Dennis saw in the clear, vigorous profile the artist’s thought, and congratulated himself that his teacher was a master in his profession.
For two hours they worked and talked, and Dennis felt that every such lesson would be a long step forward.
Poor Bruder looked more and more like himself every day, but God only knew how he had to struggle.
“I don’t know how him vill end,” he said. “I pray nearly every minute, but sometimes I feel dat I must drink even do’ I die dat moment.”
It was disease as well as appetite that he was fighting, for appetite indulged beyond a certain point becomes disease.
His wife’s face was different also—the sharp look of misery fading out of it. Dennis noticed the changes, and thought to himself, while walking home: “After all, the highest art is to bring out on the living face all we can of God’s lost image. How beautiful the changes in these two poor people’s faces! and the best part of it is, that they are the reflex of changes going on in the soul, the imperishable part.”
Then, in quick and natural transition, his mind reverted to Christine Ludolph; and the thought of her face, which God had fashioned so fair, but which was already sadly marred by sin, becoming fixed and rigid in pride and selfishness, was as painful as if, according to an old legend, her lithe, active form should gradually turn to stone. But if the reverse could ever be true—if the beautifying Christian graces could dwell within her soul and light up her face—as lamps illumining some rare and quaint transparency, the resulting loveliness would realize the artist’s fondest ideal.
Musing thus, what wonder that he vowed then and there, under the starlight, to pray and work for her till the new life should illumine her heart. Little dreamed Christine, as she slept that night, that the first link of a chain which might bind her to heaven had been forged.
The dawn was late and lowering on the following morning. Great masses of clouds swept across the sky, and soon the rain was falling in gusty torrents. Dennis rose and hastened through his duties as before, and was ready at the hour appointed, but had little hope of seeing Miss Ludolph. Still he opened the door and looked up the street. To his surprise he saw her coming, attended by her father’s valet. Only part of her glowing face was visible, for she was encased from head to foot in a light and delicate suit of rubber.
Dennis opened the door, and she stepped quickly in, scattering spray on every side like a sea-nymph. The young man looked at her with open-eyed admiration and surprise, which both amused and pleased her.
“True enough,” she thought, “his face is like a signboard.”
She seemed to him, as she threw off her wet coverings, like an exquisite flower, that, lifted by the breeze after a storm, scatters the burdensome raindrops on every side and stands up more beautiful and blooming than ever.
“You were not expecting me, I imagine,” she said.
“Well, I must admit I scarcely did, and yet I could not help looking for you.”
“Isn’t that a distinction without a difference?” she asked, with a pleasant smile, for she was gratified at not finding the store closed and dark.
“I am very glad you have come,” he replied, flushing slightly with pleasure, “for it would have been a long, dreary morning if you had not.”
Dennis thought he referred to the lack of occupation. He did not know, nor did she notice, that he meant the lack of herself.
“Well,” said she, “I am glad you like the work, for you destined to have enough of it.”
XX
Is He a Gentleman?
The days and weeks that followed were to Dennis such as only come once in a lifetime, and not in every lifetime either. A true, pure love was growing up within his heart—growing as the little child develops in strength and pleasurable life, and yet unconsciously to itself. It seemed as if some strong magician’s wand had touched the world or him. Everything was transfigured, and no wonderland was more full of interest than that in which he existed. His life was a waking dream, in which nothing was distinct or definite, but all things abounded in hope and happy suggestion. He compared it afterward to a tropical island of the Pacific, a blissful fragment of life by itself, utterly distinct from the hard, struggling years that preceded, and the painful awakening that followed.
Even the place of his daily toil was pervaded by a beautiful presence. For many days he and Christine worked together, and at last her eyes had rested on, or her fingers had touched, nearly everything in the store, and therefore all was associated with her. Throughout their labors his quick sympathy and appreciation made him almost hands and feet to her, and she regarded him as a miracle of helpfulness—one of those humble, useful creatures who are born to wait upon and interpret the wishes of the rich and great. His admiring glances disturbed her not and raised no suspicion in her mind. She had been accustomed to such for years, and took them as a matter of course.
She treated the young men whom she met in society with a courtly ease and freedom, but her smiles and repartee ever seemed like brilliant moonlight that had no warmth; and, while no restraint appeared, she still kept all at a distance. There was a marked difference in her intercourse with Dennis. Regarding him as too humble ever to presume upon her frankness, she daily spoke more freely, and more truly acted out herself before him. She was happy and in her element among the beautiful works of art they were arranging, and in this atmosphere her womanly nature, chilled and dwarfed though it was, would often manifest itself in ways sweet and unexpected. Under
