The Stranger-Artist: or, Through Shadowland

Chapter I. An Older Sister's Advice

"Certainly a woman's thoughts run before her actions." — Shakespeare. " I wish to have some serious talk with you, Isabel. Can not you stop playing about like a kitten and attend to what I have to say ? " "Yes, yes, Maria," said a younger and far more pleasant voice, "in another second, if you will kindly wait." " Just the way ! " exclaimed Maria, watching her sister disappear down the garden path in pursuit of one of her schoolfellows who had beckoned to her at that moment. " Isabel is a child, an infant, and I shall have to lead her and guide her every inch of the way or we shall never retrieve our fallen fortunes. It is very hard on me ! " The girl had reached the end of the path then, and, finding herself facing the high garden-wall, she turned and looked down the long narrow enclosure where school-girls were walking in twos and threes, or standing about in little groups amongst neatly cut shrubs and primly-arranged flower borders.

It was a bright August day, in the year 1860, and the command had been issued from headquarters at Miss Merrington's school that the girls were to take their exercise in the garden, for once, instead of taking it in the usual formal walk of a couple of miles or so. Maria was twenty-two years of age ; she was the eldest of all Miss Merrington's pupils, and had by force of circum stances been kept at school unusually long. The present occasion seemed to her to form a suitable opportunity for giving a little advice to her sister who was one year younger than herself, and, being in a lower class, was not often able to be with her. But Isabel was in no haste to hear what her older sister had to say. As Maria stood waiting, her fair handsome face was clouded and her pale blue eyes were flashing with vexation.

She was a tall, stately young woman, with a proud commanding manner aud a voice which was singularly cold aud unsympathetic. Her schoolfellows secretly styled her " The Duchess," and Isabel stood in much awe of her. The sisters were poor ; and Maria bitterly resented what she considered an undeserved misfortune. She was clever and ambitious herself, and she could not easily forgive the carelessness which had left her and Isabel almost in a state of pauperism. But she felt a curious sense of power, and, as she stood there looking down the garden, she determined that things should not remain as they were. " I am poor," she said to herself, " but I mean to be rich — that is, if that foolish little Isabel does not prevent me ! " " I beg your pardon, Maria," said Isabel, hastily returning, with flushed cheeks, " I only wished to hear what Bertha wanted.

I am afraid I have kept you waiting." " No matter," said Maria coldly, " I was not surprised." Isabel's pretty head drooped rather sadly. She was yery different from Maria. Her soft brown hair fell in lovely AN OLDER SISTER'S AD VICE. 11 curls about her little well-shaped head, and her large brown eyes were half hidden under long and beautiful dark eye lashes. Her figure was small and elegant, her manner gentle and refined ; altogether she was a charming girl. Her voice with its still childish ring faltered a little as she said, "Do not be unjust. I always attend to your wishes as quickly as I can." " As you should," said Maria sternly. " But now listen to me. I wish you to try and make friends of the rich girls, not the poor ones. Do you understand 1 " "Perfectly," said Isabel, with some vexation, "this is a propos of my new friend Bertha."

" Certainly. As your older sister, I feel I ought to tell you that you cannot afford to make a friend of her. Because we are poor ourselves we must only have rich friends. What will become of us after our school-days? If we don't take care we shall have to be governesses. Grannie paid for our being here seven years, and the time has nearly ex pired. Have you ever considered what is to become of us 1 " Isabel's dark eyes became suffused with tears. " If only we had a father ! " she said, with a quick sob, " if only our mother had not died ! " "This is childish, Isabel," said Maria coldly, "we must accept the fact that our parents are dead and that they have left us portionless." " But they are not dead even now," said Isabel, looking up with all her soul in her flushed face, " they have not died like the flowers and the beasts that perish, they live still.

And sometimes, sometimes, sister," she added with another quick, half-suppressed sob, " I think it may not be so very long before I see them yet again — my father, whom I scarcely remember, and my dear, dear mother, who was so very beautiful." " Nonsense, child, you are not going to be ill, are you 1 said Maria, sharply, and then, with an impatient gesture, as if she would not allow that idea for a moment to prevent what she was going to say, she went on, "Of course not. You should not give way to idle fancies. What I want you to remember is this, though poor you are a Chessman of Chessman Court in Radnorshire. And you have certain advantages which may enable you some day to resume that rank in life to which you were born." "Yes," said Isabel, very sweetly, with all due deference to her sister's wisdom, "yes, dear Maria, it is most kind of you to give me what you think to be good advice, but I do not care to be rich, I do not want money."

