Barriers Burned Away Page 32

  CHAPTER XXXI

  BEGUILED

  Dennis returned to his room greatly perplexed. There was something inChristine's actions which he could not understand. From the time oftheir first conversation at Miss Winthrop's, she had evidently feltand acted differently. If her heart remained cold and untouched, ifas yet neither faith nor love had any existence therein, what was theinspiring motive? Why should deep discouragement change suddenly toassured hope?

  Then again her manner was equally inexplicable. From that same eveningshe gave him more encouragement than he had even hoped to receive formonths, but yet he made no progress. She seemed to enjoy meeting him,and constantly found opportunity to do so. Her eyes were continuallyseeking his face, but there was something in her manner in this respectthat puzzled him more than anything else. She often seemed looking athis face, rather than at _him_. At first Christine had been furtiveand careful in her observations, but as the habit grew upon her, andher interest increased, she would sometimes gaze so steadily that poorDennis was deeply embarrassed. Becoming conscious of this, she wouldherself color slightly, and be more careful for a time.

  In her eagerness for success, Christine did not realize how dangerousan experiment she was trying. She could not look upon such a face asDennis Fleet's, eloquent with that which should never fail to toucha woman's heart with sympathy, and then forget it when she chose.Moreover, though she knew it not, in addition to her interest in himas an art study, his strong, positive nature affected her cool, negativeone most pleasantly. His earnest manifested feeling fell like sunlighton a heart benumbed with cold.

  Thus, under the stimulus of his presence, she found that she couldpaint or sketch to much better purpose than when alone. This knowledgemade her rejoice in secret over the opportunity she could now have,as Dennis again assisted her in hanging pictures, and affixing to thewalls ornaments of various kinds.

  Coming to him one morning in the store, she said, "I am going to aska favor of you again."

  Dennis looked as if she were conferring the greatest of favors. Hisface always lighted up when she spoke to him.

  "It is very kind of you to ask so pleasantly for what you can command,"he said.

  "To something of the same effect you answered before, and the resultwas the disagreeable experience at Miss Brown's."

  Dennis's brow contracted a little, but he said, heroically, "I willgo to Miss Brown's again if you wish it."

  "How self-sacrificing you are!" she replied, with a half-mischievoussmile.

  "Not as much so as you imagine," he answered, flushing slightly.

  "Well, set your mind at rest on that score. Though not very merciful,as you know, I would put no poor soul through that ordeal again. Inthis case you will only have to encounter one of the tormentors youmet on that occasion, and I will try to vouch for her better behavior."Then she added, seriously: "I hope you will not think the task beneathyou. You do not seem to have much of the foolish pride that stands inthe way of so many Americans, and then"--looking at him with a pleadingface--"I have so set my heart upon it, and it would be such adisappointment if you were unwilling!"

  "You need waste no more ammunition on one ready to surrender atdiscretion," he said.

  "Very well; then I shall treat you with all the rigors of a prisonerof war. I shall carry you away captive to my new castle on the northside and put you at your old menial task of hanging pictures anddecorating in various ways. As eastern sovereigns built their palacesand adorned their cities by the labors of those whom the fortunes ofwar threw into their hands, so your skill and taste shall be usefulto me; and I, your head task-mistress," she added, with her insinuatingsmile, "will be ever present to see that there is no idling, nothingbut monotonous toil. Had you not better have stood longer in thedefensive?"

  Dennis held out his hands in mock humility and said: "I am ready formy chains. You shall see with what fortitude I endure my captivity."

  "It is well that you should show it somewhere, for you have not doneso in your resistance. But I parole you on your honor, to report atsuch times as I shall indicate and papa can spare you;" and with asmile and a lingering look that seemed, as before, directed to hisface rather than himself, she passed out.

  That peculiar look often puzzled him, and at times he would go to aglass and see if there was anything wrong or unusual in his appearance.But now his hopes rose higher than ever. She had been very gracious,certainly, and invited intimate companionship. Dennis felt that shemust have read his feelings in his face and manner, and, to hisingenuous nature, any encouragement seemed to promise all he hoped.

  For a week after this he scarcely saw her, for she was very busy makingpreliminary arrangements for the occupation of her new home. But oneafternoon she suddenly appeared, and said, with affected severity,"Report to-mor-row at nine A.M."

