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Chapter XXXVI.

Grace Main! At the mention of that name there rises before my mind the vision of a sweet fair face; small, dimpled, pleasing. A face naturally pale, but subject to crimson floods, whenever the tides of shyness rushed up the channels of her heart. The eyes were blue, small, but calm and restful, and capable of dangerous flashes. The lips were full and rosy, and about their corners lingered an undefinable expression; and the nose, though inclined to be long was well shaped. The whole face, from one tiny ear, over the forehead, and down to the other tiny ear, was encircled by fair wavy hair, which was naturally smooth, but which, by the interference of fashion had become twisted and crumpled. Do not abuse fashion in this case, however; the curly hair was a decided improvement. Every face has not the prerogative of dispensing with artificial decorations; every face cannot stand out calm and unsurpassed, defying the power of art and the charm of ornaments, and resting solely upon its light and expression. About Grace Main's face there was a peculiarity—the eyebrows and eyelashes; clear, arched, and almost black in the former; in the latter, thick curved and tipped with what many would call red. This peculiarity may seem strangely out of keeping with the extreme fairness of the other features, but it did not require much study to perceive the advantage it had upon the otherwise insipid face. The dark brow and lashes had the effect of bringing out the transparency of the lighter shades, while in their own dark depths they gathered a warmer light. Looking at page 419that face one cannot help meditating on the character of which the face was the index. But meditations are selfish and useless if left unexpressed, and what needs more expression than does the expression of a face. By the interchange of thought, the opinions are moulded and fashioned into their proper groove; and their uncouth adolescence is ushered into maturity by the expressions and reasonings of others. But the art of expressing one's thoughts with clearness, and of standing by one's opinions with firmness, is no easy art to master. Opinions, as well as thoughts, must be based upon a very high elevation before they are worthy an interchange; yet this elevation is not beyond the reach of the humblest man, for it is that lowly mound at the foot of the cross of Christ; there the thoughts, if not always conjunctive, do not collide, the variances of the one serve to stimulate the fortitude of the other. But we are not confined to literal language, and in our expressions, the figurative language we love the best. Thus by figurative language, I seek to make known my thoughts and opinions concerning the face which is the index of Grace Main's character.

Take your present position and start out westward (be careful you do not go round and return by the east (in a straight line, until you walk yourself off the material globe. Surrounded by space, and lying direct in your pathway, is an island, the physical aspect of which is strangely irregular. This island consists of mountains of various heights, of valleys of various depths, of shadowy pools, of shining streams. It is subject to periodical showers and periodical sunshines: yet, by reason of the continual upheaving and swaying, no vegetation grows upon its surface. Once or twice, during the alloted time of its existence this island became threatened with extinction; but, although at first the internal earthquakes shook it to its very foundation, eventually they were the means of enlarging the frontiers. In this Amaranthine page 420"Thought Island," there lived a great artist. He was an eccentric ambitions, hot-headed, imaginative man, and he wished to do something that would, when he was gone, immortalize his name. One day he stood upon Mount Already Achieved, and gazed long and earnestly down into the deep shining waters of the river Hope. Spirits, Angels, Seraphim, Cherubim, Nymphs; all the deities of ancient and modern times, reflected themselves upon the surface of that water; but he sighed them all away, and at last there appeared, an if rising from the misty unfathomable depths of the river, the face of a woman.

"I have it," cried the artist, standing hack and letting his deep voice float down the running stream. "I have it, I have it. I cannot paint spirits; but I know enough to paint a woman. I may not be capable of doing her justice; life and perfection I cannot give; and standing at this distance, life and purity I cannot receive; but," and his eyes wandered to the top of Mount To-be-Achieved, then back to the River Hope, and along the narrow toilsome path Perseverance—" but, I shall describe that which I can view from afar. I shall paint into my picture Music, Poetry, Harmony. I shall give it Grace, and Elegance, and Refinement; and the back ground I shall shade with Charity."

"With trembling haste he took up his brushes and pallet, and commenced his work. Gradually a face of marvellous beauty took shape, and stood out with startling vividness upon the canvas. He stepped back to view his handwork. The face was fair and sweet and almost perfect, but there was something wanting. For days, and weeks, and months he laboured at his fruitless task, but the effect was not attained—the material could not be made to express what the immaterial had conceived. At last the man became impatient, throwing down the brush and pallet, in his despair he cried, "Must I give it up? Are all my labours in vain? page 421And must the ideal remain to rot in the mind because of the inability of these hands to reach the germ and send to the surface the life-revealing plumule? Yet why not let it alone? It is perfect in its symmetry, divine in its expression, glorious—," he paused as he was about to utter some Solar enravishing expression.

One moment. Two moments.

"Father!" A soft little voice from the doorway spoke, a tiny fairy tripped into the enchanted ground, two innocent sunny eyes looked up at the great artist's great work.

"Oh, how good of you, papa," cried the child triumphantly. "Did you paint that for me? Is that my dolly?" And the fair, impassive face of the doll was held before the picture.