" You say that because you do not know its value. Money makes the hard world soft, money wins favour, gilds reputations, and enables one to ride instead of walking through life. Tell me, is there anything else that can do as much t " " There is one thing that can do more," said Isabel, with pathetic earnestness, and a courage which astonished herself, but which was born of despair, as she watched her sister's cold, stern face. " And what is that, pray 1 " The tone of voice was not re-assuring, but Isabel went on bravely. " It is love. Believe me, I value all the pleasant luxuries of life, but I would rather starve in a garret or perish from want on the roadside with one who loves me, than sweep along in a carriage-and-pair like Mrs. Harding in her lonely isolated grandeur." " Pooh ! you are a child !

" said Maria. " I don't believe Mrs. Harding is as unhappy as she looks. I have often envied her." Isabel uttered an exclamation of surprise. But, taking AN OLDER SISTER'S ADVICE. 13 no notice of it, Maria went on, " I shall soon have an opportunity of judging, for I am to stay three or four months with Amy Harding when the term is over." " Are you *? Then what shall I do 1 " asked Isabel. "That is what I am trying to make you consider. This is our last term at school. We shall have a small sum of money, twenty pounds or so, given us when we leave ; and that is all. Our father unfortunately offended his friends so that they will do nothing more for us. Indeed we have scarcely any relatives left, and, now Uncle Chess man has sold Chessman Court and gone abroad, we have none in England. Therefore, we must try and make the most of present opportunities and of the advantages we possess."

" What opportunities and what advantages 1 " asked Isabel sadly. " Our present opportunities will enable us to make friends who will invite us to stay with them. I have already accepted at least half-a-dozen invitations from as many rich girls. It really was good of Grannie to insist upon our being placed at a first-class school ! And it was kind of her to have me so often at Chessman Court in her life-time. Ah ! it is a beautiful place, and there I learnt many things of which, while you stayed at home with mother, you could know nothing. And Grannie made me understand that we belong to a good family, although our father was a younger son and most unfortunately reckless about money matters. However, I don't wish to blame him for that, though it is very hard on us. But what I want is, that you should do your best to follow my example aud use your present opportunities for making friends.

You are at least as attractive as I am." " But," said Isabel, with some indignation, " I should feel so mean if I were only pleasant and nice to the girls because I wanted them to invite me ! I could not do it." Maria frowned. " You must not let such foolish pride spoil your life," she said. " But there is that tiresome Amy Harding coming," she went ou in a tone of great vexation, ".and we shall not have another opportunity for talking about this for a long time. In one word, however, what I want to say to you is this. Play your cards well. Get in vited to rich houses. Marry a rich man. Make life a success. That is what / mean to do. Why, child, I am not without hope that I may repurchase Chessman Court some day, and live there in all the style and state of the family to which we belong. That is my ambition, and I shall leave no stone unturned to effect my purpose.

Oh ! dearest Amy, how are you getting on 1 You look quite pale ! " The two last sentences were addressed to a languid, pale faced girl, who sauntered up to them just then. " I want you, Maria," was all the answer Amy Harding vouchsafed ; and Maria instantly turned to walk away with her. Isabel stood looking after them for a few moments with an expression of mingled perplexity and grief upon her face. " It is wrong, it is wrong," she said to herself. " I could never do that. I could not pretend to love people for the sake of what they might do for me. I always thought that Maria was prouder than I, but I could not stoop so low as that. She is cold and calculating. She does not understand many things which mother made so plain to me." And then, ae she stood a moment looking down the garden at the schoolhouse, and beyond to where the sun was setting, behind great oak and maple trees, she thought, "I wonder if our parents ever look down and see their AN OLDER SLSTER'S ADVICE. ■5 children?

Oh ! how I long for some one to love and care for me ! I am very lonely. And Maria is so hard. She does not understand." The two sisters were so dissimilar in character that it was impossible there could be much sympathy between them. Isabel, like her father, was good-natured, impulsive and warm-hearted ; such characters, however amiable in them selves, are not always the most successful in life ; and, as we have seen, Mr. Chessman had brought disaster both to him self aud the children he loved so dearly. Maria, on the other hand, was ambitious, selfish, and not at all scrupulous as to the means she employed in furthering her own interests. But although, like all selfish persons, she placed her own interests first, still she was not indifferent to those of her sister. At present Maria's ambition was to discover a means by which she and her sister could escape from that state of poverty and social extinction to which they had been reduced by the improvidence of their father.

