CHAPTER XXXV. THE EXILE RETURN.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 246, 14 March 1888, Page 8

CHAPTER XXXV. THE EXILE RETURN.

t r was not until the month of Dccembov in that year that Walter Lindsay leffc for home : and a very cold, grey, and cheerless passage he had of it acio^s the Atlantic. But a landscape painter, of trainod observation and retentive memory, has advantages beyond rhosc of other mortals. At will ho can disnu*s his actual surroundings ; and, by t.h.6 meie shutting of: his eye*, summon befoie hiir. scenes from distant lands ; and not only that 1 , but these visions are ordinarily of unwomed beauty, because it is their beaiUv that has stamped thorn on his mind. Kay, ho can occupy himself with tilling in the minutest details of colour and foim, uivi 1 the living picture stands clear and 5.1n.1 d before htm ; no need tor him to sadden himself, hour after hour, with the monotonous waste of the steel-grey, slow7 oiling At'A'itic seas. You may bo sir e that it was mostly England that. wa« in Lindsays thoughts, as, wrapped in Canadian furs, he paced up and down the chill decks on these blowy morning? ; oi, in the hushed evening, in the ineai saloon, lay and only half listened to the hea\y thiobbing of the screw and the occasional singing of n croup of girLs. And he tried to be nob always dreaming about Ke:i^ins;tou Square. Here, for example, wasi winter scene on the Sussex const ;! nnd lie added touch after tcuch to it as if lie hod a canvas before him, and with a kind of afiection, almost : A bright mornincr shining over the wide, smooth, solitary dow is : here and there a dark-green turniptiold ; he.c and there a breadth of red ploughed land ; a farm steading near the horizon ; the new roofs of the barns and oat-houses scarlet- tiled, the old roofs orange-lichened. A small hamlet in a distant hollow ; a few pigeons flying about the weather-stained belfry of the church-tower. A long-winding ruddy-yellow road in front of him, of chalk and sand and flint; ; the pools of recent rain — thosa near him — of a brownish -saffron hue ; those a little further off a faint purple (the reflected blue of the zenith mixing with the local colour) ; those still farther away of the most brilliant azure. A cloudless sky ; a cold wind ; the keen sunlight striking vividly on the longtrending lines of the chalk cliffs, and on the wide paie plain of the sea. Or again it would be a sheltered little bay that he had once discovered in the far northern wilds of his own country — a silent, unfrequented curve of white sand facing the westeri wave 3. And what beautiful bits of colour he found there, or placed there, as his fancy chose ; brown and lilac pebbles, relvet-sofb in the light, each with its blue shadow ; scattered masses of ox-eye daisies, hardly moving in the soft summer air ; thistles purple-topped ; the crimson-stemmed sorrel; the silverweed, with its leaver of intensesb green, and its 'ong rose-red threads stretching out over the cream -white soil, and rooting themselves here and there. Behind him a golden -yelbw cornfield; before him a sea of driven and vivid blue : beyond that a pale line vi distant hills ; and above these again a s >y of faintest turquoise, deepening and dee,)e'ung into a dark sapphire overhead. Moivovei . he had cultivated this habit of mmutc and patient picture-building for an e->peciVi reason. Once or twice it had occurred to him that his eye-sight was not so good as io had been. Now an artist is natural!} extremely sensitive on this point ; and it U hv.dly to be wondered at that in the -olitauness of his life among the Canadian lakes or on the Colorado plains he should sometimes have been haunted with gl sO'.ny forebodings. On such occasions he wjuld FiimmoiH hi* philosophy to his aid, and boldly face t.he worst. "What, then, if ho wera to become blind ? He had enough to live on. Piobably he had given to the world the best he could do as an artist. H* would re ii«i to some place familiar to him — Galloway, most likely ; and spend there a by no means miserable existence ; for surely if his attendant gave him a hint or two — the flowers by Oie way&ide, the look of the sky, the number of ships visible from Kirkcolim Point, and t'i-5 like — he could construct out of hisown memory some recognisable picture of his surioundings. No number of years coul I make him forget (for example) the colour of the silver-weed's rosered stems creeping out on the milk-white sand. A r id then again, in some distant time, he might come to London. Perhaps, at Jani^'s house, he would meet Sabina. And then would he not have reason to rejoice ? " Why," he would say to himself, " look what .in advantage you have over all these otheis. Sabina is middle-aged now ; perha >s liar hair is streaked with silver j parha is the youthful brilliancy has faded away jroni her kind eyes. These others see all b lab ; you do not. • When you hear her apea , she is still to you the Sabina of for.ner years : to you she remaihs ever beaitiful, youthful, radiant; her" eyes are morj than kind, they have the Wtchery of you ig womanhood ; and so it Will be to the end. She grows old to others'; not to you. So fiank God