The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1881-10-27


heart"
"Not that you are not as true as
the heavens themselves" [ said, with
the enthusiasm of penitence. His
face relaxed and shone again, though
once more he shook his head.
II think-I am sure-you are quite
right. If I could insist might carry
my point, and it would be better. But
what can I say? I understand her,
and sympathize with her, and respect
her. l cannot oppose her roughly,
and set myself before everything.
Who am I, that she should desert
what she thinks her duty for me?"
II feel like prophet" i said. SIN
this case to be selfish is the best"
He shook his head again. "She
could not be selfish if she tried" he
said.
Did he mean the words for himself,
too? They were neither of them sell
fish. [ don't want to say a word that
is wicked, that may discourage the
good-they were neither of them
strong enough to be selfish. Some
times there is wisdom and help in that
quality which is so common | will ex-
plain after what | mean. 1t does not
sound true, | am well aware; but l
think it is true; however in the mean
time there is nothing more to be said.
We began to talk all sorts of things;
of books, with which John seemed to
be very well acquainted, and of pic
lures, which he knew too-as much,
at least, as a man who had never been
out of England, nor seen anything but
the National Gallery, could know.
He was acquainted with that by heart,
knowing every picture and all that
could be known about it, making me
ashamed, though I had seen a great
deal more than he had. l felt like
one who knows other peoples pos
sessions, but not his own. He had
never been, so to speak, out of his
own house; but he knew every pic
ture on the walls there. And he made
just as much use of his h's as I do
myself. If he was at first a little
stiff in his demeanor, that wore off as
he talked. Ellen left him entirely to
me. She went off into the back
drawing-room with the little ones,
and made them sing standing round
the piano. There was not much light,
except the candles on the piano,
which lighted up their small, fresh
faces and her own bright countenance;
and this made the prettiest picture at
the end of the room. While he was
talking to me he looked that way,
and smile came suddenly over his
face-which drew my attention also.
"Could any painter paint that?" he
said softly, looking at them. As the
children were mine, you may believe |
gazed with as much admiration as he.
The light seemed to come from those
soft faces, not to be thrown upon
them, and the depth of the room was
Illuminated by the rose-tints, and the
whiteness, and the reflected light out
Of their eyes. Rembrandt, per-
haps," said; but he shook his head,
for he did not know much of Rem
brandt. When they finished their
little store of songs | called to Ellen
to sing us something for herself. The
children went away, for it was their
bedtime; and all the time the good
nights were being said she played a
low soft trill Of prelude, very sweet,
and low, and subdued. There was a
harmonizing influence in her that
made everything appropriate. She
did things as they ought to be done
by instinct, without knowing it;
while he, he, with his gaze directed to
her, felt it all more than she did
felt the softening of that undertone
Of harmonious accompaniment, the
sweet filling up of the pause, the
background Of sound upon which all
the little voices babbled out like the
trickling Of brooks. When this was
over Ellen did not burst into her song
all at once, as if to show how he had
kept her waiting; but went ON for a
minute or two, hushing out the for
mer little tumult. Then he chose an
other strain, and, while we all sat
silent, began to sing the song l had
heard her sing to him when they were
alone that summer evening. Was
there a little breath in it of conscious
ness, something shadowing from the
life to come-'I will come again?"
We all sat very silent and listened:
he with his face turned to her, a ten
der smile upon it-a look of admiring
pleasure. He beat time with his
hand, without knowing it, rapt in the
wistful, tender music, the longing
sentiment, the pervading conscious
ness of her, in all. l believe they
were both as happy as could be while
this was going on. She singing to
him, and knowing that she pleased
him, while still conscious of all the
rest of us, and glad to please us too;
and he so proud of her, drinking it
all in, and knowing it to be for him,
vet feeling that he was giving us this
qualification, making an offering to us
of the very best that was his. Why
was it then that we all, surrounding
them, voiceless band of spectators,
felt the hidden meaning in it, and
were sorry for them, with strange
impulse of pity-sorry for those two
happy people, those two inseparables
who had no thought but to pass their
life together? / cannot tell how it
was; but so it was. We all listened
with a little thrill of sympathy, as
we might have looked at those whose
doom we knew, but who themselves
had not yet found out what was COM
ing upon them. And at the end,
Ellen too was affected in a curious
sympathetic way by some mysterious
invisible touch of our sympathy for
her. She came out Of the half-lit
room behind, with trembling, hurried
steps, and came close to my side, and
took in both hers the hand | held out
to her. How silly | amr' she cried,