CHAPTER XXII

hhiscreditors—tenpenceinthepoundinsixweekssetupagain,coaxedbackhiswife,andisflourishinglikeagreenbay-tree.” “AndCrimsworthHall—wasthefurnituresoldtoo?” “Everything—fromthegrandpianodowntotherolling-pin.” “Andthecontentsoftheoakdining-room—weretheysold?” “Ofcoursewhyshouldthesofasandchairsofthatroombeheldmoresacredthanthoseofanyother?” “Andthepictures?” “Whatpictures?CrimsworthhadnospecialcollectionthatIknowof—hedidnotprofesstobeanamateur.” “Thereweretwoportraits,oneoneachsidethemantelpieceyoucannothaveforgottenthem,Mr.Hunsdenyouoncenoticedthatofthelady—” “Oh,Iknow!thethin-facedgentlewomanwithashawlputonlikedrapery.—Why,asamatterofcourse,itwouldbesoldamongtheotherthings.Ifyouhadbeenrich,youmighthaveboughtit,forIrememberyousaiditrepresentedyourmother:youseewhatitistobewithoutasou.” Idid.“Butsurely,”Ithoughttomyself,“Ishallnotalwaysbesopoverty-strickenImayonedaybuyitbackyet.—Whopurchasedit?doyouknow?”Iasked. “Howisitlikely?Ineverinquiredwhopurchasedanythingtherespoketheunpracticalman—toimaginealltheworldisinterestedinwhatinterestshimself!Now,goodnight—I’moffforGermanyto-morrowmorningIshallbebackhereinsixweeks,andpossiblyImaycallandseeyouagainIwonderwhetheryou’llbestilloutofplace!”helaughed,asmockingly,asheartlesslyasMephistopheles,andsolaughing,vanished. Somepeople,howeverindifferenttheymaybecomeafteraconsiderablespaceofabsence,alwayscontrivetoleaveapleasantimpressionjustatpartingnotsoHunsden,aconferencewithhimaffectedonelikeadraughtofPeruvianbarkitseemedaconcentrationofthespeciallyharsh,stringent,bitterwhether,likebark,itinvigorated,Iscarcelyknew. AruffledmindmakesarestlesspillowIsleptlittleonthenightafterthisinterviewtowardsmorningIbegantodoze,buthardlyhadmyslumberbecomesleep,whenIwasrousedfromitbyhearinganoiseinmysittingroom,towhichmybed-roomadjoined—astep,andashovingoffurniturethemovementlastedbarelytwominuteswiththeclosingofthedooritceased.IlistenednotamousestirredperhapsIhaddreamtitperhapsalocatairehadmadeamistake,andenteredmyapartmentinsteadofhisown.Itwasyetbutfiveo’clockneitherInorthedaywerewideawakeIturned,andwassoonunconscious.WhenIdidrise,abouttwohourslater,IhadforgottenthecircumstancethefirstthingIsaw,however,onquittingmychamber,recalleditjustpushedinatthedoorofmysitting-room,andstillstandingonend,wasawoodenpacking-case—aroughdealaffair,widebutshallowaporterhaddoubtlessshoveditforward,butseeingnooccupantoftheroom,hadleftitattheentrance. “Thatisnoneofmine,”thoughtI,approaching“itmustbemeantforsomebodyelse.”Istoopedtoexaminetheaddress:— “Wm.Crimsworth,Esq.,No—,—St.,Brussels.” Iwaspuzzled,butconcludingthatthebestwaytoobtaininformationwastoaskwithin,Icutthecordsandopenedthecase.Greenbaizeenvelopeditscontents,sewncarefullyatthesidesIrippedthepack-threadwithmypen-knife,andstill,astheseamgaveway,glimpsesofgildingappearedthroughthewideninginterstices.Boardsandbaizebeingatlengthremoved,Iliftedfromthecasealargepicture,inamagnificentframeleaningitagainstachair,inapositionwherethelightfromthewindowfellfavourablyuponit,Isteppedback—alreadyIhadmountedmyspectacles.Aportrait-painter’ssky(themostsombreandthreateningofwelkins),anddistanttreesofaconventionaldepthofhue,raisedinfullreliefapale,pensive-lookingfemaleface,shadowedwithsoftdarkhair,almostblendingwiththeequallydarkcloudslarge,solemneyeslookedreflectivelyintomineathincheekrestedonadelicatelittlehandashawl,artisticallydraped,halfhid,halfshowedaslightfigure.Alistener(hadtherebeenone)mighthaveheardme,aftertenminutes’silentgazing,uttertheword“Mother!”Imighthavesaidmore—butwithme,thefirstwordutteredaloudinsoliloquyrousesconsciousnessitremindsmethatonlycrazypeopletalktothemselves,andthenIthinkoutmymonologue,insteadofspeakingit.Ihadthoughtalongwhile,andalongwhilehadcontemplatedtheintelligence,thesweetness,and—alas!thesadnessalsoofthosefine,greyeyes,thementalpowerofthatforehead,andtheraresensibilityofthatseriousmouth,whenmyglance,travellingdownwards,fellonanarrowbillet,stuckinthecornerofthepicture,betweentheframeandthecanvas.ThenIfirstasked,“Whosentthispicture?Whothoughtofme,saveditoutofthewreckofCrimsworthHall,andnowcommitsittothecareofitsnaturalkeeper?”Itookthenotefromitsnichethusitspoke:— “Thereisasortofstupidpleasureingivingachildsweets,afoolhisbells,adogabone.Youarerepaidbyseeingthechildbesmearhisfacewithsugarbywitnessinghowthefool’secstasymakesagreaterfoolofhimthaneverbywatchingthedog’snaturecomeoutoverhisbone.IngivingWilliamCrimsworthhismother’spicture,Igivehimsweets,bells,andboneallinonewhatgrievesmeis,thatIcannotbeholdtheresultIwouldhaveaddedfiveshillingsmoretomybidiftheauctioneercouldonlyhavepromisedmethatpleasure. “H.Y.H. “P.S.—Yousaidlastnightyoupositivelydeclinedaddinganotheritemtoyouraccountwithmedon’tyouthinkI’vesavedyouthattrouble?” Imuffledthepictureinitsgreenbaizecovering,restoredittothecase,andhavingtransportedthewholeconcerntomybed-room,putitoutofsightundermybed.Mypleasurewasnowpoisonedbypungentp