for your blindness ; and rest \rell c intent." Of course these were the morbid imaginings of a solitary life and distant trivel. When he returned to Now York — and. to the Tile Club, and the Monks of St. Giles, and the theatres, and dinnerparties, and the ordinary amusements and occupations of social life — he forgot all about them ; and ceased to trouble his head about the matter. But if tliesa were beautiful pictures of England he was summoning up, as he pacerl 'he deck under the leaden-grey sky, or sa f i i the saloon of an evening, listening to t! c dismal boom of the fog-horn overhead, England sorely disappointed, him when he arrived there. It was raining heavily at Liverpool ; and Liverpool, on a wet, darkening December afternoon is not an exhilarating sight. On his journey up to London next day a cold, damp mist lay over the land ; and the great hive of tho Metropolis, as he drove through the sombre streets, was scarcely the brilliant city of his memories and dreams. Bub when he reached his homo, there wan somethingmore cheerful awaited him-; for'Janie (wbo had a house, and her husband a studio, of the^r own vow) had baon along to see that there .was a big tire blazing in the diningroom : and luncheoii was on the table ; and thero were a fevr flowers a^so, placed there by Janie's own hands j altogether, the place looked exceedingly bright, warm, comfortable, and home-like. Luncheon did not take him long; but there was a vast pile of letters, prints, and packages fco be glanced througk : then he vras ready to go out. Bufc' wnifcher ? He wished to see Janie ; but it was rather

early yet for an affcornoon-call. Eventually ho put on his coat and hat and went out, and by instinct rather than intention wandered idly down to Hig'h-fatreot, Ken sington. It was strange to find himself in the old familiar thoroughfare, and it looking" so different from his storied memories of it. Somehow ho had been used to picture it as under the light of a clear summor afternoon, himself como out afior his day's wotk, perhaps with somo faint hopo of catching a glimpse of the tall form of Sabina, on her May homeward to Kensington Square But now the short December day was drawing into dusk ; a palo blue mist hung about ; tho streots svero mny. It is true that with all this tho neighbour hood woio a festive air ; evergreens and holly berries were in tho shop windows ; tho pavements wero crowded with elderly people who seemed benign of aspect, and who were generally accompanied by small folk who had tho delight and excitement of Christmas? presents clearly shining in their eyes. And he was glad to be homo in Eugland for Chiistmas At last — at last — and perhaps with somo tiillo ot heart - throbbing that ho would hardly care to have owned —ho went a litulo way down Young-street, so that ho [ could look acioss Kensington-squnro. It ; was a doleful sight enough : the leafless, smoke - blackened trees, tho dank green giass, the dingy laurels, tho bedraggled chrysanthemum? ; with the molnncholy grov-blue pall of tho twilight weighing heavier and homier, and as yet unpiercod by a single orange ray. And yet he had a omiousj kind of uiVeetion for this place ; and the keenest interest in it ; and those old-fashioned houses over theie had a charm for him beyond any range of palaces in Venice. They wero very ditlerent, doubtless, from his dreams of them in tho far Canadian \\ ilds. There they had boon of a golden cast, with light summer airs floating about them, and a June foliage on the trees ; now they were dark nnd indeed almost becoming invisible in tho closing down of the melancholy London afternoon. But they were actual. They had human life within them. Was it possible that on this noi them side (which he could not see) Sabina might be standing at tho window of tho well - remembered drawing - room, looking out on this very picture of desolation ? He dared not go nearer. Ho wished to bo prepared for meeting her, if he was to meet her. But ho lingered about there for somo time ; until, of a sudden, a shaft of golden fire Unshed through the dusk from the first lighted of tho lamps ; and ho thought he might now go and call upon his everfaithful friend. Ho found Janie in possession of a smart little house in Victoria Road ; and the moment he entered the drawing-room, she came quickly to meet him, with both hands extended, and with abundant frendliness beaming in her mild grey eyes. " I am so glad to see you !" she cried ; and added rather incoherently, " And all of us — all of us — of cout^e you ought to be back in your own country. lam so glad you have come back !" But there was some surprise in her face too. " And how you have changed '. I don't believo I should have known you if I had meb you in tho street. You are more like a hunter than an artist !" l * I have been living a good deal of backwoodsman's life theso last two or three years," he said : and indeed she could have guessed as much ; for the fine-featured face had lost all its pallor of former days and become evenly sun-browned ; and his tall and slender figure had a touch of added breadth ; and there was a more muscular set of the shoulders. Janie was quite proud —though