Chapter XXV.The picture-gallery was one of the chief attractions of Beechgrove; like the grand old trees, it had been the work of generations. The Arleighs had always been great patrons of the fine arts; many a lord of Beechgrove had expended what was a handsome fortune in the purchase of pictures. The gallery itself was built on a peculiar principal; it went round the whole of the house, extending from the eastern to the western wing--it was wide, lofty, well-lighted, and the pictures were well hung. In wet weather the ladies of the house used it as a promenade. It was filled with art-treasures of all kinds, the accumulation of many generations. From between the crimson velvet hangings white marble statues gleamed, copies of the world's great masterpieces; there were also more modern works of art. The floor was of the most exquisite parquetry; the seats and lounges were soft and luxurious; in the great windows east and west there stood a small fountain, and the ripple of the water sounded like music in the quietude of the gallery. One portion of it was devoted entirely to family portraits. They were a wonderful collection perhaps one of the most characteristic in England.Lord Arleigh and his young wife walked through the gallery."I thought the gallery at Verdun Royal the finest in the world," she said; "it is nothing compared to this.""And this," he returned, "is small, compared with the great European galleries.""They belong to nations; this belongs to an individual," she said--"there is a difference."Holding her hand in his, he led her to the long line of fair-faced women. As she stood, the light from the setting sun falling on her fair face and golden hair, he said to himself that he had no picture in his gallery one-half so exquisite."Now," he said, "let me introduce you to the ladies of my race."At that moment the sunbeams that had been shining on the wall died out suddenly. She looked up, half laughingly."I think the ladies of your race are frowning on me, Norman," she said."Hardly that; if they could but step down from their frames, what a stately company they would make to welcome you!"And forthwith he proceeded to narrate their various histories."This resolute woman," he said, "with the firm lips and strong, noble face, lived in the time of the Roses; she held this old hall against her foes for three whole weeks, until the siege was raised, and the enemy retired discomfited.""She was a brave woman," remarked Lady Arleigh."This was a heroine," he went on--"Lady Alicia Arleigh; she would not leave London when the terrible plague raged there. It is supposed that she saved numberless lives; she devoted herself to the nursing of the sick, and when all the fright and fear had abated, she found herself laden with blessings, and her name honored throughout the land. This is Lady Lola, who in time of riot went out unattended, unarmed, quite alone, and spoke to three or four hundred of the roughest men in the country; they had come, in the absence of her husband, to sack and pillage the Hall--they marched back again, leaving it untouched. This, Lady Constance, is a lineal descendant of Lady Nethsdale--the brave Lady Nethsdale." She clung to his arm as she stood there."Oh, Norman," she said, "do you mean that my portrait, too, will hang here?""I hope so, my darling, very soon.""But how can I have a place among all these fair and noble women," she asked, with sad humility--"I whose ancestors have done nothing to deserve merit or praise? Why, Norman, in the long years to come, when some Lord Arleigh brings home his wife, as you have brought me, and they stand together before my picture as I stand before these, the young wife will ask: 'Who was this?' and the answer will be: 'Lady Madaline Arleigh.' She will ask again: 'Who was she?' And what will the answer be? 'She was no one of importance; she had neither money, rank, nor aught else.'"He looked at the bent face near him."Nay, my darling, not so. That Lord Arleigh will be able to answer: 'She was the flower of the race; she was famed for her pure, gentle life, and the good example she gave to all around her; she was beloved by rich and poor.' That is what will be said of you, my Madaline.""Heaven make me worthy!" she said, humbly. And then they came to a picture that seemed to strike her."Norman," she said, "that face is like the Duchess of Hazlewood's.""Do you think so, darling? Well, there is perhaps a faint resemblance.""It lies in the brow and in the chin," she said. "How beautiful the duchess is!" she continued. "I have often looked at her till her face seemed to dazzle me.""I know some one who is far more beautiful in my eyes," he returned."Norman," she said, half hesitatingly, "do you know one thing that I have thought so strange?""No, I have not been trusted with many of your thoughts yet," he returned."I have wondered so often why you never fell in love with the duchess.""Fate had something better in store for me," he said, laughing.She looked surprised."You cannot mean that you really think I am better than she is, Norman?""I do think it, darling; ten thousand times better--ten thousand times fairer in my eyes.""Norman," she said, a sudden gleam of memory brightening her face; "I had almost forgotten--the duchess gave me this for you; I was to be sure to give it to you before the sun set on our wedding-day."She held out a white packet sealed securely, and he took it wonderingly. He tore off the outer cover, and saw, written on the envelope:"A wedding present from Philippa, Duchess of to Lord Arleigh. To be read alone on his wedding-day."