And the only means she could discover was to make a fortunate marriage. " Isabel, I am so unhappy," said a new girl named Bertha Pressland, coming up, " I do not like being here." "I did not, either, at first," said Isabel, sympathisingly ; " but now I am quite fond of school." " Have you been long here ? " enquired Bertha. " Nearly seven years," said Isabel, smiliDg sweetly, as she thought, " Here is one sadder than myself, I will try and comfort her." " I wonder if I can ever tolerate it," said the new girl. " You see I have been used to such a happy life, and this is so different from what home was before our troubles came." " Perhaps it was easier for me to get settled," said Isabel, " for it was years since I had had a comfortable home, and you know there is a certain satisfaction in knowing that one is at the bottom of things, for — " ' He that is clown need fear no fall.' And, after all, if we do not think much about ourselves, we cannot long remain unhappy."

Bertha looked at her with some curiosity. " But I can't help thinking much about myself," she went on, "and our home is broken up now, and we are completely ruined. A bank broke. I don't understand about it ; but nearly all father's money was lost. It is dreadful." " I am very sorry," said Isabel, gently. " Miss Mcrrington was very kind. She was at school with mother when they were girls, so she offered me a home here at once. I am to learn for a term or so, and then I am to be a governess. But I have an idea," and Bertha smiled through her tears and blushed, " that something more pleasant will interfere with the carrying out of that little plan. However, it was, as mother said, a kind thought of Miss Merrington's." " It was, indeed," said Isabel. " I am afraid I have often thought her cold and unsympathising, but I will try not to do so, now that you have told me this about her."

" She is really kind," Bertha went on, " and she offered my cousin Laurance work directly. He is to be the drawing master here now. Oh ! Laurance is so good ; he and his friend Dr. Rickard," and here Bertha blushed again, " are the two best young men in the world, I think." " Is your cousin, Mr. Laurance, an artist ? " asked Isabel, not noticing Bertha's significant allusions to the other young man. "Yes, he has had a picture in the Academy already. But it is a dreadful ' come-down ' for him to be an art- AN OLDER SLSTER'S ADVICE. 17 master. He has not been fortunate, so far, in selling his pictures, or that would not have happened." " It must be very hard for him," said Isabel ; " but, after all, loss of money is a trifle compared to loss of friends." "True enough!" sighed Bertha. "It is the first time that I Lave been separated from mother."

"But you have her safe at home," said Isabel, " and you can write to her. You are better off than I, for my mother died nine years ago." "You poor dear girl," said Bertha ; "and have you been here ever since ? " " No, for two uncomfortable years we had no home, but then we came here, and this has been all the home we have had for seven years. We are very old to be still at school, but that is the reason." " Life has its compensations," thought Bertha. " If I am not so beautiful as this girl, I have, still, many more friends." Aloud she said, " How very sad ! " " It is terrible to me sometimes, if by any chance I begin to think about myself," said Isabel, " to know that I have so few friends to care for me." " I should think Maria loves you very much," said Bertha. " Oh, no," sighed Isabel, " I vex her so often ; and I don't mind telling you, Bertha, but I don't like to do all she wishes.

I long sometimes to have some one quite different from her to advise me." " You will get some one by-and-bye. You were made to win hearts." " What do you mean ? " asked Isabel, "AVhy, you must know you are very beautiful ! " said Bertha, with generous delight in the beauty which had been denied to herself. B " The girls say so sometimes," said Isabel simply, " but I scarcely see what good it does me ; " and then she said, to Bertha's delight, " but tell me to what happier prospect than being a governess here did you refer to just now? And who, besides your cousin Laurance, is so very estimable ? " Bertha was pouring her little love-story into her sym pathising ears, and telling her she was engaged to a young doctor in the town — though it was a secret at present when the ringing of a bell summoned all the girls indoors.

As Maria passed her sister in the hall, she said hurriedly, " Remember what I told you. Our time is very short now ; you must make the best possible use of it."

Chapter II. Laurance

BLANCHARD's DILEMMA. "The people in the world," says one, whose words savour of wisdom, " may be divided into threeclasses — honest men who mean to do right and do it, knaves who mean to do wrong and do it, and foolish ones, or fools — which last is much the largest class — who mean to do right, but do what is most pleasant at the time." It was a fine day in October. Rather frosty and decidedly cold ; yet brilliant sunshine rested on the changing colours ■of the trees about the little town of Manning-ley, aud tempted not a few of its inhabitants to leave their usual haunts and betake themselves into the country. Several hunting men and women had just ridden from the town, and left it apparently quieter and duller than it was wont to be. Most of the poor people were at their daily work. But the shops were not wholly deserted, for the richer people, who could choose their own time for making purchases, were lured forth by the bright autumnal morn ing, aud their carriages waited in the streets, while where they went servants and shopmen alike became extremely bu^y. Laurance Blanchard, the art-master at Miss Merrington's school, was looking miserably undecided as he stood in his sitting-room, turning over some sketches, and slowly filling a portfolio with a selection of them.