  Dennis bowed humbly. She gave him a pleasant smile over her shoulder,and passed away as quickly as she had come. It seemed like a visionto him, and only a trace of her favorite perfume (which indeed everseemed more an atmosphere than a perfume) remained as evidence thatshe had been there.

  At five minutes before the time on the following day he appeared atthe new Ludolph mansion. From an open window Christine beckoned himto enter, and welcomed him with characteristic words--"In view of yourfoolish surrender to my power, remember that you have no rights thatI am bound to respect."

  "I throw myself on your mercy."

  "I have already told you that I do not possess that trait; so preparefor the worst."

  She was dressed in some light summer fabric, and her rounded arms andneck were partially bare. She looked so white and cool, soself-possessed, and, with all her smiles, so devoid of warm humanfeeling, that Dennis felt a sudden chill at heart. The ancient fableof the sirens occurred to him. Might she not be luring him on to hisown destruction? At times he almost hoped that she loved him; again,something in her manner caused him to doubt everything. But there werenot, as in the case of Ulysses and his crew, friendly hands to bindand restrain, or to put wax in his ears, and soon the music of hervoice, the strong enchantment of the love she had inspired, banishedall thought of prudence. His passion was now becoming a species ofintoxication, a continued and feverish excitement, and its influencewas unhappy on mind and body. There was no rest, peace, or assurancein it, and the uncertainty, the tantalizing inability to obtain adefinite satisfying word, and yet the apparent nearness of the prize,wore upon him. Sometimes, when late at night he sat brooding over hislast interview, weighing with the nice scale of a lover's anxiety herevery look and even accent, his own haggard face would startle him.

  Then again her influence was not morally good, and his interest declinedin everything save what was connected with her.

  Conscience at times told him that he was more bent on gaining her lovefor himself than in winning it for God. He satisfied himself by tryingto reason that when he had won her affection his power for good wouldbe greater, and thus, while he ever sought to look and suggest his ownlove in nameless little ways, he made less and less effort to remindher of a better love than even his. Moreover, she never encouraged anyapproach to sacred themes, sometimes repelling it decidedly, and so,though he would scarcely acknowledge it, the traitorous fear sprungup, that in speaking of God's love he might mar his chances of speakingof his own.

  In the retirement of his own room, his reveries grew longer, and hisprayers shorter and less inspired by faith and earnestness. At themission school, Susie Winthrop noticed with regret that the lesson wasoften given in a listless, preoccupied manner; and even the littleboys themselves missed something in the teacher once so interestingand animated. From witnessing his manner when with Christine, MissWinthrop had more than suspected his secret for some time, and shefelt at first a genuine sympathy for him, believing his love to behopeless. From the first she had found Dennis very fascinating, butwhen she read his secret in his ardent glances toward Christine, shebecame conscious that her interest was rather greater than passingacquaintance warranted, and, like
the good, sensible girl that shewas, fought to the death the incipient fancy. At first she felt thathe ought to know that Christine was pledged to a future that wouldrender his love vain. But her own feelings made her so exceedinglysensitive that it was impossible to attempt so difficult and delicatea task. Then, as Christine seemed to smile upon him, she said toherself: "After all, what is their plan, but a plan, and to me a verychimerical one? Perhaps Mr. Fleet can give Christine a far betterchance of happiness than her father's ambition. And, after all, theseare matters in which no third person can interfere." So, while remainingas cordial as ever, she prudently managed to see very little of Dennis.

  As we have seen, under Christine's merry and half-bantering words (astyle of conversation often assumed with him), even the thought ofcaution vanished. She led him over the moderately large and partiallyfurnished house. There were women cleaning, and mechanics at work onsome of the rooms. As they passed along she explained the nature ofthe decorations she wished. They consisted largely of rich carvingsin wood, and unique frames.

  "I wish you to help me design these, and see that they are properlyput up, and to superintend the fresco-painters and mechanics in general.Indeed, I think you are more truly my prime-minister than my captive."

  "Not less your captive," said Dennis, with a flush.

  She gave him a bewildering smile, and then studied its effect uponhim. He was in Elysium, and his eyes glowed with delight at her presenceand the prospect before him. At last she led him into two largeapartments on the second floor that opened into each other, and said,"These are my rooms; that yonder is my studio," as was evident fromthe large easel with canvas prepared upon it.

  They at once had to Dennis all the sacredness of a shrine.

