Fenwick's Career

making his way among the vehicles outside the station, inquiring whether any one was going in the direction of Great Langdale, who could give him a

little school-boy between them, to protect him as best they could from the wind and sleet. They piled some empty sacks, from the back of the

d the dark gulf of the lake, there was visible at intervals a persistent dimness, something less black than the sky above and the veiled earth below, which Fenwick knew must be th

to see Phoebe and the child, but it was as though he had wilfully set up some barrier between himself and them, which spoiled his natural pleasure. Moreover, he was afraid of Phoebe, of her quick jealous love, and of certain passionate possibilities in her character that he had long ago discerned. If she discovered that he

light in a house-window shone through the storm, the only reminder of human life amid a dark wilderness of mountains. Wild sounds crashed t

us soon,' said Fenwick, present

h,' said his comp

grinning. The North found and gripped h

ting crouched before his easel, working with all his eyes and all his mind. The memory of her was, as it were, physically stamped upon his sight, his hands; such an intensity of study had he given to every detail of her face and form. Did he like her? He

tions, must mean that you were brought up to scorn the common way, and those who walk in it. 'The poor in a lump are bad'-coarse and ill-mannered at any rate-that must b

indon had found the sketch so remarkable that, when he had timidly proposed a portrait in oils, Lord Findon himself had persuaded her to sit. Since that moment his work on the po

g away, and he in a mood to destroy all that he had done, he h

Royale, excited him so that he lost sleep and appetite. The work of Bastien-Lepage was also to be seen; and the air rang with the cries of Impressionism. But the beautif

this cosmopolitan culture of hers, which she did her feminine best to disguise-which nevertheless made the atmosphere of her personality. She had lived some six years in Pari

y diffidence, he showed little. And indeed she led him on. Upon his art he had a right to speak, and the keen inte

men and generations. And when he made a blunder he was apt to stick to it absurdly, or excuse it elaborately. She soon gave up correcting him, even in the gentle, hesitating way she at

a dishonourable thing to be writing anonymous attacks upon a body from whom you were asking, or intending to ask, exhibition space for your pictures and the chance of selling your work. His authorship was never avowed

e him some information about her past history and present way of life. She had rebuffed him at once; and he had said to himself fiercely tha

nd touched with literature; then her brown eyes would lighten and soften, and for once his mind would feel exultant that it moved with hers on equal terms-nay, that he was teacher and she taught. Whenever there emerged in him the signs of that demonic something that makes greatness she would be receptive, eager, humble even. But again his commoner, coarser side, his mere lack of breeding, would reappear; and she would fall back on her cold or g

en famille. Lady Findon, indeed, had been away, nursing an invalid father; Madame de Pastourelles filled her place. The old fellow would talk freely-politics, connoisseurship, art. Fenwick too was allowed his head, and said his say; though always surrounded and sometimes chafing under that discipline of good society which is its only or its best justification. It flattered h

en at the Findons, made a point, indeed, of going. Was it to maintain his place with them, and to keep Fenwick under observation? Fenwick triumphantly believed that Lord

th the son and the younger daughters, clearly an object of great affection to Lord Findon, and often made use of by her ladyship. What wa

school-boy in Brathay

gda

said the young farmer, as they turned a corner into t

early winter,'

' brunt o't. It's wild livin

house, not a light, upon their path-only swirling darkness, opening now and then on that high glimmer of the snow. Fresh from London streets, where winter, even if it attack in force,

ck made his way up, fighting the eddying sleet. As he let fall the latch of the outer gate

oh

sage. Then, in a moment, his coat was off and he had thrown his arm round her and the child. It seemed to him that she was curiously

s warm,' she

th fire and lamp, the table spread, and his chair beside t

y-'I'll do that, Phoebe. What's wr

fair hair. Her face was very pale-a greyish pallor-and h

d away from him to the fire, opening the ove

er?' he said, watching her. 'I'd

I've had a chill or something

l me anything a

e telling such things, from such a di

of his clothes. But her tone and manner were unlike herself, and there was in his mind a protesting consciousness that she had not welcomed him as a young wife should after a long separatio

adame de Pastourelles; though of course his letters had reported the e

ing that lady, John?-I don'

ut it down untasted. In the same way she had tried to drink some tea,

is hand on her beautiful hair and turni

, and a quiver wen

a few days ago-at night-and I

fri

strongest. Then he tried to get in at the window, but luckily I had fastened the iron bar across the shutter-and the back door. But it all held, mercifully. He couldn

saw the thing-the bestial man outside, the winter night, th

e can't have this. Somebody must s

He's probably left the country. I got a bell'-she opened her eyes, and pointed to it. '

oment. Then Fenwick s

response. He returned to his place, repeating with a f

d come-if I

ant of the summer, the daug

, pay

t got the money-and you always say, wh

that. I can't have y

with his supper, the shock of it mingled with a good many critical or reproachful thoughts. Why had she persisted in staying on in Langdale, instead of going to her father? All

ined this secret deba

Keswick l

up, startl

hest, and the doctor says he m

. 'If ever there was a strong man, it's your father.

