Part 35 (1/2)
The other nodded a cool a.s.sent.
My lord now filled his gla.s.s, drank it off, and refilled, with the air of a man nerving himself for a great undertaking,--and such was indeed the case. He was about to deliver himself of a sentiment, and the occasion was one to which Baynton could not lend his a.s.sistance.
”I have been thinking,” said he, ”that if that same estate we spoke of, Baynton,--that Welsh property, you know, and that thing in Ireland,--should fall in, I 'd buy some statues and have a gallery!”
”Devilish costly work you'd find it,” muttered Baynton.
”Well, I suppose it is,--not more so than a racing stable, after all.”
”Perhaps not.”
”Besides, I look upon that property--if it does ever come to me--as a kind of windfall; it was one of those pieces of fortune one could n't have expected, you know.” Then, turning towards the youth, as if to apologize for a discussion in which he could take no part, he said, ”We were talking of a property which, by the eccentricity of its owner, may one day become mine.”
”And which doubtless some other had calculated on inheriting,” said the youth.
”Well, that may be very true; I never thought about that,--eh, Baynton?”
”Why should you?” was the short response.
”Gain and loss, loss and gain,” muttered the youth, moodily, ”are the laws of life.”
”I say, Baynton, what a jolly moonlight there is out there in the garden! Would n't it be a capital time this to see your model, eh?”
”If you are disposed to take the trouble,” said the youth, rising, and blus.h.i.+ng modestly; and the others stood up at the same moment.
Nothing pa.s.sed between them as they followed the young sculptor through many an intricate by-way and narrow lane, and at last reached the little stream on whose bank stood his studio.
”What have we here!” exclaimed Baynton as he saw it; ”is this a little temple?”
”It is my workshop,” said the boy, proudly, and produced the key to open the door.
Scarcely had he crossed the threshold, however, than his foot struck a roll of papers, and, stooping down, he caught up a large placard, headed, ”Morte al Tiranno,” in large capitals. Holding the sheet up to the moonlight, he saw that it contained a violent and sanguinary appeal to the wildest pa.s.sions of the Carbonari,--one of those savage exhortations to bloodshedding which were taken from the terrible annals of the French Revolution. Some of these bore the picture of the guillotine at top, others were headed with cross poniards.
”What are all these about?” asked Baynton, as he took up three or four of them in his hand; but the youth, overcome with terror, could make no answer.
”These are all _sans-culotte_ literature, I take it,” said his Lords.h.i.+p; but the youth was stupefied and silent.
”Has there been any treachery at work here?” asked Baynton. ”Is there a scheme to entrap you?”
The youth nodded a melancholy and slow a.s.sent.
”But why should you be obnoxious to these people? Have you any enemies amongst them?”
”I cannot tell,” gloomily muttered the youth.
”And this is your statue?” said Baynton, as, opening a large shutter, he suffered a flood of moonlight to fall on the figure.
[Ill.u.s.tration: 242]
”Fine!--a work of great merit, Baynton,” broke in his Lords.h.i.+p, whose apathy was at last overcome by admiration. But the youth stood regardless of their comments, his eyes bent upon the ground; nor did he heed them as they moved from side to side, examining the statue in all its details, and in words of high praise speaking their approval.