Thornicroft's Model

Chapter I

If he thinks to see Some evil thing that nowise is in me, Another day the truth of all will show. Let pass ; again from out the place I go Wherein the sport of fortune I have tried. Morris. Not to be with you, not to see your face ! Alas for me then, my good days are done. Tennyson. s""* HAT'S a sham parting," said Am- JL bergreen to himself when left alone ; " I suppose they knew that I was behind them. But how beautiful she looks, and how nicely dressed ! Confound them both ! I suppose she and Thornicroft have quarrelled ; perhaps he would be more com municative now if I asked him about her. VOL. II. i Hang it, how one hates being sold this way; it makes one look such a fool ! But if I can serve that young woman out, I will ! " Perhaps a vague wish to do so took him to Thornicroft's studio next day.

There was a good deal of sympathy between them in art matters, and both were members of the same " clique," so they ran through the usual amount of pictorial gossip, and criti cised the works in progress, especially Miss Denison' s portrait. "I like that girl's looks uncommonly," said Ambergreen peering close into it. " If ever I marry, my wife shall be something like that — a sort of doll-angel. She looks as if she had lived always on strawberries and cream, doesn't she ? I like a girl who looks like that — all creamy-white and rosy pink. She does not look as if she bothered her brains about anything but making herself pretty; and quite enough too, for she suc ceeds in doing it." " She is a beautiful bit of colour certainly ; but the worst is one can't give it. Would you have used emerald green there in the shadow?" etc., etc., etc. ; for hereupon con versation became rather technical.

"Why don't you go in for her, old fellow?" said Ambergreen, when they were done talking " shop." " She will own a Riding or two in Yorkshire from her grandfather, and lacs of rupees from her father ! I heard some of the men at the Burlington talking about her the other night." " I'll think it over," said Thornicroft lazily. " After all, if it were not for the cash, she does not come up to your Perdita model. That was a fine girl ! — a divine-looking girl ! What a pity she went to the bad ! " " What do you mean ? " exclaimed Thor nicroft, turning round, on fire in a moment. " Why, she is always at church ! you know well enough what that means ; — got some thing to repent of, and that kind of thing." " Pooh ! " said Thornicroft, vexed he had been provoked into showing so much interest. " Where do you see her ?

What church does she go to ? " Ambergreen saw in a moment what a fine thing ricochet firing was ; and pleased to revenge himself on Helen, and not sorry to worry Thornicroft a little in return for his shabby conduct about her as a model long ago, proceeded to tell his story, supplement ing such parts as he knew by the aid of a vigorous and unscrupulous imagination. " She and Townley, — you know Townley of course, or used to do, for he is out of your line now that he is a parson. (By Jove, I wonder how he got his si quis ! ) She and Townley are great friends now; she goes to his church, and waits for him coming out, and then they go off in cabs together ! ! Perhaps they are married, after all ! Are they ? You very likely know far more about them than I do ; for though I have seen their meetings, I have only heard them speak to each other once ; and they might very well be married judging by the way they did so then."

"What did they say that once?" inquired Thornicroft, quite careless now about hiding his curiosity. " Oh, little enough, but enough to show how they stood together ; and when I think it over, I am sure they are married. The last time I saw them was yesterday ; she waited for him till he came out of church. He takes some time putting off those ridiculous papistical trappings, you know. She went up to him then, and put her hand in his arm — just like a wife ; but she only said, ' I was waiting for you, dear,' and they walked away most affectionately. I had the curiosity to follow a little; I had always a bit of a fancy for that girl ; but they got into a cab almost directly, and went off somewhere or other together." Thornicroft was as pale as death, but his back was turned to Ambergreen, and he still pretended to be painting, so that his emotion remained unnoticed.

"Hang it," said Ambergreen, "I feel awfully savage with her if she has gone and married that parson. I shall never get a sitting from her now. Besides, she is too good for him ; — a High Churchman like that ought to be ashamed of himself for wanting to marry anybody. ' Men of his coat should be minding their prayers, And not among ladies to give themselves airs ! ' as Swift says ; and he did not speak with out knowing what he was talking about." Thornicroft was frantic with jealousy in a moment. She had never mentioned anything of this to him ; therefore all Ambergreen said was true ; and after all her protestations, after all the sacrifices he had made for her, it had come to this ! It was for Townley's sake she spent these long hours in church, from whence she came back looking so happy.

