Leslie's Loyalty. Garvice Charles
he said, hurriedly. "Yes, yes, I have not spared pains! I have put my heart into my work."
"That is quite evident," said the duke, with perfect gravity, and still regarding the picture. "And that which a man puts his heart in will reward him some day; does, indeed, reward him even while he works."
"True, true!" assented the dreamer, with a gratified glance at the speaker and at Leslie, who stood with downcast eyes, to which the brows were dangerously near. "It is with that hope, that heart, that we artists continue to labor in face of difficulties which to the careless and irreverent seem insurmountable. You think the picture a – a good one, sir; that it is promising?"
The duke was floored for a moment, then he said:
"I think it evidences the painter's love for his art, and his complete devotion to it, Mr. Lisle."
The poor dreamer's face had fallen during the pause, but it brightened at the diplomatic response when it did come, and Leslie, casting a grateful glance at the pale face of the cripple, murmured in his ear:
"Thank you!"
The duke looked at her with a glow of sympathy in his eyes.
"This is your daughter, I presume, Mr. Lisle?" he said.
Lisle nodded.
"Yes," he said. "My only child. All that is left me in the world – excepting my art. You are not an artist also, sir? Pardon me, but your criticism showed such discrimination and appreciation that I was led to conclude you might be a fellow-student."
The duke hesitated a moment.
"No," he said, quietly. "I am not an artist, though I am fond of a good picture – ," poor Lisle gazed at the daub, and nodded with a gratified smile. "I am what is called – I was going to say a gentleman at ease, but I am very seldom at ease. My name is Temple, and I am traveling for the benefit of my health."
Lisle nodded again.
"You will find this an extremely salubrious spot," he said. "My daughter and I are very well here."
The duke glanced at Leslie's tall, graceful figure, and smiled grimly.
"But then she is not a cripple," he said.
"A cripple!" Mr. Lisle looked startled and bewildered. "Oh, no; oh, no."
The duke smiled, and leaning upon his stick, seemed to be watching the painter at his work, but his eyes wandered now and again covertly to the beautiful girl beside him. He noticed that her dress, though admirably fitting, was by no means new or of costly material, that her gloves were well worn and carefully mended in places, that her father, if not shabby, had that peculiar look about his clothes which tells so plainly of narrow means; and when Leslie, becoming conscious of his wandering glance, moved away and stood at a little distance on the edge of the quay, the duke said:
"Have you disposed of your picture, Mr. Lisle?"
Francis Lisle started and flushed.
"N-o," he replied. "That is, not yet."
"I am glad of that," said the duke. "I should like to become its purchaser, if you are disposed to sell it."
Lisle's breath came fast. He had never sold a "picture" in his life, had long and ardently looked forward to doing so, and – and, oh! had the time arrived?
"Certainly, certainly," he said, nervously, and his brush shook. "You like it so much? But perhaps you would like some others of mine better. I – I have several at the cottage. Will you come and look at them?"
"With pleasure," said the duke. "Meanwhile, what shall I give you for this?"
Lisle gazed at the picture with pitiable agitation; he was in mortal terror lest he should scare his customer away by asking too much.
"Really," he faltered, "I – I don't know its value, I have never – ," he laughed. "What should you think it was worth?"
The duke ought, if he had answered truthfully, to have replied, "Rather less than nothing," but he feigned to meditate severely, then said:
"If fifty pounds – ."
Poor Lisle gasped.
"You – you think – I was going to say twenty."
"We will say fifty," said the duke, as if he were making an excellent bargain. "You have not finished it yet."
"No, no," assented Lisle, eagerly. "I will do so carefully, most carefully. It – it shall be the most finished picture I have ever painted."
"I am sure you will do your best," said the duke. "I will accept your kind invitation to see your other pictures, and now I must be getting back. Good-morning."
"Yes, yes! Good-morning! What did you say your name was?"
"Temple," said the duke.
He glanced at Leslie, raised his hat, was helped into his chair by Grey, who had stood immovable and impassive just out of hearing, and was wheeled away.
Lisle stood all of a quiver for a moment, then beckoned to Leslie.
"What is it, dear," she said, soothingly, as she saw his agitation. Had the crippled stranger told him what the sketch was really like?
"That – that gentleman has bought the picture, Leslie!" he exclaimed, in a tone of nervous excitement and triumph. "You see! I told you the day would come, and it has come. At last! Luck has taken a turn, Leslie! I see a great future before me. I only wanted some one with an appreciative, artistic eye, and this Mr. – Mr. Temple is evidently possessed of one. He saw the value of this at once. I noticed his face change directly he looked at it."
Leslie's face gradually grew red.
"What – what has he given you for it, dear?" she asked.
"Fifty pounds!" exclaimed Lisle, exultingly. "Fifty pounds! It may not be as much as it is worth; but it is a large sum to us, and I am satisfied, more than satisfied! I wonder what he will do with it? Do you think he will let me exhibit it? I will ask him – not just now, but when it is finished. I must finish it at once! Where is my olive green? I have left it at home. Bring it for me, Leslie; it is on the side table."
She went without a word. At the corner of the street she overtook the invalid chair, hesitated a moment, walked on, and then came back.
The duke peered up at her from under his brows.
"I want to speak to you," she said, her breath coming and going quickly.
He motioned to Grey to withdraw out of hearing, and struggling to keep her voice steady, Leslie went on:
"I want to thank you – but, oh, why did you do it? I know – you know that it – it is not worth it – why?"
The duke smiled.
"Do not distress yourself, Miss Lisle," he said, gently. "You refer to my purchase of your father's picture?"
"Yes!" she said, in a troubled voice. "It was kind of you, and it has given him, oh! you cannot tell what pleasure."
"Yes, I think I can. It is not the money."
"No."
"Just so. I understand. And don't you understand that I have bought something more than the sketch? Miss Lisle, I'm not the richest man in England," – he was just within the truth – "but I can afford the luxury of bestowing pleasure on my fellow creatures now and again. Please don't begrudge or deny me that! I have not too many pleasures," and he glanced downward at his stunted figure. "Of the two, I fancy I am more pleased than your father. Don't say any more, and please don't look so heartbroken, or you will rob me of more than half my satisfaction. Miss Lisle, forgive me, but I think you love your father?"
"Yes; oh, yes!" she breathed.
"Very well, then," he said. "Be careful you do not let him see that you think he has got too good a price for his picture. Let him be happy; happiness comes too seldom for us to turn it aside with a cold welcome."
Leslie looked down at the worn and lined face with eyes that glowed with gratitude.
"I – I can't thank you, Mr. Temple!" she said, in a low voice, that