"Not be together? all our lives, all our lives, ay," cried he, rising into enthusiasm, "hundreds of years to come will we two be together before men's eyes--I will be an immortal painter, that the world and time may cherish the features I have loved. I love her, mother," added he, with a tearful tenderness that ought to have reached a woman's heart; then flushing, trembling, and inspired, he burst out, "And I wish I was a sculptor and a poet too, that Christie might live in stone and verse, as well as colors, and all who love an art might say, 'This woman cannot die, Charles Gatty loved her.'"
He looked in her face; he could not believe any creature could be insensible to his love, and persist to rob him of it.
The old woman paused, to let his eloquence evaporate.
The pause chilled him; then gently and slowly, but emphatically, she spoke to him thus:
"Who has kept you on her small means ever since you were ten years and seven months old?"
"You should know, mother, dear mother."
"Answer me, Charles."
"My mother."
"Who has pinched herself, in every earthly thing, to make you an immortal painter, and, above all, a gentleman?"
"My mother."
"Who forgave you the little faults of youth, before you could ask pardon?"
"My mother! Oh, mother, I ask pardon now for all the trouble I ever gave the best, the dearest, the tenderest of mothers."
"Who will go home to Newcastle, a broken-hearted woman, with the one hope gone that has kept her up in poverty and sorrow so many weary years, if this goes on?"
"Nobody, I hope."
"Yes, Charles; your mother."
"Oh, mother; you have been always my best friend."
"And am this day."
"Do not be my worst enemy now. It is for me to obey you; but it is for you to think well before you drive me to despair."
And the poor womanish heart leaned his head on the table, and began to sorrow over his hard fate.
Mrs. Gatty soothed him. "It need not be done all in a moment. It must be done kindly, but firmly. I will give you as much time as you like."
This bait took; the weak love to temporize.
It is doubtful whether he honestly intended to part with Christie Johnstone; but to pacify his mother he promised to begin and gradually untie the knot.
"My mother will go," whispered his deceitful heart, "and, when she is away, perhaps I shall find out that in spite of every effort I cannot resign my treasure."
He gave a sort of half-promise for the sake of peace.
His mother instantly sent to the inn for her boxes.
"There is a room in this same house," said she, "I will take it; I will not hurry you, but until it is done, I stay here, if it is a twelvemonth about."
He turned pale.
"And now hear the good news I have brought you from Newcastle."
Oh! these little iron wills, how is a great artist to fight three hundred and sixty-five days against such an antagonist?
Every day saw a repetition of these dialogues, in which genius made gallant bursts into the air, and strong, hard sense caught him on his descent, and dabbed glue on his gauzy wings.
Old age and youth see life so differently. To youth, it is a story-book, in which we are to command the incidents, and be the bright exceptions to one rule after another.
To age it is an almanac, in which everything will happen just as it has happened so many times.
To youth, it is a path through a sunny meadow.
To age, a hard turnpike:
Whose travelers must be all sweat and dust, when they are not in mud and drenched:
Which wants mending in many places, and is mended with sharp stones.
Gatty would not yield to go down to Newhaven and take a step against his love, but he yielded so far as to remain passive, and see whether this creature was necessary to his existence or not. Mrs. G. scouted the idea.
"He was to work, and he would soon forget her." Poor boy! he wanted to work; his debt weighed on him; a week's resolute labor might finish his first picture and satisfy his creditor. The subject was an interior. He set to work, he stuck to work, he glued to work, his body--but his heart?
Ah, my poor fellow, a much slower horse than Gatty will go by you, ridden as you are by a leaden heart.
Tu nihil invita facies pingesve Minerva.
It would not lower a mechanical dog's efforts, but it must yours.
He was unhappy. He heard only one side for days; that side was recommended by his duty, filial affection, and diffidence of his own good sense.
He was brought to see his proceedings were eccentric, and that it is destruction to be eccentric.
He was made a little ashamed of what he had been proud of.
He was confused and perplexed; he hardly knew what to think or do; he collapsed, and all his spirit was fast leaving him, and then he felt inclined to lean on the first thing he could find, and nothing came to hand but his mother.
Meantime, Christie Johnstone was also thinking of him, but her single anxiety was to find this eighty pounds for him.
It is a Newhaven idea that the female is the natural protector of the male, and this idea was strengthened in her case.
She did not fully comprehend his character and temperament, but she saw, by instinct, that she was to be the protector. Besides, as she was twenty-one, and he only twenty-two, she felt the difference between herself, a woman, and him, a boy, and to leave him to struggle unaided out of his difficulties seemed to her heartless.
Twice she opened her lips to engage the charitable "vile count" in his cause, but shame closed them again; this would be asking a personal favor, and one on so large a scale.
Several days passed thus; she had determined not to visit him without good news.
She then began to be surprised, she heard nothing from him.
And now she felt something that prevented her calling on him.
But Jean Carnie was to be married, and the next day the wedding party were to spend in festivity upon the island of Inch Coombe.
She bade Jean call on him, and, without mentioning her, invite him to this party, from which, he must know, she would not be absent.
Jean Carnie entered his apartment, and at her entrance his mother, who took for granted this was his sweetheart, whispered in his ear that he should now take the first step, and left him.
What passed between Jean Carnie and Charles Gatty is for another chapter.
