Nurse Rosemary felt rebuked."Dear Mr.Dalmain," she said, humbly;"I realise how officious I must seem to you, with all these questions, and suggestions.But you must blame the hold these wonderful paintings of yours have taken on my mind.Oh, they are beautiful--beautiful!""Ah," said Garth, the keen pleasure of the artist springing up once more."Miss Gray, I have somewhat forgotten them.Have you them here? That is right.Put them up before you, and describe them to me.Let me hear how they struck you, as pictures." Jane rose, and went to the window.She threw it open; and as she breathed in the fresh air, breathed out a passionate prayer that her nerve, her voice, her self-control might not fail her, in this critical hour.
She herself had been convicted by Garth's pictures.Now she must convince Garth, by her description of them.He must be made to believe in the love he had depicted.
Then Nurse Rosemary sat down; and, in the gentle, unemotional voice, which was quite her own, described to the eager ears of the blind artist, exactly what Jane had seen in the studio.
It was perfectly done.It was mercilessly done.All the desperate, hopeless, hunger for Jane, awoke in Garth; the maddening knowledge that she had been his, and yet not his; that, had he pressed for her answer that evening, it could not have been a refusal; that the cold calculations of later hours, had no place in those moments of ecstasy.Yet--he lost her--lost her! Why? Ah, why? Was there any possible reason other than the one she gave?
Nurse Rosemary's quiet voice went on, regardless of his writhings.
But she was drawing to a close."And it is such a beautiful crimson rambler, Mr.Dalmain," she said."I like the idea of its being small and in bud, in the first picture; and blooming in full glory, in the second."Garth pulled himself together and smiled.He must not give way before this girl.
"Yes," he said; "I am glad you noticed that.And, look here.We will not destroy them at once.Now they are found, there is no hurry.Iam afraid I am giving you a lot of trouble; but will you ask for some large sheets of brown paper, and make a package, and write upon it: 'Not to be opened,' and tell Margery to put them back in the studio.Then, when I want them, at any time, I shall have no difficulty in identifying them.""I am so glad," said Nurse Rosemary."Then perhaps the plain lady--""I cannot have her spoken of so," said Garth, hotly."I do not know what she thought of herself--I doubt if she ever gave a thought to self at all.I do not know what you would have thought of her.I can only tell you that, to me, hers is the one face which is visible in my darkness.All the loveliness I have painted, all the beauty Ihave admired, fades from my mental vision, as wreaths of mist;flutters from memory's sight, as autumn leaves.Her face alone abides; calm, holy, tender, beautiful,--it is always before me.And it pains me that one who has only seen her as MY hand depicted her should speak of her as plain.""Forgive me," said Nurse Rosemary, humbly."I did not mean to pain you, sir.And, to show you what your pictures have done for me, may I tell you a resolution I made in the studio? I cannot miss what they depict--the sweetest joys of life--for want of the courage to confess myself wrong; pocket my pride; and be frank and humble.I am going to write a full confession to my young man, as to my share of the misunderstanding which has parted us.Do you think he will understand? Do you think he will forgive?"Garth smiled.He tried to call up an image of a pretty troubled face, framed in a fluffy setting of soft fair hair.It harmonised so little with the voice; but it undoubtedly was Nurse Rosemary Gray, as others saw her.
"He will be a brute if he doesn't, child," he said.
