Through all these pleasant sights Bergan moved slowly and half absently, occupying himself less with their beauty than with the sober monologue6 of his own thoughts. Yet his gaze was not without occasional moments of intelligence, and in one of these he noticed a child, attended by a large dog, standing7 with a curiously8 doubtful, undecided air, in the midst of the square that he was crossing. Suddenly making up her mind, it would seem, she held out her hand to a gentleman coming from the opposite direction, who took no further notice of the mute appeal than was implied by a shake of the head. The sight was a comparatively strange one in those days, when begging was resorted to as an occasional resource, rather than followed as a regular trade; and Bergan continued to observe the child with a certain degree of interest, though not with a wholly unpreoccupied mind, as he advanced toward her.
All at once, it struck him that there was something oddly familiar about her slender little figure. As for the dog, he was certainly an old acquaintance, as could easily be proven; and Bergan's lips emitted a low, peculiar9 whistle. There was an instant pricking10 up of the canine11 ears, and an inquisitive12 turning sidewise of the canine head, but the faithful animal would not leave his young mistress until he was absolutely certain that he recognized a friend. She, meanwhile, seemed to notice neither the whistle nor its effect; nor could she distinctly see what manner of man drew near, her eyes being dazzled by the level sun-rays, but she again mutely held out her hand.
It was instantly taken possession of. "Cathie," said Bergan, wonderingly, "what does this mean?"
She looked at him a moment in blank bewilderment, but ended by recognizing him and flinging herself into his arms exactly as the Cathie of a year before would have done; but with a deep, long-drawn, repressed sob5, implying a profounder sorrow than had ever darkened the horizon of even that child of many and incomprehensible moods.
Yet Bergan was considerably13 relieved by her first words;—"Oh, Mr. Arling, don't tell mamma—don't tell Astra—please don't!" It seemed probable that the episode of the begging was simply one of the child's strange freaks.
"Did you do it for fun, then?" he asked.
"Fun?" repeated Cathie, with indignant emphasis, "do you think it's fun to beg, Mr. Arling? I don't. I was so ashamed that I wanted to hide my face with both hands."
"Then why did you do it?" asked Bergan, gravely.
The child's lip assumed its most sorrowful curve. "To get some money to give Astra," she answered. "We are very poor now; the Bank went and got broke, with all mamma's money in it; and she was taken sick, and Astra couldn't get much to do, and we've had to move into a little mean house, in a dirty little street, where there are no flowers, nor trees, nor anything that's nice. And this morning I saw Astra take the last money out of her purse, to pay the rent, and she looked—oh! I can't tell how she looked,—something like that big gray man, with the little boy on his back, that she made so long ago; and I did so wish that I could do something to help her, just a little bit. So, when she sent me out to take a walk with Nix, it came into my head that I could beg for her, if I couldn't do anything else, and I thought I'd try it. Was it doing wrong?"
Bergan did not answer except by stooping to kiss the child's upturned face. His eyes grew moist.
"I know it must be wrong," pursued Cathie, innocently, "if it makes you cry, Mr. Arling."
"No, Cathie," replied Bergan, smiling reassuringly14. "I do not think it was wrong,—at least, you did not mean to do wrong, and that makes a great difference. But I don't think that you will need to try it again. Now, certainly you can do something better; that is, take me home with you."
On the way, Cathie, secure in the sympathy of this trusted friend of better days, gave a more detailed15 account of the misfortunes that had befallen the little family, since it left Berganton. His heart ached as he pictured to himself the weary and wasting struggle with poverty that Astra had maintained so bravely, yet so hopelessly; heavily weighted, on the one hand, with the burden of disappointed affection, and, on the other, with the anxiety caused by her mother's severe illness. For works of art, there had been no demand; for portrait busts17 and medallions, there had been only a scanty19 and fitful one. Her last resource had been pupils in drawing, but these had now failed her, in consequence of the usual summer exodus20 of the city's wealthier population; by reason of which she was reduced to the bitter straits shadowed forth21 by Cathie's earlier communications. It was touching22, too, to see what real nobleness of character had all along been hidden under the child's caprice and waywardness, as evinced by the fact that she said little of the privations that had fallen to her own lot, but dwelt chiefly on her mother's lack of accustomed comforts, and the forlorn face that Astra wore, when out of that mother's sight.
