University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
THE PORTRAIT.

When Lady Winfred entered the library
which was in the opposite wing of the palace,
she found the earl, seated with his back towards
her, by a table, his heard resting upon
the palm of his hand. He was alone, and
his attitude was one of such dejection and
sorrow, that she stopped as the steward
closed the door behind her, and regarded
him, for a moment, with surprise and
alarm.

At length seeing that he took no notice of
her presence, she advanced towards him with
a step and voice of joyful welcome, saying:

`My dear, dear uncle, I am rejoiced once
more to see you return;' and she caught his
hand and stooping with affectionate respect,
kissed his cheek. He looked up, and as his
face met her gaze, she involuntarily shrieked,
it was so haggard and marked with
wretchedness of spirit. He tried to smile
and slightly returned the pressure of her
hand, and after regarding her a few seconds
with an expression of sadness and remorse,
he let his face fall again into his hand in the

same attitude of grief as before, while a deep
groan escaped his bosom.

`Not a word—not a look of kindness,
uncle! What is it that has befallen you?
How is it I see you returned thus?' she
cried with accents and looks of deep distress.
`Have I done ought that causes you
to meet me so coldly?'

`Nothing, my child—nothing Lady Winfred!'

`Lady Winfred! This is not the way
you used to address me. You have been ill
and your sufferings have affected your spirits.
Now that you have returned, I will soon
have you well. I will read to you, sing to
you, walk and ride with you, play chess and
—'

`No more, no more. Every word you utter
pierces me to the soul.'

The maiden gazed on him through her
tearful eyes, and fondly laying her hand upon
his brow and gazing into his face with deep
affection, said:

`You are unhappy. Some deep grief has
befallen you. Confide in me uncle. It is a
heavy blow for me, when I have been so
long and joyfully looking for your return, to
have you come back thus. What hath transpired?
Who are these persons whom you
have brought back with you. Methinks you
are too ill to have invited guests to accompany
you.

`They are self-invited, Lady Winfred.'

`Call me Winfred! Call me Winny as
you used to do, uncle. Your words chill
me. Self-invited. They do not look like—
officers of the law.'

`They are not. It is time you should
know who they are and who you are?'

`Your words are so mysterious that they
appal me. What is the meaning of all this?
Speak if you would not distress me. You
refuse my caresses, call me Lady Winfred
and act towards me with the coldness of a
stranger.'

`And it becomes me to do so,' answered
the earl in a tone of anguish. `But set here
and listen to what I am about to reveal to
you; and when you have heard all, hate and
loathe me.'

`Hate you! Oh, uncle. You must be
sorely affected. Explain, reveal nothing to
me now. I wont to hear nothing that will
make me hate you. Oh, dreadful idea.'

`Yet dreadful as it is, you must bear what
I have to reveal. It is for your happiness
and honor, though to my dishonor. Do not
speak, but listen; for there are guests that
must be attended to, and who are waiting in
the ante-room, the result of this interview
with you.'

The marquis and Lord Robert were, indeed,
in the ante-chamber, whither by the
earl's orders they had been conducted as he
himself passed into the library, into which
Griffitt entered with him. Having seated
himself, overcome with fatigue and the
weight of the talk he was to undergo, he desired
to be left alone. Griffitt, who from the
first, though kindly, had firmly acted the
part of his guard, at once obeyed, and joined
his two friends, while the earl ringing for
the steward, despatched him, as we have
seen, for Lady Winfred. By the express
and urgent desire of the earl, they had given
their permission for him, on reaching the
palace, to break to Lady Winfred the history
of her birth and his own guilt.

The reader may imagine with what impatience,
with what trembling emotions of fear
and joy, Robert Burnside waited to behold
his long lost child, whom he was now, without
doubt, assured lived and was within the
walls of the mansion. He could scarcely
restrain his impatience as after hearing the
door of the library close, the accents of a
female tongue faintly touched his ear. He
walked to the door of the ante-room amd listened,
that his heart might in anticipation,
drink in a portion of the happiness in store
for him. The marques set calm and silent,
not without feeling, however, something of
the pleasure that agitated the bosom of Lord
Robert, in the prospect of folding to his

heart a grandchild. Ringold walked up and
down the room, occupying himself in gazing
on the noble pictures with which in was
adorned, yet entering with the fullest sympathy
into the feelings of his two companions,
with whose happiness and interests his own
had so long been united. He was not, moreover,
without curiosity to see the lovely
daughter of Lord Robert, of whose beauty
and virtue the earl, in those quieter moments
of almost friendly conversation, that
a long voyage furnished, spoke of with words
of the highest commendation. Suddenly as
Ringold was moving round the room from
picture to picture, glancing at each with the
eye of an artist, suddenly he burst forth into
an exclamation of amazement and joy, so
eager and animated, that both Lord Robert
and the marques were moved with surprise;
and the former seeing him gazing upon a
portrait in an attitude of almost mad rapture,
hastened across the large apartment towards
him.

`What have you discovered? What is it
that has moved you thus?' he cried.

`See! It is the very face! It is she!

`Who?'

`The lady I saw in the Royal Academy.
The angel of my destiny!' answered Ringold
with features illuminated with happiness.
`How wonderful that I should discover
her portrait here!'

But if Ringold was moved at this delightful
discovery of the picture of a face that
was engraven upon his heart of hearts, and
the original of which he had never hoped to
find more, he was now amazed and startled
beyond measure at the expression on the
features of Lord Robert, and the sudden
and extraordinary change that took place in
him after looking upon the portrait. With
a cheek that lost all color, and hands clasped
and trembling, his lips parted and his
whole frame convulsed with agitation, he
sunk upon his knees before it. Tears gushed
to his eyes and he murmured:

`My mother!' My beautiful and innocent
mother!'