" Shall I, or shall I not ? " he was saying to himself. "To be or not to be? Would that I could consult some oracle ! Or that something would happen to decide the matter for me." He was a dark, handsome young man of twenty-five years of age, and an Englishman, too, though he had lived much amongst Welsh people. He did not at all resemble his cousin Bertha Fressland and her parents, who were remarkably plain-looking in person and common-place in character. His own father, a country clergyman, and his mother, the daughter of a country squire, had both died when he was very young, aud had left him dependent upon these relatives. They had given him of their best, but they were destitute of those qualities of endurance, self-control, and that high sense of honour which it was most necessary that he, with his imaginative, passionate, and strong-willed nature, should be taught.

When they were ruined, young Blanchard fouuo> himself thrown upon his own resources ; and, with extrava gant, self-indulgent habits, yet with the recollection of much that was good which had been taught him when a child by his parents, he was, at present, being severely tried by hard work and poverty. He had taken a couple of rooms at Manningley, where he had already obtained several private pupils besides the appointment at Miss Merrington's. " But I must be off," he said to himself. " How I wish that I had not to go there, of all places, to-day." Then, as he continued turning over his papers, half restlessly and half irritably, he came across a sketch of a lovely girl's head, and caught it up, with a muttered exclamation of delight. It was a good likeness of Isabel Chessman. Laurance Blanchard had not fallen, but walked deliberately into LAURANCE BLANCHARD'S DILEMMA. 21 love with the beautiful girl during the last two months, and it was that which was causing his perplexity.

He thought his love was returned, but he was not in a position to marry. He could barely maintain himself, so he could not possibly provide for a wife. He knew Isabel's was not a nature to endure roughness and poverty. He felt that if he took her for his own it would be cruel kindness. And yet he knew that he could do it if he would. Yet he did not wish to be selfish. He told himself that it was his duty to say nothing at present, but to work on until he was in a position to ask for Isabel's hand. But he was jealous about her ; he feared someone else might win her love, for he knew that hers was not a strong character, and she could scarcely know all that she was to him. So he turned away from the sketches, irresolute still. But, as he did so, his eyes fell upon his mother's Bible, in the open cabinet from which he had taken the drawings.

And the sight of the little worn volume spoke volumes at the moment. It was a crisis in his life. And now the good was almost triumphing. But just then the door flew open, and a well dressed, dignified-looking man, about half a dozen years older than himself, unceremoniously entered, exclaiming as he did so, " Not out yet ! How is this ? Miss Merrington will be thinking you are most unpunctual ! " Laurance started. Then he hastily pushed the sketches which were not in the portfolio back into the cabinet, and turned the key. " It is you who are late," he said, in a tone of vexation, " if vou had only come earlier as you promised I should like to have had a little talk with you." " But I could not. And, moreover, I will not talk to you about anything on earth unless you tell me what is harassing you so much just now.

I am certain something is the matter. You are not at all like yourself." " Nonsense, Rickard, you are always such a fellow for imagining things. I am only in a bit of a dilemma, that is all." " Is it money? " asked the other, drily. " No, no, worse than that ! " sighed Laurance, " Then it is love. I thought as much ! " said his friend. " I'll put a case to you," said Laurance ; " what would you do if you loved a beautiful girl who had not a penny, if you were as poor as I ? " " I'd let it ' bide a wee,'" replied Rickard, promptly. " But the girl has no home, and her sister wishes her to go and stay with some people where there is a fellow awfully fond of her." " Does she care for him ? " " No. But he is rich, and her sister, who generally has her own way, is bent on the match." " How do you know ?

" " She tells me everything." "Therefore, she loves you. Therefore, go in and win, and think about the money afterwards." " Do you really counsel that ? " asked Laurance excitedly. "Yes," answered the other. "There is nothing in the world worth weighing in the balance with love. It is better than beauty, or riches, or fame." This speech seemed to have a true ring, though Laurance dimly suspected that, in application to the present case, there was something wanting in it. However, the advice suited him wonderfully, and, shaking his friend's hand, he hurriedly left him and went down the street towards Miss Merrington's school. He w-as very late ; and the governess who sat in the LAURANCE BLANCHARD'S DILEMMA. 23 room during the lessons was manifestly offended. Laurance had some difficulty in submitting with due deference to the tone in which she addressed him.