The house was reached before the story had come to an end. It was a little better than Bergan's fears, but far worse than his hopes. It smote23 him to the heart to contrast it with the comfortable and spacious24 mansion25 that had opened its doors so readily to him at Berganton, and wherein he had come to feel himself so pleasantly at home.
Cathie ushered26 Bergan into the dingy27 little room that served both for parlor28 and studio, and then rushed through the opposite door, full of the importance of the news that she had to impart. There was a smothered29 exclamation30 of surprise from the adjoining room, followed by a murmured consultation31; and then Astra appeared in the doorway32.
But it was by no means the Astra of Bergan's remembrance. The features were the same, to be sure, but the light, the hope, the energy, that had animated33 them, and informed them with such rich and varied34 expression, was utterly35 lacking. There was a perceptible line between the eyebrows36, as if the brow were wont37 to be knit over difficult problems; and the mouth expressed a settled melancholy38, which a smile seemed only to vary slightly, not to displace. Nor could Bergan help detecting a little hardness in it,—the look of a defeated general, forced to lay down his weapons, but still unsubdued in will.
What he most marvelled39 at, however, was that it immediately brought Diva Thane's face before him, as if there were some subtle relation between them, though there was not the slightest resemblance.
Astra's manner to him was scarcely less altered than her face. It was not exactly cold, but it lacked much of the old warmth and heartiness41. Bergan took no notice of it; he readily divined what chords of painful association were thrilled at the sight of him, and how inevitably42 her pride revolted against being seen in her present surroundings. Her hand was so cold, when he took it in his, that he pressed it between both his own, with a vague idea of warming it; then, stirred by a sympathy too deep for ordinary expression, he bent43 over and touched it with his lips.
"You are not wise," said Astra, with a faint smile; "you should not do homage44 to a fallen princess."
"Neither do I," rejoined Bergan, with a deep music in his voice. "She is not fallen, but holding out most bravely against the time when she may expect succor45."
"Succor?" responded Astra, with a mixture of pride and mournfulness,—"from what or whom could acceptable succor come?"
Bergan smiled, and pointed16 upward. "From the Source of all succor, whatever be the channel."
Astra shook her head, and the lines of her mouth grew set and hard. "Acceptable succor comes in season," said she, "and through legitimate46 channels."
Bergan was confounded. This lack of faith, this arraignment47 of Providence48, argued a more amazing change in Astra than he had yet suspected. At the same time it afforded him a clue to that mysterious connection, in his mind, between her face and Miss Thane's. Under the hardness of the one and the coldness of the other, the same scepticism lay hidden,—possibly engendered49 by similar causes. In Astra's case, he had no hesitation50 in attributing it to Doctor Remy's influence; and he could not but wonder at the singular and fatal power of the man over the minds of those who were brought into close contact with him. Was this deadly poison to be also instilled51 into the pure mind of Carice? He shuddered52 at the thought. Better for her to lie dead at the bottom of the river, by which he had last seen her soft, rapt face.
Feeling that this was no time to argue with Astra, Bergan turned to the table, which was littered with drawings and sketches53, plaster reliefs, and small clay models, to a degree that implied no lack of patient industry, despite the want of encouragement, and the absence of faith.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"Nothing, just now," she answered, mournfully. "I believe my hands have lost their cunning,—if ever they had any. That is the last." She pointed to a small bas-relief.
It represented a child, skipping lightly down a flowery slope, trailing a vine behind her. The face was turned so far away from the beholder54, as to show only the rounded outline of the youthful cheek and brow, but the figure expressed a wonderful joyousness55. In more senses than one, it was plainly, "In the Sunshine;" which title was lightly scratched in the plaster.
Bergan studied it attentively56. "It is as fresh as a rose," said he, "and as sweet."
"The analogy, if there be any, goes deeper than that," rejoined Astra, bitterly. "A rose is born out of darkness and dampness and decay, and this is the offspring of pain and discouragement, and all that makes the hand weak and the heart sick."
