiedinterest, and his great ears curving down through russet tufts, liketawny cascades in autumn, he seemed fit study for a real artist, whoshould quicken as well as copy him. However, he was too much of agentleman to sneer at my weak efforts, for he saw that I did my best.Oftentimes he would gaze steadfastly at the portrait and then at me, andhobble up, and nudge me, and whine, a little, and then sigh inself-abasement at his want of speech. Whenever he did this, I knew thathe wished to have something altered; but it was long before I coulddiscover what that something was. I tried every change of line orcolour that I could think of--all to no purpose. At length it struck methat as he criticised more with nose than eyes, the defect must be inthe smell. Happy idea! I satisfied my Giudice at last, and did itthus. After shading around the nose and mouth, before laying on thecolour, I took a clean dry brush, and passed it lightly round thehollows of his own sweet saltish nostrils, carefully avoiding the cut;then one turn of the brush, not on the palette, but on a dry square ofcolour, and with that I expressed the dear dog's nose so well, that hewould have spoiled it in a sniffing ecstasy, if I had not pulled itaway. His portrait now possessed the life which he required.
Meanwhile I received almost daily visits from Isola and her brother; thelatter was, of course, very anxious about his poor dog, and could onlyrelieve that anxiety by long interviews with him. It happened strangelyenough, yet more and more often as time went on, that Isola during theseinterviews felt an especial desire for Mrs. Shelfer's society, which shecould only enjoy by betaking herself to the kitchen. There, with allthe pets, except old Tom, who was constancy itself, and the lameblackbird who was all gratitude, her influence began to supersede mine,and even Mrs. Shelfer's; for this I cared but little, so long as Giudicekept to me.
Over that great dog, as he turned upon his side, and lifted one hind leg(the canine mode of showing submission to the will of God), over him webent, Conrad and I, in most interesting diagnosis, until it seemed theproper thing that our hair should flow together, and our breath make onesoft breeze. From this position we would rise with a conscious colourin our cheeks, and a flutter at the heart, and a certain awe of oneanother. Then it would be ever so long before either of us dared toseek the other's eyes. Haply when those eyes were met--unwitting yetinevitably--they would drop, or turn away, or find some new attractionin the dog or clouds.
Then some weak remark would follow, for which the hearer cared no whit,yet feigned deep interest therein.
Why labour thus to cheat ourselves--each other we cannot cheat--why feelwe so confused and guilty, why long so heartily to be a hundred leaguesaway, yet knowing thoroughly that, if it were so, all the space betweenwere void and heartache? The reason neither we nor other mortal knows;the cause is this, that we love one another.
I have felt that it must be so, at least on my part, ever since the dayhe came with Isola, and knew me not, though I knew him so well. Does heknow me now as the Clara Vaughan whom he once avoided? These eyelashesare as long and dark as ever; the large eyes, shaded by them, are asdeep a gray as twilight in a grove of willows. My cheeks have regainedtheir curve, my hair was never injured; let me hie to the glass now heis gone, and see if I be like myself, and whether I have face and formlikely to win Conrad's love.
No, I am not like myself. No wonder he does not know me. The gloomhabitual to my face is gone. It is the difference betwixt a cavern welland a sunny fountain. I see a laughing graceful girl, with high birthmarked in every vein, and self-respect in every motion; her clear cheeksglowing with soft wonder, her red lips parted with delight, her archingneck and shoulder curve gleaming through a night of tresses, herforehead calm and thoughtful still, half-belying the bright eyes wherelove and pleasure sparkle. For a moment self-approval heightens theexpression. At my silly self my foolish self is smiling; but the smilehas warmer source than maiden's light conceit. I smile because I seethat, as regards exterior, he who slights me must be hard to please; andsome one, whom I think of, is not hard to please. Straight upon thethought of him--Ah well.
My father used to quote from the "Hero and Leander" a beautiful verse,which neither he nor any other could in English render duly,
[Greek: _Aidous hyron ereuphos apostazousa prosopou_.]--v. 173."Showering from her cheek the flowing carmine of her shame."
Clara Vaughan, Volume 2 (of 3) Page 13