she did not stay to ask herself why — to see him look so handsome and well. Of course there were a hundred rapid and cheerful questions to be put and answered ; and she gave him all the information she had about the people known to them ; but the subject really uppermost in both their minds was sedulously left out. Janie was a little frightened, in truth. Perhaps he had come home engaged ? Or he might even have brought a wife with him? On his side, some kind of delicacy kept him silent. And so it came about that it was quite by accident that Sabina was brought into tho conversation. Behind him there mas a picture he had not as yeb seen ; for lie was seated facing the window. It was let into a panel over the mantel-piece ; and on the oak framework there was inscribed, in curious characters, the word ''Hesperus." The subject was the solitary upright figure of a tall young woman, clad in loose draperies, moving through tho ethereal spaces of the evening sky ; some sombre gleams of red benoath her feet ; the darkening heavens above her showing here and thore a distant star ; her upraised arm and hand holding high before her a ball of luminous white tire. Her face was sad and wan ; her mouth pensive; her eyes wide apart, and mysterious, and dim. Mannered even to the verge of affectation, this was really a very creditable piece of work ; it showed, at all ovents, imaginative effort ; and as it vrm a wedding-present that Janie had received from her husband, it ifl hardly to be wondered at that she had insisted on its occupying the place of honour in her drawingroom. Now in the mutual embarrassment of frying to avoid all mention of Sabina' s name, they had talked about a large variety of persons and things ; and at last Lindsay came to speak of Janie's new house, which her husband had furnished in a highly superior fashion. Happening to casb h.13 eyes about the room, he caught sight of this picture, and there was something about the l«ok of the head that caused him to geb up and go nearer. But he had not been there a second — gazing at the pensive face and the dim and mystic eyes — when Janie was at his side. "Bufc, you know, Mr Lindsay," she said, rathe v breathlessly and anxiously, " you mustn't think that is really'like her — really like her, I mean — you know, that is only Phil's way of painting — Sabie isn't quite so— quite so - sad-looking as that. Of course it is a little like ; but it was done from photographs and recollection ; and, I you know, Phil will paint in his own way. ; Oh, no, don't think Sabie is like thab !" j And Walter Lindsay theughb to himself, I '• Well, men say that women are never | really friends among themselves. But here is a woman, who, for fear that an unfavourable impression of a friend of hers may be produced on a casual stranger, is quite content to speak slightingly of her own husband's work." 4< Sho is in London ?' he said, still looking afc fchosa saddened eyes. " Oh, no," said Janie, who, now that the ice was broken, proved as eager to give information, afl, before she wa? reticent. "No; I wish' 'sh* was. She won'C leave that house ty Surrey, no matter wtyab we .«ay; it seem*' it was a wish ofrher.jiusband's; though why she should Vespect any wish/tff his, Or his memory either; I oan't make out. Oh, Mr Lindsay, I never told you half the truth about poor Sabie. I couldn't. I thought it was no use making you wretched — I mean, I naturally imagined you would remember something of her, however far away you .might be, Arid you mightn't like td'lie&r ill news of a friend. And I need ribb tell you now either ; for it is all aver ; and I hopo Sabie will forgeb it

in time. x\nd sooner or lator, I know, we , shall havo Sabio coming bo London ; and thoro tu*o two houses, anyway, vvhero there is a home and a warm welcome awaiting 1 hor ; for Phil is just as good as gold — why, whore do you think he is just now ?" vt I'm suro 1 don't know." " Away buying Christmas toys to send down to the little boy. And a rare hash ho will make of it, I suppose ; for how should ho know ? Bub 1 thought I would stay in, as I expected you." Sho went back to her soat by tho table ; and ho followed hor. "I supposo you sec her sometimes?" he said. " Oh, yos," sho answered ; and then sho added quickly : " And if you wero to call upon her there would bo no — no embarrassment ; for we havo tacitly agreed never to speak about tho past at ail. It is the best way ; and we adopted it from tho beginning. You know, Phil has a groat deal of common sense and wi.sdom for ono of his dreamy and poetical natuio ; and ho win* nod me tho first timo I went down to see Sabie, that if I said anything againbt Foster, she might very likely turn on mo to defend him, Very well, I said to myself, if I am to say no harm ot him, I will say no good of him ; for I am not going to toll lies, even in tho way of condolence ; and if .Sabie likes to forgot, I won't. Of course, it was very awkward ; and I looked forward to mooting hor with dread ; but there happened tho greatest stroko of luck. Just as I got out of tho train at Witstcad Station, so did Sir Anthony Zombra. 