The words thrilled the soul of Griffitt, and
the marques came hurriedly to the spot,
which he had no sooner reached and caught
sight of the picture, than he exclaimed:

`Lady Alice! It is my wife, my injured
wife.'

At this moment the sterward appeared at
the door bringing in the marques' cane
which had been left in the carriage.

`Whose portrait is this?' demanded Griffitt
in whose mind this scene gave rise to
strange, wild, tumultuous thoughts.

`The picture of the Lady Winfred, my
lords, the earl's neice!'

`My daughter? Oh, my child, I see thee
now thy mother and thee both blent in thy
lovely image!' cried Lord Robert, rising as
if he would embrace the portrait, on which
he continued to gaze like one in a happy
dream.

Griffitt had no sooner heard the name of
the original, than he turned suddenly towards
a window to conceal his feelings. It
was not with joy, but with sorrow he found
that the maiden whom he loved with such
remantic passions, was a noble's daughter.

`It is all past!' he said mournfully; `the
dream is over. She is too high for the aim
of a poor painter. She is Robert Burnsides
daughter, at which I rejoice for his sake,
but will he not soon take his rank among the
nobles of this proud land, and she will wear
a caronet, and have princes at her feet.
Alas, this discovery, who it is that I have
loved, instead of filling my bosom with joy,
depresses my soul with despondency. What
has a poor artist to do with flxing his love
upon a noble's daughter? Even the friendship
of Lord Robert, the gratitude of the
marques will not over pass the stern carons
of lordly usage. They may reward my services
with gold or lands, would I deign to
accept either, or with patronage in my art,
but not with the hand of their queenly
daughter. But why do I talk thus madly.
The maiden knows nothing of me. She has
never a second time recalled the poor seaman

she spoke so kindly to in the gallery of
art. Doubtless when she beholds me, it will
be without the consciousness of ever having
beheld me before. Be it so. I will try and
overcome a passion that unrequited will consume
me. Hitherto I have had hope to kindle
and keep alive the fire of my love and
adoration; but now it must go out in darkness.
Now I can explain what it was in the
face of this sir John, as he was called, who
came to the Park Lodge and met us. It puzzles
me no longer to tell, as it was on his
arm the Lady Winfred leaned when she
spoke to me. But I will banish my own
griefs, and not selfishly be absorbed in them
while Lord Robert is on the eve of such joy
as awaits him.'

Thus resolving, this noble young man who
possessed every qualification but parchment
nobility, for the hand of Lady Winfred, approached
the imarqus and Lord Robert, who
still remained hefore the portrait, interchanging
with each other, remards upon its resemblance
to Lady Alice. Yet Robert Burnside
was not so absorbed in the contemplation
of the picture of his daughter, not to
be sensitively on the alert to catch every
sound that might herald the approach of the
original, whom his heart bounded to embrace.

`But, perhaps she will meet me as a stranger,
coldly and unrecognizing and wanting
sympathy with my joy,' he said sadly as his
eyes rested on the face of Griffitt who seemed
to be reading his thoughts.

`Hope for the best, my Lord Robert.
There is no doubt but she will recollect you;
and when the earl unfolds to her your tender
relation to her, you may be assured the fountains
of filial love which have so long been
sealed up, will open and flow into your heart.'

`I trust so. But why so sad at such a
moment of joy, my young friend.'

`Have I not reason to be sad, Lord Robert?'
answered Ringold, coloring and hesitating.
`I have found who my unknown angel
is, only to love her forever.'

`Love her? Why need you lose her?

`I am but a poor artist, and she is a noble's
daughter. It shall be my task and duty
to forget her. And if you will excuse me,
I would rather at once return to London. I
cannot bear to behold her again to revive all
the past in my soul, and then see her borne
from me forever.'

`This speech proceeds from the modesty
of thy character, master Ringold. You
shall see her and she shall see you; and if
she remembers you, if she ever has forgotten
you, and you can teach her to love you, by
the hopes of her love and affection, you have
my pledge that she shall be thine. I know
thy worth and excellence, and I know if she
had every lord in England at her feet, and
she knew thee, she would extend her hand
past all these to thine. Take courage and
remember that Robert Burnside does not
know how to be ungrateful.'

Ringold listened with a bounding pulse,
and when he had ended, he grasped his hand
while tears filled his eyes.

`You have made me the happiest of men.
I will no longer despair; though you may
smile at my presumption, in ever daring to
suppose that she could even be brought to
recollect ever having spoken with such an
one as I at the Royal Gallery. But hope
whispers in my heart that she does remember
me.'

`I have no doubt of it, Ringold. Hers is
a face, judging from her portrait, that is honest
and true, and she looks like one who
would not voluntarily address herself to a
young man of your face and air, and forget
you. But methinks the earl is long. If she
regards him with affection, it will be a heavy
blow to her, though she gain a father.'

`It is possible she may love him,' said the
marquis. `Doubtless he has bestowed upon
her all his affection, and exhibited to her the
best parts of his character, while he has studiously
concealed the worst features of it.
There are none so evil, that there are not
found those who love them.'

`My lords, the earl would be pleased to
see you in the library,' said Sir John Bendler,
his rippened and manager of his household
and estate, coming in, his face wearing
an expression of amazed grief.