She might say if she liked that there was no service when she went, but who would believe it ? Would any one go there to stare at stone walls? — or if it were true, Townley could go when there was no service also ! He believed every word of Amber green's story, and he forgot entirely how he had cut Helen short the day before when she had come to tell him what had passed. "You look ill, old fellow," remarked Ambergreen with some compunction; "are you fond of the girl ? " "/fond of her !" said Thornicroft angrily; "when I lose my heart, it will not be to any one who comes out of a back street like Chapel Street, trained up by a woman like Mrs. Morris; at least, if I do, you need waste no pity on me when I find out my mistake ! No, she was a nice girl, and very handsome, and I took some interest in her, but after all she was only a model !

Disbrowe has got hold of a very good one too for his Cleo patra. If I were not going abroad, I would paint her myself as Medea, or Clytemnestra, or some of those dove-like dames of old." " I did not know you were going abroad," said Ambergreen. Neither did Thornicroft himself five minutes before, only when in trouble flight was always his only refuge. He was now trembling all over, but was doing his best to hide it from his friend. " Yes — one wants new ideas. I am going to the East, I think; but I don't mean to bother myself with making plans. I have been meaning to go for some time ; it is having to pack keeps me back a little." Thornicroft now sat down, for the simple reason that he could not stand. If Helen was false, — and there was no doubt that she was, — then there was not another person in the world worthy of trust.

He might not have loved her, i.e., been in love with her, — for he did love her most truly in his own selfish way, — but he had always trusted her as the very soul of truth and honour. Had he played away his life then for absolutely nothing ? Take away her love for him, and she was nothing ; to him at least she lost her very motive for existing ! " You look ill," again said Ambergreen. " I am not quite the thing," said Thorni croft; "that is why I made up my mind to go abroad. I ought to have gone before, but I wanted this portrait done, and the money for it." "That reminds me," exclaimed Amber green, springing up, " I must go. I am going to have an interview with a gentleman with a hooked nose, myself, this morning. Money is the greatest nuisance in the world : it comes between one and everything worth having ; and to think that there are people in the world who have more than they have the least idea what to do with ! — Goodbye."

Chapter II

He fain had spoken to her, And loosed in words of sudden fire the wrath And smouldered wrong that burnt him all within ; But evermore it seem'd an easier thing At once without remorse to strike her dead, Than to cry " Halt," and to her own bright face Accuse her of the least immodesty ; And thus tongue-tied, it made him wroth the more That she could speak whom his own ear had heard Call herself false. Tennyson. THORNICROFT felt crushed. Fie felt he could not speak to Helen. There was no Helen, — to him she had ceased to exist. He resolved to go quietly away, with out a word of remonstrance or explanation, leaving her to her own conscience. He went heavily upstairs, hoping she was out of the way, and would remain so until he got his things together, and went, if not abroad, at least out of that house.

He began his work, packing as he had never packed before. Helen was not there; that was his only good She had gone out early, no one knew exacts} where ; but before he had quite finished she came gaily dancing in, bearing a very armful of bright flowers. "Here, Stephen, look what beauties ! Did you miss me ? I heard you say at breakfast you would give anything for some flowers. so I stole away to Covent Garden, and now I hope I have chosen some which you will like, for have I not brought a quantity ? I was afraid you would say I had been extra vagant." •'All that is a mere excuse," thought Thornicroft ; " she has been somewhere with Townley. She takes too much pains with her lies — they are not natural." " Packing ! " she exclaimed, stopping sud denly short. "Dear Stephen, you are not going away ? ' ' " Yes, I am," said he coldly.