  "I intend to make these rooms like two beautiful pictures," saidChristine, "and here shall be the chief display of your taste."

  Dennis could scarcely believe his ears, or realize that the cold,beautiful girl who a few short months ago did not notice him nowvoluntarily gave him such opportunities to urge his suit. The successthat a man most covets seemed assured, and his soul was intoxicatedwith delight. He said, "You intimated that my tasks might be menial,but I feel as I imagine a Greek artist must have done, when asked todecorate the temple of a goddess."

  "I think I told you once before that your imagination overshadowedyour other faculties."

  Her words recalled the painted girl whom she by a strange coincidenceso strongly resembled. To his astonishment he saw the same strikinglikeness again. Christine was looking at him with the laughing, scornfulexpression that the German lady bent upon the awkward lover who kneeledat her feet. His face darkened in an instant.

  "Have I offended you?" she asked, gently; "I remember now you did notadmire that picture."

  "I liked everything about it save the expression of the girl's face.I think you will also remember that I said that such a face should beput to nobler uses."

  Christine flushed slightly, and for a moment was positively afraid ofhim. She saw that she must be more careful, for she was dealing withone of quick eye and mind. At the same time her conscience reproachedher again. The more she saw of him the more she realized how sincereand earnest he was; how different from ordinary society-men, to whoman unsuccessful suit to a fair lady is a mere annoyance. But she wasnot one to give up a purpose readily for the sake of conscience oranything else, and certainly not now, when seemingly on the point ofsuccess. So she said, with a slight laugh, "Do not compare me to anyof those old pagan myths again;" and having thus given a slight reason,or excuse, for her unfortunate expression, she proceeded to beguilehim more thoroughly than ever by the subtile witchery of smiles,glances, and words, that might mean everything or nothing.

  "You seem to have a study on your easel there," said Dennis, as theystood together in the studio. "May I see it?"

  "No," said she; "you are to see nothing till you see a triumph in theportrayal of feeling and lifelike earnestness that even your criticaleye cannot condemn."

  She justly feared that, should he see her work, he might discover herplan; for, however she might disguise it, something suggesting himselfentered into all her studies.

  "I hope you will succeed, but doubt it."

  "Why?" she asked, quickly.

  "Because we cannot portray what we cannot feel. The stream cannot risehigher than its fountain." Then he added, with heightened color andsome hesitation, "I fear--your heart is still sleeping"; and he watchedwith deep anxiety how she would take the questioning remark.

  At first she flushed almost angrily; but, recovering self-possessionin a moment, she threw upon him an arch smile, suggesting all that alover could wish, and said: "Be careful, Mr. Fleet; you are seekingto penetrate mysteries that we most jealously guard. You know that inthe ancient temple there was an inner sanctuary which none might enter."

  "Yes, _one_ might," said Dennis, significantly.

  With her long lashes she veiled the dark blue eyes that expressedanything but tender feeling, and yet, so shaded, they appeared as alover would wish, and in a low tone she answered, "Well, he could notenter when he would, only when permitted."

  She raised her eyes quickly to see the effect; and she did see aneffect that she would have given thousands to be able to transfer tocanvas.

  His face, above all she had ever seen, seemed designed to expressfeeling, passion; and his wearing life had made it so thin, and hiseyes were so large and lustrous, that the spiritual greatlypredominated, and she felt as if she could almost see the throbs ofthe strong, passionate heart.

  Apart from her artistic purposes, contact with such warm, intense lifehad for Christine a growing fascination. She had not realized that inkindling and fanning this flame of honest love to sevenfold power andheat, she might be kindled herself. When, therefore, she saw the faceof Dennis Fleet eloquent with the deepest, strongest feeling that humanfeatures can portray, another chord than the artistic one was touched,and there was a low, faint thrill of that music which often becomesthe sweetest harmony of life.

  "And at some time in the future may I hope to enter?" he asked,tremulously.

  She threw him another smile over her shoulder as she turned to hereasel--a smile that from a true woman would mean, You may, but whichfrom many would mean nothing, and said, vaguely, "What is life withouthope?" and then, as matters were going too fast and far, decisivelychanged the subject.

  Seated at her easel she painted eagerly and rapidly, while he measuredthe space over and around the fireplace with a view to itsornamentation. She kept the conversation on the general subject ofart, and, though Dennis knew it not, every glance at his face was thatof a portrait-painter.