"And that is probably the secret of its perfection," remarked Bergan, meditatively57. "The loveliest graces of character—such as charity that thinketh no evil, and hope that lives by faith, not by sight—are the legitimate children of suffering. Then why not the finer works of art?"
Astra's eyes fell, and she did not answer.
"At any rate," pursued Bergan, "this 'Sunshine' is just what I want to brighten my office. I was thinking, this very day, that something must be done to make it less dismal58. I suppose it is for sale?"
Astra bent her head a little stiffly. She doubted the reality of this new-born desire for office decorations.
He took out his purse, and laid a folded bank-note on the table. He expected that she would not look at it, until after he had gone, but she immediately took it up, opened it, and tendered it back to him.
"It is too much," said she proudly. And her look added, "I am no beggar."
"Is it?" inquired Bergan, with apparent surprise. "I thought it agreed tolerably well with the prices that you used to mention as the least you would receive for your works, in the future."
"I have lived to grow wiser," replied Astra,
"It is all the same," rejoined Bergan composedly, "I was about to say that, as my mother has long been entreating59 me to send her some sort of a portrait, it occurs to me that I cannot do better than to get you to make a medallion or a bust18 of me, whichever you please. The balance of the note can go toward the first payment. We will arrange for the sittings, as soon as you are at leisure."
Astra's lip trembled. Put in this way, the note might be retained; and no one knew so well as herself what an amount of relief to her, and of comfort to her mother, it ensured. But her pride was very sore, nevertheless, and her face was little grateful, as she dropped the note on the table, somewhat as if it had burned her fingers.
Bergan hastened to change the subject. "I am sorry not to see your mother," he began; but Astra interrupted him.
"She would like to see you very much," said she, "if you don't mind coming to her room. It is several days since she has left it; though I really think that she is better to-day."
"Why should I mind?" asked Bergan, smiling. "She used to call me her son sometimes; though you do take such pains to give me to understand that you utterly repudiate60 me as a brother."
Astra turned her face aside, to conceal61 the sudden unbending of the set mouth. "Indeed, I do not," she faltered62.
Bergan drew her toward him, just as a brother would have done. "Then you will help me to persuade her to move into more comfortable quarters, at once. I promise you that it shall be arranged so carefully as to give her the least possible fatigue63."
Astra shook her head. "It cannot be; it would excite her too much. Her disease is of the heart; and joy kills as surely as sorrow. When I moved her here,—being imperatively64 forced to do so, because I could not afford to stay where we were,—I determined65 that, let come what would, she should not be stirred again, until she is a great deal better or—worse. Thank you for the kind thought, but indeed she is best off here, for the present,—now that I have the means of making her tolerably comfortable."
In the last sentence, there was some trace of Astra's old self; and, glad to have gained thus much, Bergan followed her to Mrs. Lyte's bedside.
If he still cherished any belief in the feasibility of removing her, it vanished with the first sight of her face. He wondered what could have led Astra to think her better. Even to his inexperienced eyes, the struggling breath, the beaded forehead, the ashy pallor, indicated but too plainly that the thread of her life was wellnigh spun66.
Yet she was less changed, in some respects, than Astra. Her smile had the old sweetness; her face—when the excitement caused by his unexpected visit was calmed a little, and she could breathe easier—had the old expression of gentle resignation. It lighted up, too, at sight of him;—as he had reminded Astra, she had come to regard him with a half-motherly affection, during his residence in her house.
"It is very good of you to come to us," she said, gratefully; "it seems a great while since I have seen any friendly face."
"If I had only known that you were in Savalla, I should have come much sooner," answered Bergan.
"And if I had known that you were here," she responded, "I should certainly have sent for you. It is strange, Astra, that we never happened to hear of him."
Astra's face flushed a little. "We are not in the way of hearing news," she replied, evasively. "But now that he is here, to sit with you a few minutes, I will run out and get that prescription67 filled, which the doctor left this morning."
Bergan rose instantly. "Let me go, rather," said he.
"N-o, no," said Mrs. Lyte, "it will do her good to have a little run. Besides, I want to talk with you."
Bergan sat down again, and Cathie nestled to his side. Nix, too, came and lay down at his feet, quite in the old Berganton fashion.