"Oh, where?" said she with sharp pain in her voice. " Never mind," was his only answer. " But I do mind, dear," she said, putting down her bright burthen and coming nearer. " If you are going away, I do hope you will take me with you." " You know you hope nothing of the kind ! " said he roughly, shaking off her hand which she had placed upon his shoulder She stood looking at him in loving wonder. " Are you teasing me," said she timidly, " or are you really angry with me ? " He busied himself about his portmanteau, silently adding finishing touches where they were wanted, but not deigning to speak. "All the good actresses come from her class," thought he, "and she is not behind the best of them in skill ; perhaps she will take to that after. ' ' He felt utterly dead to her, perfectly able to contemplate this "after" unmoved, and went on with what he was doing, feeling as cold as a stone.

But whilst he was kneeling over his things, she came and knelt also, throwing her arm round his neck and laying her soft cheek against his, and saying in a low sweet voice, " I have vexed you, dear, and I am so sorry; say you will forgive me, or I shall never again feel happy." For half a second he was tempted to tell her all, listen to her answer, and believe the story or not, according to its tenor ; but in a moment he despised himself for having such a thought, became as hard as ever, and said, " I am something more than vexed, Helen, and my forgiveness is of little consequence to you. There are things one can neither forgive nor speak of, and this is one of them;" and he put her arm aside with complete indifference, and stood up, looking down with interest on his locked portman teau, to see if his work was good.

"Stephen," said she, standing with clasped hands by him, " can you really speak thus ? Can I have done anything so bad as to cause this, and not know it?" " Certainly not," replied he, coldly; "quite impossible. Of course you know it." "But I do not — I do not know one thing- I have done to cause you to be angry with me. If I have done anything without know ing it, you have only to tell me, dearest, and ■3 I promise never to do it again as long as I live." " If vows and promises had had any meaning or value for you, I should not have had this pain and grief now." " Pain, dear Stephen, and caused by me?" and her tears began to flow. " Pain and shame, which will stick by me wherever I go as long as I live," said he, beginning to talk himself into the possession of more feeling. "And you will not tell me?" said she, struggling to speak.

" Is it necessary for the murdered man to tell his murderer the name of the instrument which killed him ?" " You talk so seriously, and I have not even an idea what you mean, — not a shadow of one. Please tell me." " Helen, you are a good actress, and you ought to be thankful to me that I am doing my best to act my part too, and go away quietly, sparing you a scene." "Are you really going," said she, "and leaving me here ? Is this our parting?" " Would you have us not part ?" said he severely, not once looking at her. She could not speak, for now the remem brance of her old vow made in the little room in Chapel Street came to her mind, and the bitter knowledge that the time had come when she was called upon to keep it. "Stephen, you need not go," said she, making a violent effort to speak calmly ; " I do not forget my promise to leave you if ever I saw I failed to make you happy.

I must go now, for I fear the time has come." Thornicroft took this amiss in a moment, and felt very much irritated at her being able to propose such a thing. " You go ! " cried he, forgetting all his previous reserve, "and where? To your friend Mr. Townley, I suppose ! " Instantly her thoughts flew back to the day when she had confided to Mr. Townley that she was married to Thornicroft. She thought that the latter had discovered that she had done so, and this was the cause of his present anger. " Oh, Stephen," said she, trembling a little, " I know I have been very much to blame about Mr. Townley — indeed I do ; but can )'ou not forgive me?" " Forgive you ? No. By Jove, I should think not!" " Not if I confess all ? I wanted to do so before." " It is no use for you to confess now. I know all ; and there is no such thing as for giveness for treachery like yours."

" I have been very, very unhappy about it very often, and have felt so guilty; but I did want to confess to you once, although I was afraid to do so. But, Stephen, you stopped me then — indeed you did, so it is not quite my fault." " It is an old affair then," said he bitterly. " I did not give you credit for being so hardened." " I am not hardened. I did want to con fess, and have been unhappy." " I care nothing for your confessions, or for your unhappiness either. The more un happy you are, the better for you ; you ought to be so. But keep your feelings and your confessions to yourself. I know all without your telling me anything, and I warn you that I choose to hear no more about it. You had a home here and my love — you valued neither ; now all is over. You are free to stay or go as you choose, but I do not come back so long as you are here; " and thus saying he left her, without giving her a chance of answering what he had said.

