"Now," he said, "I can venture to tell you one of my minor trials.Iam always so awfully afraid of there being a FLY in things.Ever since I was a small boy I have had such a horror of inadvertently eating flies.When I was about six, I heard a lady visitor say to my mother: 'Oh, one HAS to swallow a fly--about once a year! I have just swallowed mine, on the way here!' This terrible idea of an annual fly took possession of my small mind.I used to be thankful when it happened, and I got it over.I remember quickly finishing a bit of bread in which I had seen signs of legs and wings, feeling it was an easy way of taking it and I should thus be exempt for twelve glad months; but I had to run up and down the terrace with clenched hands while I swallowed it.And when I discovered the fallacy of the annual fly, I was just as particular in my dread of an accidental one.I don't believe I ever sat down to sardines on toast at a restaurant without looking under the toast for my bugbear, though as I lifted it I felt rather like the old woman who always looks under the bed for a burglar.Ah, but since the accident this foolishly small thing HAS made me suffer! I cannot say: 'Simpson, are you sure there is not a fly in this soup?' Simpson would say: 'No--sir; no fly--sir,' and would cough behind his hand, and I could never ask him again."Nurse Rosemary leaned forward and placed his cup where he could reach it easily, just touching his right hand with the edge of the saucer."Have all your meals with me," she said, in a tone of such complete understanding, that it was almost a caress; "and I can promise there shall never be any flies in anything.Could you not trust my eyes for this?"And Garth replied, with a happy, grateful smile: "I could trust your kind and faithful eyes for anything.Ah! and that reminds me: I want to intrust to them a task I could confide to no one else.Is it twilight yet, Miss Gray, or is an hour of daylight left to us?"Nurse Rosemary glanced out of the window and looked at her watch.
"We ordered tea early," she said, "because we came in from our drive quite hungry.It is not five o'clock yet, and a radiant afternoon.
The sun sets at half-past seven."
"Then the light is good," said Garth."Have you finished tea? The sun will be shining in at the west window of the studio.You know my studio at the top of the house? You fetched the studies of Lady Brand from there.I dare say you noticed stacks of canvases in the corners.Some are unused; some contain mere sketches or studies;some are finished pictures.Miss Gray, among the latter are two which I am most anxious to identify and to destroy.I made Simpson guide me up the other day and leave me there alone.And I tried to find them by touch; but I could not be sure, and I soon grew hopelessly confused amongst all the canvases.I did not wish to ask Simpson's help, because the subjects, are--well, somewhat unusual, and if he found out I had destroyed them it might set him wondering and talking, and one hates to awaken curiosity in a servant.I could not fall back on Sir Deryck because he would have recognised the portraits.The principal figure is known to him.When I painted those pictures I never dreamed of any eye but my own seeing them.So you, my dear and trusted secretary, are the one person to whom I can turn.Will you do what I ask? And will you do it now?"Nurse Rosemary pushed back her chair."Why of course, Mr.Dalmain.Iam here to do anything and everything you may desire; and to do it when you desire it."Garth took a key from his waistcoat pocket, and laid it on the table."There is the studio latch-key.I think the canvases I want are in the corner furthest from the door, behind a yellow Japanese screen.They are large--five feet by three and a half.If they are too cumbersome for you to bring down, lay them face to face, and ring for Simpson.But do not leave him alone with them."Nurse Rosemary picked up the key, rose, and went over to the piano, which she opened.Then she tightened the purple cord, which guided Garth from his chair to the instrument.
"Sit and play," she said, "while I am upstairs, doing your commission.But just tell me one thing.You know how greatly your work interests me.When I find the pictures, is it your wish that Igive them a mere cursory glance, just sufficient for identification;or may I look at them, in the beautiful studio light? You can trust me to do whichever you desire."The artist in Garth could not resist the wish to have his work seen and appreciated."You may look at them of course, if you wish," he sail."They are quite the best work I ever did, though I painted them wholly from memory.That is--I mean, that used to be--a knack of mine.And they are in no sense imaginary.I painted exactly what I saw--at least, so far as the female face and figure are concerned.
And they make the pictures.The others are mere accessories." He stood up, and went to the piano.His fingers began to stray softly amongst the harmonies of the Veni.
Nurse Rosemary moved towards the door."How shall I know them?" she asked, and waited.
The chords of the Veni hushed to a murmur, Garth's voice from the piano came clear and distinct, but blending with the harmonies as if he were reciting to music.
"A woman and a man...alone, in a garden--but the surroundings are only indicated.She is in evening dress; soft, black, and trailing; with lace at her breast.It is called: 'The Wife.'""Yes?"
"The same woman; the same scene; but without the man, this time.No need to paint the man; for now--visible or invisible--to her, he is always there.In her arms she holds"--the low murmur of chords ceased; there was perfect silence in the room-"a little child.It is called: 'The Mother.'"The Veni burst forth in an unrestrained upbearing of confident petition:
"Keep far our foes; give peace at home"--and the door closed behind Nurse Rosemary.