"I am very glad to see you," continued Mrs. Lyte, when Astra had left the room, "but I am afraid it is largely a selfish gladness. I am so certain that you will see what can be done for my children after I am gone."
Bergan opened his lips to speak, but she lifted her hand with a deprecating gesture, and went on:—
"Let me say what I want to say; I shall be so much easier in my mind. Do you know how we came to leave Berganton?"
"I do not; I only heard of it when I went back there, in the Fall."
Mrs. Lyte briefly68 explained the circumstances which had led to the removal. She stated, furthermore, that she had written to Major Bergan, upon the failure of the Bank where her money was invested, and inquired if he had sold the house, and whether there was any balance in her favor. To which he replied that he had done nothing about the matter, and proposed to do nothing, at present; he only wished that she would come back, and live in it, as before. But this was impossible, she had now no means of maintaining so large and expensive a place. She had, therefore, written again, to the effect that she asked nothing better than the immediate40 foreclosure of the mortgage, and the sale of the property. Would he attend to it at his earliest convenience, and forward her the balance? To this letter there had been no reply; she took it for granted that a purchaser had not been found. What she desired of Bergan, in the event of her death, which she believed to be near at hand, was to hurry forward the sale of the place, and secure something for Astra, if possible. This he promised to do; and he added, in a tone that brought instant conviction to her mind, and tears of gratitude69 to her eyes, that, however this matter terminated, neither Astra nor Cathie should lack friendly aid, at need.
When he finally took his leave, Bergan beckoned70 Astra to the door. "Are you alone here?" he inquired. "Is there no one to share your labors71 and your cares?"
"We brought our old Chloe with us," replied Astra; "she would not be left behind, and indeed, I do not know what we should have done without her. But lately the good old creature has insisted upon going out to do a day's washing, now and then, to bring something into the family purse; she is out to-day. When she is home, she does all she can."
Bergan recollected72 the old slave, and doubted nothing of her fidelity73. But, in the woful event that he foresaw, Astra would need other help, other sympathy, he thought.
"Is there no one you can send for,—no relative, no friend, in Berganton, or elsewhere?" he persisted.
"None," replied Astra. "And what accommodations have we for such a friend, if we had one?"
There was nothing more to be said. He shook her hand warmly, told her that he had promised her mother to come again on the morrow, lifted his hat, with his usual courtesy, and went down the street, in such a maze74 of pity and perplexity, that he forgot to notice which way he went.
When he became cognizant of his whereabouts, he was standing before a large, old-fashioned mansion fronting on one of the principal squares of the city. On the door was a silver plate, bearing the name of "DIVA THANE, ARTIST."
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1
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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imprinting
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| n.胚教，铭记（动物生命早期即起作用的一种学习机能）；印记 | |
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foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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pricking
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| 刺，刺痕，刺痛感 | |
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canine
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| adj.犬的，犬科的 | |
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inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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reassuringly
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| ad.安心，可靠 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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bust
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| vt.打破；vi.爆裂；n.半身像；胸部 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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exodus
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| v.大批离去，成群外出 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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consultation
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| n.咨询；商量；商议；会议 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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marvelled
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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inevitably
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| adv.不可避免地；必然发生地 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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homage
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| n.尊敬，敬意，崇敬 | |
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succor
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| n.援助，帮助；v.给予帮助 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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arraignment
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| n.提问，传讯，责难 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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49
engendered
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| v.产生（某形势或状况），造成，引起( engender的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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50
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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51
instilled
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| v.逐渐使某人获得（某种可取的品质），逐步灌输( instill的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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53
sketches
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| n.草图( sketch的名词复数 )；素描；速写；梗概 | |
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54
beholder
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| n.观看者，旁观者 | |
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55
joyousness
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| 快乐，使人喜悦 | |
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attentively
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| adv.聚精会神地；周到地；谛；凝神 | |
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57
meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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59
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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60
repudiate
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| v.拒绝，拒付，拒绝履行 | |
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61
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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63
fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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64
imperatively
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| adv.命令式地 | |
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65
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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66
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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67
prescription
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| n.处方，开药；指示，规定 | |
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68
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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69
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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70
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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72
recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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73
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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74
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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