University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER VIII.

Henry Irvine was seated in his studio that morning, busily at work.
On the easel before him stood a piece of canvas, on which he had
been painting for several hours, with the animated and glowing countenance
of one whose soul was lost in the subject. The door opened,
and the party from Dr. Astley's entered. Observing him so deeply
absorbed in his task, they did not interrupt him, but lounged through the
room, inspecting the creations of his pencil, and admiring some pictures
of the old master of painting which he had brought from
from Italy, leaving him to discover their presence at his leisure. Mary
Odlin leaned upon the arm of Dr. Astley as they traversed the room
but from a singular feeling, easily understood but difficult to analyze

she dared not turn her eyes towards the artist. A single glance she
knew would satisfy her if it was Henry; but she felt it might also
crush at once the hopes she had so fondly cherished. She trembled
at hastening the denouement, and chose rather to nourish the delusion,
if delusion it was, to the latest moment, than risk the chance of final
disappointment. She feared, too, if it should prove to be Henry, to
meet his eye before so many, and her emotion at the discovery should
be observed.

As they slowly made the tour of the apartment, Mrs. Astley, whose
curiosity was awakened to know whether it could be her own picture
that so closely engaged the whole mind of the handsome young artist
as to render him unconscious of their presence, crossed the room in
such a direction, that by slightly bending forward, she could discover
the subjecton the canvas. Her eye had scarcely glanced at it,
when she uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight, and cried,
`The living image of Mary Odlin, as I knew her when she was
scarce sixteen!'

He started with surprise, blushed, stammered out a few incoherent
words of spology for not before aware of their presence, and hastily
turned the canvas to the easel—but not before Colonel Odlin had
seen and recognized an admirable portrait of his daughter, just as she
was merging into womanhood. Mary heard the words of Mrs. Astley,
and her heart told her that the limner could be none other than Henry!
She raised her eyes—it was Henry! She uttered a cry of delight,
and would have fallen with joy, had not the young artist, who
at the same instant recognized her, flown and caught her in his arms.
The moment she felt his arms around her, she quickly recovered herself
with maidenly shame, and buried her blushing, happy face in her
hands!

`What means this?' inquired Colonel Odlin, bewildered by the
scene, wholly at loss to account for his daughter's emotion, and puzzling
himself with conjectures how her portrait came to be on the
painter's easel.

`Cupid has something to do it, Colonel, I will wager,' said Dr.
Astley, with a mischevous glance at Mary. `Did I not tell, you, fair
lady, it would be love at first sight!'

`It is something more,' said Colonel Odlin; `will you do us the
kindness to explain, sir?' he added, addressing Henry

`Cheerfully sir,' said Henry taking the hand of Mary, which she

willingly resigned to him. `In early youth your lovely daughter was
beloved by me, and I had reason to hope my love was reciprocated.
But my birth is humble, and also were my fortunes. That I might
make myself worthy of her, seven years ago I left my native village,
to seek my fortune, and strive to win a name, in the lustre of which,
whispered my youthful ambition, my lowly one should be lost. For
that purpose, I assumed only my christian name, with the determination
to resume my paternal one only when I could with honor confer
it on her, who was the guiding star of my career. Seven years we
promised to be true to each other, trusting to better fortunes, at the
expiration of that period, to reward our loves. It is just seven years
to-day, sir, since we parted, on the shore of Eden Mere.'

`In Henry, the painter,' exclaimed Colonel Odlin, with astonishment,
`I then behold—'

`Henry Irvine,' replied the young artist, bowing with modest
pride.

`Take her, young man. She is fairly won. Yours is a patent of
nobility derived from Heaven, and sealed with the signet of a Divinity.
Nor are you so lowly by birth. Your father though a poor clergyman,
was a gentleman and a scholar!'

As he spoke, he took the hand of the happy Mary and placed it
himself in that of her lover, embraced them both, and in an affectionate
manner bade, `God bless them!'

`Amen!' fervently responded Dr. Astley.

A few weeks afterwards, the village of Eden was beside itself with
merry-makings in honor of the marriages of Henry Irvine with Mary
Odlin, and of David Dow with Bessy Blodget.