" I am so sorry things go wrong this morning," said Isabel's sweet low voice, as she bent over her drawing, "but sometimes it is just as if an ill wind which blows nobody any good, is astir amongst us ; you must not mind." " I mind nothing on earth when I am with you," he said, softly, throwing back his head and apparently examining the drawingbefore him with the utmost care. Isabel coloured. " I shall soou be gone," she said. He asked if it was unalterably settled that she was going to stay with her sister at Mrs. Harding's, and she said it was, and that, for reasons she had mentioned before, she dreaded it very much. Laurance was much tempted to say what was pressing for utterance ; but, for a time, he resisted bravely. " I must leave you for a little," he said, going across to the other end of the room to help a girl who was sitting near the governess.

But when he returned to Isabel, he found that she was looking very unhappy. " What is it ? " he said, " what is troubling you ? " " I thought you would have cared a little," she said, in a low tone, " you who have been kinder to me than anyone else." " I care very much," he replied, almost in a whisper, for the governess was looking that way, "but it is impossible to talk about it here. Will you not give me tho opportunity of speaking to you alone some time to-day 1 " " I will gladly, but how?" she murmured, the rich colour mounting to her very brow, while her eyes were filled with happy tears. She was but a child, although just twenty one, and her heart was full of love for this handsome master. As for him, he ceased struggling with his doubts, and gave himself over to what he mentally termed his happy fate.

" Bertha will contrive it," he whispered, recklessly, " she is devoted to me, and will do whatever I tell her." "Bertha is very good," said Isabel, "she is our true friend." Her words made Laurance wince as he turned to go to wards his cousin. He knew in his heart that he was taking advantage of a simple confiding nature, and that Maria, with her cold and haughty manner, was really a truer friend to Isabel than either he or his cousin with their show of loving words. But he crushed the thought in his sudden determination to have Isabel for his own, and, going across to Bertha, he began to talk to her in a low voice as he touched up her drawing with such lines as showed an artist's hand. Bertha was going to visit her home that very afternoon, which happened to be a half-holiday. It was an easy matter to get leave for Isabel to accompany her for an hour or two.

A meeting was soon arranged with Laurauce. And before the girls returned to school, Isabel and he were secretly engaged to be married. " But oh ! " thought Isabel, that night, as she put her head down upon her pillow, " what would I not give if I had still a mother who could tell me whether I am doing right in this great matter. But Maria is so proud, I dare not mention it to her. She would never allow it. And Miss Merrington is an old maid, she would not under- LA URANCE BLANCHARD' S DILEMMA. 25 stand. Only Bertha knows. And she cried a little when she said ' Good-night ' to me." And Isabel wept with self-pity at the idea of her loneliness, and then turned for comfort to the thought of the young man who had won her girlish heart.

Chapter III

A DISMAL WEDDING. " Thro' the blotting mist, the blinding showers, Far from out a sky for ever bright, Over all the woodlands' flooded bowers, Over all the meadows' drowning flowers, Over all this ruined world of ours, Break, diviner light ! " " They are late, Rickard, there must be some mismanage ment," said Laurance Blanchard, looking impatiently out of the porch of an old church, in a mountain hamlet of North Wales, on a cold and wet December morning. " It is difficult to calculate how rapidly people may be able to travel in this wild country," said young Dr. Rickard, placidly ; " the carriage may have sustained a compound fracture by this time." "And you talk of it as coolly as if it were only a question of waiting a few minutes longer," said Laurance, who was iu a state of extreme nervous excitement, " when the delay may really mean that precious lives are being imperilled !

Her life may be in danger ! Do you know that it is now almost an hour later than the time we appointed ? Your clerical friend will be departing." " Not he ! His patience is remarkable." Nevertheless, Dr. Rickard went across to speak to his uncle, the incum bent of the place. A DLSMAL WEDDING. 27 "He is all right," he said, returning. " His faith in me is unbounded. Ah ! there are the carriage wheels ! " Laurance's face brightened. He looked out anxiously into the gloom. It was not half light although it was nine o'clock, and the fine misty rain which filled the air was any thing but pleasant. Dense clouds were half-way down the hills on either side of the church, and the close carriage which was now approaching could apparently only proceed along the narrow road with difficulty. The clerk and the old clergyman, Laurance and young Dr. Rickard, regarded it with anxiety as it drew near.