1 supposo she had sent for us both on tho same day ; bub it was pretty fortunate wo should go down by the samo train. I thought that Sir Anthony would have forgotten me ; but ho spoke to me ; and we walked to tho house together. Do you .sec how lucky it was t I had to toll no lies, anyway, or profess a grief that 1 didn't feel ; nothing but tho most ordinary commonplaces was said ; Foster's name was hardly mentioned ; what Sir Anthony wanted mostly was to got hor to remove to London. You should have seen how ho figured and posed as tho injured party ; how magnanimously he offered to forgot the past, and produced a cheque for ilOO— this was before me, mmd — to defray all little oxpenses and leave her free to move into the house he offered to take for her. Ido believe he thought he was the most magnanimous man in this country at that moment, and was himself astonished that he did not complain of her conduct or say hard things of her dead husband. Not that ' I quarrel with him on that account ; the dear departed would havo had none of my tears, if they had been asked for. And you : should have seen Sir Anthony's splendid air when he announced to her that he should j now give her the same allowance that sho I had before her marriage ; as if she had condoned everything now by burying that wretch." Janie stopped suddenly; and her pale face showed a little colour. " Please, Mr Lindsay, you won't think me cruel ! Phil says lam unwomanly. Bub you don't kuow — and he doesn't know — what poor Sabie has suffered. Nob that she shows much brace of it— oh no. Oh, you must nob think that at all," said Janie, earnestly. l< She may be a little grave in manner ; but— but— you must rather think of her as she was the night of your supper party — you remember ?— only nob dressed like that ; for I think sho is pinching and saving hard on account of the boy. 1 assure you, Sabie is just as beautiful as ever —a little paler, perhaps ; and you remember the splendid hair, and tho sweet mouth, and the way she walked, as if all the world were hers. You can't throw that off in a minute ; and now, when you find her in a good humour, and laughing, and playing with the boy— well, it's just beautiful to look at ! Ido wish you could see her !" Bub hero again Janie stopped suddenly, conscious of indiscretion. He pat silent for a second or two ; then he said (nob noticing the familiariby) — ''I will bell you the truth, Janie. I went away to America hoping to forget a good deal. Yes, I thought thab was natural. I had no complaint to make ; I had no bitter memories to carry with me ; no, ituas rather many, many kindnesses that I had to remember, if I remembered anything ; bub at all events I expected to forgot what I wanted to forget ; and if anybody had said to mo that I should come back married, I should have answered thab I did not think so, bub thab it was not in the least impossible. I have been away about bwo years an,d a half. Ib is nob a very long bime, perhaps ; bub I have had the chance of seeing a great many people ; and I have had longspollsof solitudeand reflection. Well, I am more than ever con\inced thab there is bub the one woman in the world for me — no, stop a iroment," ho said, calmly, for h© could nob but soo thab her eyes had flashed with pride and pleasure: "don't imagine I am going to rush in, the moment there is no longer any obsbacle, and ask her to marry me. I don't think I ever did actually ask her to marry me ; though, I supposo, she guessed. No ; what I say is, there is now, and must always be for me, bub the one woman in the world ; only ib is for her to choose what relationship should exist between us ; and I will abide by that. If she would rather be my sisberr-my companion—ray friend, good : let it be so. Bub if I am bo be her friend, I must claim the privileges of a friend ; and you seem to think she is nob so well off aa she might be. Well, I did not spend very much during theso two or throe years in America— the Scotch are » penurious race you know ; and I gob through a good deal of work. What do you say, now : will you find out how I can help her ?" "How can I?— but— but— bub bhe firsb bhing for you ia bo go and see her !" said Janio, rabher wildly. "Mr Lindsay, when I Phil cornea homo with tho parcels, will you take them with you, and go down to-morrow to Wibstead ? It would be an excuse. I want you to see Sabie !" "No," he said slowly. "Not yet. I must think over how I am to meet her." Ab that moment Janie's husband was heard ab the front door, and presenbly entered with hid bundles of toys. After a few words, he carried Lindsay off to his studio, no doubt anxious for a little encouragement ; and so Janie was left alone in the fronb part of the house. Her brain was in a whirl. She was prophesying all kinds of beautiful bhings tor her beloved Sabie. The rescuer had come. Andromeda was to have her chains dashed off at last. And again and again there rang through her head the lines :—: — " Sir David-Lindsay of tho Mount, Lord Lyon King at Arms," as if that heroic couplet could in any way be made to refer to one of the Lindsays of Carnyan, who, bopides, was but a mere nineteenth - caiitury, landscape painter, recently come home from Amerioa with a-few dollars ia his pooket. ' '