Part 5 (2/2)
”But if you will hear to it on no other,” she argued.
”Think what it is you ask of me. To leave my tower and my man Friday for a luxurious household with plethoric master and servants; to stagnate for a week among those ridiculous people who fill San Real in the summer; and all this not because it will do me or any one else any good, but to the end that I may begin the portraits I have already refused to paint. You know that I am not suited to that sort of hack work. How can I make a picture of that over-fed Shallop or his pinched, good little wife?”
”But our work cannot all be that which is best suited to us--”
”It should be--”
”Remember, Graham, that in three weeks the payment for the studio is due--”
”Ah, kindest one! you never forget me; bless you for your sweetness and thoughtfulness. Yes, I will go and do my best to make Shallop look like something other than an ex-blacksmith, but it is indeed bitter.”
”You will find that there will be compensations,” said Mrs. Deering, her eyes resting on the pretty group on the piazza: Barbara sitting at Millicent's feet, and Hal reaching up to pluck a spray of honeysuckles for her hair.
CHAPTER V.
Where have we lived and loved before this, sweet?
My will ere now hath led thy wayward feet; I knew thy beauties--limbs, lips, brows, and hair-- Before these eyes beheld and found thee fair.
Mrs. Deering's arguments carried the day, and Graham decided to accompany the young ladies to San Real. Ferrara was to be of the party.
It was a bright morning which saw the departure of the three travellers from the Ranch. Hal drove them to the station in a very disconsolate frame of mind. During Ralph Almsford's long absences, it was impossible for him to leave the Ranch, in which his interests were all vested; and it seemed rather hard that Graham should enjoy the pleasure which he had been obliged to decline. Henry Deering was a susceptible young man, and he was already enthralled by the soft voice and deep eyes of the girl on whom he had bestowed the t.i.tle of Princess. His friends.h.i.+p for John Graham was one of the strongest feelings he had ever known. He admired him more than any person he knew. He respected the sterling character of the man, on whose honor he would have staked his life; and yet it was hard that Graham should devote himself to the Princess, for he said to himself there could be no chance for him against such a rival.
The country through which the railroad from San Rosario to San Real pa.s.ses is most picturesque. Round the high hills winds the yellow line of the track, making horseshoe loops, so that the engine, Millicent said, sometimes turned round and looked the pa.s.sengers in the face.
Long, high bridges carry the s.h.i.+ning steel threads of travel over deep canyons, with fierce rocky sides and stony bottoms. The scenery is very wild and beautiful, and the moderate pace at which the shaky little engine tugged along the rickety cars gave the travellers every opportunity for seeing and admiring the view.
A great mountain, lying among the low foothills, remained in view through the greater part of the route; it was conical and sharp-pointed, like the typical mountain of the atlas. A great fire had lately raged for days among the spreading trees and thick undergrowth; and now that the smoke had cleared away, the path which the flame had taken was distinctly visible from certain points. A great cross lay stamped on the mountain-side, for all men to see. The baptism of fire had left the symbol which was sanctified eighteen hundred years ago. Graham attracted Millicent's attention to this, which, she said, would have been considered a miracle in Italy.
”Are they not happy, those dear simple-minded Italians? A large portion of them do really believe in miracles to this day.” Millicent was the speaker.
”Yes, far happier than those of us who have lost all belief in anything beyond our own bodies, and the facts which that body's senses reveal to us.”
”And you believe--”
”Ask me not, maiden, what I believe. I can only hope. But this I know, that there is need to you and to me, to all of us of this generation, to whom the old fallacious dogmas of dead creeds are meaningless, of faith.
This is not the age of belief. The things which have been considered necessary draperies to religion are stripped off; but because truth is naked, it is none the less truth. Faith in that part of ourselves which is not of earth, we must hold fast to, when all else is rent from our feeble natures.”
”You should be a preacher. I think that you have got the right end of the truth, perhaps--”
Barbara, who had sat a silent listener to this conversation between the two young people, now spoke for the first time.
”I know little of the modern scientific theories, which Mr. Graham thinks have stripped religion of much that used to belong to it; but to me the denial of a Creator is the most illogical and ignorant act of which the human mind is capable. Look at that house we are just pa.s.sing. If I should tell you that it never was built, that no architect or workman ever planned and executed its design, you would say that my talk was too idle to require contradiction. And yet you will tell me that the pleasant earth on which the house stands, the very trees which furnished its wood, the metals and stone which are wrought into it, exist, and yet knew no Maker.”
”Barbara, do not let us talk any more about it; it is impossible for you and me to speak understandingly to each other on these subjects. Mr.
Graham stands midway between your conventional faith and my unbelief; he can understand us both. Now let us talk about love and roses.”
”_Apropos_ of love and roses, here comes Ferrara, laden with both of those fragile commodities, which he will straightway lay at Miss Barbara's feet. If you like, Miss Almsford, we will make the next stage of our journey on the engine. I spoke to the engineer, at the last station, of your desire to see the mechanism of his locomotive. You will find the man quite clean and intelligent.”
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