Like a flash the defect was noticed. Seizing his brush the artist drew it across the brow, and dashed some dark colour into the eye-lashes. The effect was marvellous.

"There!" cried he, throwing down his brush this time in triumph, and splashing his clothes with the dark paint. "There! I have spoiled the face of an angel, but I have painted the face of a woman. That is a Being possessing capabilities of deep emotions. What does it signify whether your capabilities run in the direction of good or evil? you are a pulsating woman, the other half of man." As he paused to drink in the gentle power of the being he had painted, but could not understand, a brilliant ray shot across the canvas and settled itself upon the fair proud head. The soft pure light played among the curls and pressed upon the marble brow like a diadem of burnished gold.

"Satisfied," murmured the artist, glancing back along the path he had traversed; "such a crown could not be worn by one who nourishes dark intentions."

By this myth, or allegory, or legend, or conglomeration of the three, it will be understood that Grace Main was a girl of strange temperament, and it was only by becoming page 422acquainted with the Thought Island that you could get a glimpse of her true character, for, like all beings of strange temperaments, she kept her feelings well disguised, and no one knew how to take her. She was good and sensible, but there were dark capabilities needing careful watching, and should circumstances arise to agitate those passions, the result would be questionable. In appearance the two sisters, Grace and Elmy, were entirely different, the one being almost a perfect blonde, the other, as we already know, a perfect brunette.

Somewhat similar meditations disturbed Nellie's thoughts as she sat in a secluded corner of the garden and watched Grace and Walter laughing and chatting together on the wide shady verandah of "Spes."

"Are you not ashamed of yourself, Mr. Thornton? Fancy reading on this lovely afternoon. It is positively scandalous, and I wonder the sun does not go away and leave you to your books and your candle light." Grace's ringing laugh reached the ears of the recluse, and the merry banter chased the cloud a moment from her brow.

"Don't scold me, Gracie," pleaded Mr. Thornton, and his tender using of her pet name sent the rich bloom to the girl's cheeks, "I am not reading," putting aside the book.

"Then you are worse than a simpleton, Walter," laughed Grace with a merry toss of her pretty head, "you are a hypocrite. Never take up a book in my presence again, or I shall ask you if you be eating."

Walter Thornton laughed, and his pleasant laugh was sweet to hear. "Oh Gracie, I would like to take you Home. What a sensation you would cause," and he laughed again, while he playfully pinched the girl's tiny ear.

"Indeed I don't want to cause a sensation," pouted Grace. Little minx! she knew very well no one enjoyed admiration better than she. "What is the good. I think page 423people who cause sensations must have more patience than I, for I know I should shock everyone by doing something desperate."

"You would not get the chance to do anything desperate, my fair coz."

"Then I would say something desperate," retorted Grace, drawing back and pretending not to like Walter's teasing. "Now go and get your hat and come with me, there's a good boy."

"Indeed, mistress commander, but you will please to tell me where you are going. The lamb likes not to be led to the slaughter unprepared; and if 'tis to mother—"

"That will do. No more rich names if you please," interrupted Grace, holding up a warning finger. "We are not going to afternoon tea. We are going to town to get something for our own tea. Will that suit you, Mr. Particular?"

"Admirably," answered Walter, jumping up and vanishing through the open window.

Grace stood a few minutes on the grey atone steps, buttoning up her gloves. Very sweet and cool she looked, and with that dreamy expression which of late had crept into her face, she would have, as the artist said, satisfied the fastidious. Her dress was of a rich cream colour, and the light flimsy material fell about her youthful figure in soft, sweeping folds. A saucy bow of ribbon was pinned at her throat, and seemed, by its continual fluttering in the breeze, to be inviting everyone to take a peep at the little dimpled chin. Her hat was of the same rich colour, trimmed with ribbon and ornamented with large drooping ostrich feathers. But, O those persistent feathers, how they would creep over the broad brim of her hat; and how they would get between Walter's and her own eyes; and how they would refuse to go back to their proper places when they were told; until at page 424last she declared they were spiteful and jealous, and that she would never wear them more, and that after all she believed she looked nicer in that hat than in any other.

Walter reappeared, loudly calling for Nellie, but was told to be respectable in respectable company, and together they sauntered down the garden path, Walter fastened a beautiful cream rose-bud in Grace's drees as they passed the rose-bed.