But words then would have availed nothing. What did she do ? With tearless eyes and bitterly aching heart she began in her turn to prepare to go. Her preparations were soon made : two or three books, two or three old trifles brought from her own home, some little photographs of Thornicroft, — that was all she would take. She chose her plainest dress, looked to see if she had enough money to take her to her mother, and then all was done, and she was ready to go. But could she ever be ready to go ? Tears which she forced back blinded her eyes ; her throat swelled to suffocation ; but her will was firm, and never for one moment did she doubt that she ought to leave his house. She went a last pilgrimage through all the rooms, spending a shorter and shorter time in each, for quick memories of past happiness crowded on her, and the pain of looking on all for the last time was almost unbearable.

The studio was too much for her ; she half opened the door, but had not courage to enter that room. She closed it carefully, and then left the house, out into the wide world, knowing that there was not a single house in all London open to her, not a face in the world which would brighten at her approach. She walked on and on in the direction of the Great Northern Railway Station, partly to calm herself, and partly because her purse was so slenderly filled that she was doubtful whether she could afford to pay for a cab, and still have enough for so long a journey. After walking a long time, she passed an open church, and could not resist a strong impulse to enter it. She did so, though it was one which she had never seen before. Some one was playing the organ ; and the wondrous harmonies vol. n. and the solemn stillness, and the comforting sense of the overshadowing presence of the Father of All, soothed her, and after tears which relieved her, some degree of peace entered her soul.

She would write to him as soon as she arrived at her mother's, and tell him all she had said and done the day she told Townley, and he who was true and generous would believe her, and all would again be well. She had not the slightest idea that he had anything more in his mind against her than that old sin of taking Townley into her confidence, and was sure he would believe her when she told him how it had happened. Then she set off again to the railway station, succeeded in reaching it just in time for a train which departed about five, which whirled her away from all she held dearest at the rate of forty or fifty miles an hour.

Chapter III

Wrong in the one thing rare, Oh, it is hard to bear ! R. Browning. Haply the seas, and countries different, With variable objects, shall expel This something settled matter in his heart Whereon his brains, still beating, puts him thus From fashion of himself. Hamlet. THIS was what she did; what did he do? He wandered up and down, and round and round, the streets and squares near home, thinking over all that had happened. He was far too deeply wounded and angry with her to be able to harbour one thought of grief or pity for her ; but he passed in review everything which had taken place since their first meeting, and was thoroughly satisfied with his own conduct during all that time. From first to last he had acted a noble and self-sacrificing part towards Helen. To begin with, he had married her when he saw her happiness was endangered by his thought lessness ; — not one man in a thousand would have been half so generous.

Then he had risked his professional existence by going abroad with her, and burying himself in out-of-the-way places for nearly two years ; he had given her every advantage money could buy, when money was only too scarce with him ; and had worshipped her as an embodiment of all that was fair, and good, and true. Even when he found out how wretchedly he had been mistaken in her, he had uttered no reproaches, had threatened no exposure, nor would he now ; — he would only tell her quietly that she must go to her mother, and if she obeyed him she should have a fair allowance ; but she must trouble him no more. He felt no one could do more than this ; she would live there in comfort, while he would finish as best he could a life ruined by that mad act of unselfishness. And so all was over, and the one being whom he had implicitly trusted, and who had seemed to him a visible link between himself and a world above, was more false than all others.

Now that Amber green had opened his eyes, a hundred sus picious circumstances rushed to his mind, any one of which might have shown him that he was by no means so able to read Helen's thoughts as he had believed. How could he have been so blind, so idiotic, as not to suspect some change in her when time after time, no matter how sad and quiet she had been whilst with him and when she went out, she always came back joyous and gay, and yet said she had not exchanged a word with any one ? Then, if that were not enough , might not Townley' s manner have moved him to suspicion ? Twice within the last month or six weeks Townley had been in his studio, and, without at the time connecting it in any way with Helen, he had not been able to avoid remarking how odd and uncertain his behaviour was, how his eyes turned to the door, and the words remained suspended on his lips, whenever steps were heard out side.