The picture-gallery was one of the chief attractions of Beechgrove; like the grand old trees, it had been the work of generations. The Arleighs had always been great patrons of the fine arts; many a lord of Beechgrove had expended what was a handsome fortune in the purchase of pictures. The gallery itself was built on a peculiar principal; it went round the whole of the house, extending from the eastern to the western wing--it was wide, lofty, well-lighted, and the pictures were well hung. In wet weather the ladies of the house used it as a promenade. It was filled with art-treasures of all kinds, the accumulation of many generations. From between the crimson velvet hangings white marble statues gleamed, copies of the world's great masterpieces; there were also more modern works of art. The floor was of the most exquisite parquetry; the seats and lounges were soft and luxurious; in the great windows east and west there stood a small fountain, and the ripple of the water sounded like music in the quietude of the gallery. One portion of it was devoted entirely to family portraits. They were a wonderful collection perhaps one of the most characteristic in England.
Lord Arleigh and his young wife walked through the gallery.
"I thought the gallery at Verdun Royal the finest in the world," she said; "it is nothing compared to this."
"And this," he returned, "is small, compared with the great European galleries."
"They belong to nations; this belongs to an individual," she said--"there is a difference."
Holding her hand in his, he led her to the long line of fair-faced women. As she stood, the light from the setting sun falling on her fair face and golden hair, he said to himself that he had no picture in his gallery one-half so exquisite.
"Now," he said, "let me introduce you to the ladies of my race."
At that moment the sunbeams that had been shining on the wall died out suddenly. She looked up, half laughingly.
"I think the ladies of your race are frowning on me, Norman," she said.
"Hardly that; if they could but step down from their frames, what a stately company they would make to welcome you!"
And forthwith he proceeded to narrate their various histories.
"This resolute woman," he said, "with the firm lips and strong, noble face, lived in the time of the Roses; she held this old hall against her foes for three whole weeks, until the siege was raised, and the enemy retired discomfited."
"She was a brave woman," remarked Lady Arleigh.
"This was a heroine," he went on--"Lady Alicia Arleigh; she would not leave London when the terrible plague raged there. It is supposed that she saved numberless lives; she devoted herself to the nursing of the sick, and when all the fright and fear had abated, she found herself laden with blessings, and her name honored throughout the land. This is Lady Lola, who in time of riot went out unattended, unarmed, quite alone, and spoke to three or four hundred of the roughest men in the country; they had come, in the absence of her husband, to sack and pillage the Hall--they marched back again, leaving it untouched. This, Lady Constance, is a lineal descendant of Lady Nethsdale--the brave Lady Nethsdale." She clung to his arm as she stood there.
"Oh, Norman," she said, "do you mean that my portrait, too, will hang here?"
"I hope so, my darling, very soon."
"But how can I have a place among all these fair and noble women," she asked, with sad humility--"I whose ancestors have done nothing to deserve merit or praise? Why, Norman, in the long years to come, when some Lord Arleigh brings home his wife, as you have brought me, and they stand together before my picture as I stand before these, the young wife will ask: 'Who was this?' and the answer will be: 'Lady Madaline Arleigh.' She will ask again: 'Who was she?' And what will the answer be? 'She was no one of importance; she had neither money, rank, nor aught else.'"
He looked at the bent face near him.
"Nay, my darling, not so. That Lord Arleigh will be able to answer: 'She was the flower of the race; she was famed for her pure, gentle life, and the good example she gave to all around her; she was beloved by rich and poor.' That is what will be said of you, my Madaline."
"Heaven make me worthy!" she said, humbly. And then they came to a picture that seemed to strike her.
"Norman," she said, "that face is like the Duchess of Hazlewood's."
"Do you think so, darling? Well, there is perhaps a faint resemblance."
"It lies in the brow and in the chin," she said. "How beautiful the duchess is!" she continued. "I have often looked at her till her face seemed to dazzle me."
"I know some one who is far more beautiful in my eyes," he returned.
"Norman," she said, half hesitatingly, "do you know one thing that I have thought so strange?"
"No, I have not been trusted with many of your thoughts yet," he returned.
"I have wondered so often why you never fell in love with the duchess."
"Fate had something better in store for me," he said, laughing.
She looked surprised.
"You cannot mean that you really think I am better than she is, Norman?"
"I do think it, darling; ten thousand times better--ten thousand times fairer in my eyes."
"Norman," she said, a sudden gleam of memory brightening her face; "I had almost forgotten--the duchess gave me this for you; I was to be sure to give it to you before the sun set on our wedding-day."
She held out a white packet sealed securely, and he took it wonderingly. He tore off the outer cover, and saw, written on the envelope:
"A wedding present from Philippa, Duchess of to Lord Arleigh. To be read alone on his wedding-day."