When they were out of sight, Nellie rose from her seat, a strange look of pain in her dark eyes. For a moment she stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, then turned and passed swiftly out of the garden, round to the stable, and ordered her horse to be saddled. Returning to the house she quickly donned her habit, and five minutes afterwards she was galloping at full speed along the sunny beach, and enjoying herself to her heart's content, Such is life—one moment's sharp pain, then eternity's pleasure: one moment in sorrow, the next rejoicing. On, on she galloped, the soft sea-breeze blowing about her dark, loose locks, the exhilaration sending the warm blood into her cheeks, making them burn like crimson clouds, the motion and excitement causing her bright eyes to flash and dance and rival the sunlit waves. She was in her element, this nursling of nature, and had put on her regal crown. And the waves knew her, and did obeisance to their queen, for they bowed themselves to the earth as she passed, and sought to touch her flying robes. "Oh my beautiful sea, my friend, my comforter, my subject," she cried as she paused on a slight elevation to give breath to her foam-flecked steed. "You roar, and tumble, and lash, and I am proud of the spirit within you. You could seize this body, and crush out this breath, but I would still be your queen. I would still rule my kingdom beneath your watery sky; I would make you obey my voice by demanding the release of the dead. Up! page 425up! lash on, foam on. With all thy might I am greater than thou, for I am the breath of thy God. Yet should the choice of my grave be given me, thine arms would I choose, thy soft white foam my pillow, and on thy sweeping billows would I lay this body to rest. The earth has her treasures; unto thee, O mighty sea, I would not grudge this gem, this tiny star of God," She turned her horse's head inland, and came home by the country road. Her homeward flight was not as rapid as was her sea-ward, and the shadows were creeping round when she passed along the tree-girt streets, and drew rein at the stable door.

"Why, Walter! what are you doing here?" exclaimed Nellie as a tall form advanced from the shade to help her off.

"I came round to interview the harness," answered the young man hesitatingly. "We start early to-morrow, you know, Nellie."

Nellie suffered herself to be lifted from the saddle, a thing she seldom did, and somehow she felt as if Walter held her longer than was needed. "You are hungry, I dare say; go in and get your tea, dear. I heard aunt giving strict orders that the best of everything should be kept. I will see about your horse." He smiled down into the dark eyes, then turned quickly and led away the horse, while Nellie gravely and quietly made her way toward the house. Her thoughts were troubled again, and all that evening she was very quiet. And thus it was, and always remained. Although Walter Thornton handled repartees with Grace and the rest of the family, and although Nellie's voice was seldom heard in the debate, yet there was always a deference in his addressing his little dark cousin. Some strange instinct seemed to soften his voice, and make tender his actions, when looking at that saintly face.

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Next day Walter and Nellie went for a drive into the country, where Walter obtained a situation as cadet on a large station.

As they were nearing home in the waning afternoon, Walter startled Nellie from a reverie by saying quietly:—

"I shall learn all I can from Mr. Gould, and when my education is finished, perhaps father will be able to advance me some money for a station of my own. I shall never be satisfied until I have one."

"But, Walter, I thought you told us your father's business was failing. Do you think it fair to expect money from him?"

"How else can I get it. Things began to take the turn for the better when I left home. Who knows what a few years may bring forth."

"They will teach you independence, Walter; they will teach you wisdom; they will break down the falsely-built castles, and will help forward the building of the true. If you depend upon what years may bring forth, you must not neglect the bringing hours; and Walter, it does not become the nature of a true man to speculate on his father's property. Every man should stand alone."

"There you are again," exclaimed Walter, a trifle impatiently. "Always cold. How can you be so calculating over every minute incident. Even if I have to work for my Run, I need not be despondent. 'Sufficient unto the day,' etc.,—I mean to enjoy the present. And by-and-bye,"—the young man looked at the sweet face beside him, and a great yearning began to take possession of his heart.

"And by-and-bye?" asked Nellie, lifting her great calm eyes and looking beyond the present. "What by-and-bye? Like many a young man by-and-bye brings its visions of wife, home, children. It brings thoughts of happy times, peaceful times, restful times. I hope you will be happy, Walter, O! page 427I hope you will." A small hand stole into his, and two earnest eyes looked up into his face. "But so much lies between now and then. Must all this precious time be wasted because you wish to be prosperous and happy by-and-bye. You are going to enjoy life, Walter. Oh, do not. Enjoyment is not happiness. You wonder how I can be so calculating about every item, and why I should appear grave now because of the uncertain by-and- bye. Dear Walter, although I am grave at times, I am never despondent. I am happy—none happier. I am careful of the Items because the Sum depends upon their correctness. And why I dislike to hear of people speaking too strongly of the happiness of by-and-bye, is because I feel my own father depended too much upon what the years were to bring for him."

Walter Thornton was silent, and they traversed the remainder of the way in unbroken thought.

A few days afterwards Mr. Thornton took up his station in the country, and did his best to become a New Zealander. He succeeded very well, and although at first he got terribly sunburnt; and his hands got blistered, and his temper got ruffled, and his clothes got torn, and his language got polished, he gradually resigned himself to his fate, and joked about his own awkwardness. His holidays were always spent at "Spes," and nothing gave him so much relief as a dose of "Main society." Thus time went on, and in time's wake travelled time's children. Each day Nellie grew brighter and more cheerful; each day Grace grew quieter and more subdued; each day Mrs. Main superintended and surveyed; each day the children went to and fro; and each day and each hour and each minute led them all toward their end.