No doubt he had been expecting Helen's entrance ; all was only too clear ; but it was very hard to be thus punished for the best deed of his life ! Whilst thinking thus bitterly of the past, and painfully of the future, he felt a touch on his shoulder, and heard the sound of his own name. Shaking himself into consciousness of the outside world, he saw Sir Willoughby Markham. " I have been to your house, my dear fellow," said he ; "I wanted to pay my debts to you, for we are off the day after to-morrow." Thornicroft looked as if he were searching in his brain for means of comprehending Sir Willoughby's words. "How ill you look! What is the matter ? I am sure you did wrong to refuse to go with us — any one can see you want a change." " Have you got the yacht ? " said Thorni croft, rousing himself with an effort.

They had not got the yacht, but were going with out it ; and by the time they had had enough of Italy, no doubt the agent Sir Willoughby was employing would have found one, and got it all ready, and then they could go where they chose ; and again Sir Willoughby urged Thornicroft to accompany them. Thornicroft had a dull, stupified look, and seemed as if he were only fit to obey orders, and could arrange nothing for himself. So Sir Willoughby insisted on his coming to dine with him that night to talk it all over. " Do come," he added with a roguish twinkle of the eye ; "we are quite alone ; " for he was perfectly aware Thornicroft did not like Captain Wymondham. " But," pleaded Thornicroft, on whom all by-play was lost, " I have to go into town to arrange about all kinds of things ; and I have not time to do that and go home and dress."

For though he would gladly have avoided spending this evening alone, he dreaded of all things entering his own house again and seeing Helen. Sir Willoughby promised he should be welcome in any dress, and then be accepted thankfully. He never went home that night, — he could not bring himself to do so, — but slept at an hotel near Sir Willoughby' s ; but next day he was obliged to do so, to make all final arrange ments before leaving England. He had all but promised to go yachting with Sir Wil loughby. He liked the sea, he was anxious to see the places they talked of visiting, and he liked all the party he was going with. To him Miss Denison was by no means the same person that she appeared to be to the members of her own family, or friends inti mate enough to see her frivolity and selfish ness.

She reserved her powers of pleasing for new people, and had a subtle way of intuitively discovering the kind of character each gentleman of her acquaintance most admired in a woman, and adopting it as her own for the time being. With Thornicroft she was apparently rather distant and retiring, but somehow, in spite of that, and though he rarely approached her, she was usually to be seen by his side listening deferentially to his conversation, putting in a few sympa thetic words in a soft, musical tone, if she heard him complaining of anything, high or low, and very fairly earning the reputation of being "a sweet, unselfish, gentle girl." Besides, as he now said, he wanted a thorough change to drive this dreadful business out of his head. He did not intend to ruin his life by fretting about Helen, — she had cost him far too much already ; but unless he went away he would be reminded of her at every turn.

A few months abroad would cure him of that, and then he would come back and make a fresh start. He went into his house by the studio entrance, by means of a rarely used latch key, and looked sadly around. "It is like leaving half one's life behind," thought he, "to go and leave one's room and one's work this way; but until the chain is fairly broken with her I could not settle here." He threw himself on the sofa with a pipe whilst settling what to take with him ; but, in spite of himself, his thoughts would revert to the past. He weighed himself in the balance ; he did not find himself wanting. " No ! hang it," thought he, " I've done my best, and painted my best too ; and whether my pictures are good or bad, they are as good as I could make them. I can truly say I have never done one day's work for money ; if I had, I should be in a different position now, and not hugging myself because for once, thanks to Sir Willoughby Markham, I have got a little money in my pocket !

If I had gone in for portrait-painting, or done the same things as those fellows down there do," said he to himself, shooting a thought across to an artists' quarter a mile or two away, " by Jove, but things would have been more com fortable here, there's no denying it; — but I should not have been happy. I was born to be an artist, and ought never to have thought of anything else. Well, now I must get these finished things off, and then I will go too ; but I must write a line to that girl upstairs, and leave her some of Sir Willoughby's notes. There's many a man would wash his hands of her, and not give her a penny, but I mean to treat her well to the last." He took a sheet of paper, and began to compose a letter, but his pen was not the pen of a ready writer on this occasion. "I enclose you some money, and wish you to go to your mother in Yorkshire.