ook he

t her lips were trembling. A strong impulse worked in him, bidding him go to her again, kiss awa

rverse cross-current hur

if you'd go and n

bson, poor creature, was real glad when I said I

you imag

ace flushe

shortly. 'Everybody

clamoured in reply-'Take her to those rooms?-in the very middle of the struggle with those two pictures?-go through all the agitation and discomfort of explanations with Lord Findon

ortrait possessed his mind. No, it really couldn't be done!-it really couldn't! He must finish the two pictures-persuade Lord Findon to buy th

ut some one who would be a companion and comfort. He began to talk of it,

justified itself. It was unreasonable and selfish that she should not be able to think f

r, and she was now sitting in his pocket. But after these eight months the child of four was shy and timid with this unfamiliar father. He on his side saw that she was prettier than before; his

beside the fire, while he himself cleared the supper-things away. She lay bac

ments had held her in the first hour of their meeting, however strong had been the wish to show him that she had been lonely and suffering, she could not

ited for her, hanging over the fire-listenin

he doorway, so tall and slender, her pale face and hair coloured

e had clasped her hands round his neck, and buried her face against him. All things were forgotten, save that they were man and wife toge

of embroidery on hand, commissioned through an 'Art Industry' started at Windermere the summer before; but it could not be finished for some weeks, possibly months, and the money Fenwick proposed to earn during his fortnight in the North by some illustrations long overdue had been already largely forestalled. He gloomily made up his mind to appeal to an old cousin in Kendal, the widow of a grocer, said to be richly left, who had once in his boyhood given him five shillings. With much distaste he wrote the letter and walked to Elterwater in the rain to post it. Then he tried to work;

had foolishly passed in London as an unmarried man, and that he could not take Phoebe back with him, because of the discomforts a

time, but it soon came back. She had never acquiesced in the wisdom of their separation; and to question it was to resent it more and more deeply-to feel his persistence in it a more cruel offence, month by month. Her pride prevented her from talking of it; but t

r eyes out' over this or that. Fenwick picked up one or two, and threw them away for 'trash.' He scornfully thought that they had done her harm, made her more nervous and difficult. But at night, when h

red amongst her books

pilation issued by

get this for, Phoebe?'

mending, and coloured

t w

ated-'I thought

-you litt

hundred pounds that he got to go to London with-and then, marrying a wife in

ke me?' he said, seating hi

rather

be left here for thirty yea

ut not gaily-with

it?-with trains, and all that. There were only

ear. I'm only seven hours away. What's that, in these days? And

y,' she sa

y?' he asked, rather exaspera

ever!'-she pressed back her hair from her eyes and drew herself together. 'Yo

ontained a number of 'notes' for his portrait of Madame de Pastourelles-sketches of various poses,

ink,' she said, at

he is,' said Fenwick

f her face is awfully pretty-and

nearly

does!' said Phoebe, faintly smiling. 'I supp

aughter-that tells you. They

ainst his knee, or stretching out her hand to touch his. He responded affectionately enough; but as the winter twilight deepened in the little room, Phoebe's eyes, fixed upon the fire, resumed their m

h still, whenever she thought of it, thrilled her own veins with horror. No doubt he had been over to Ambleside to speak to the police; and he had arranged that the little servant, Daisy, should come t

more conscious of her exclusion from it than

John. And through his rare stories of the Findon household and the Findon dinner-parties, the wife dimly perceived a formidable world, bristling with strange acquirements and accomplishments, in which he, perhaps, was beginning to find a place, thanks to his art; while she, his o

ed to talk of art or books, she was hotly aware that everything she said was, in John's eyes, pretentious or absurd. He was comparing her with others all the time, with men and women-women especially-in whose presence he felt himself as diffident as she did in his. He was thinking of ladies in velvet dresses and diamonds, who could talk wittily of pictures and theatres and books, who could amuse him and distract him

h and prettiness, Fenwick would have been easily master of his discontents. For he was natural

hom she talked, whose services she attended. The very mention of him presently became a boredom to Fenwick. The new influence had no effect upon her jealousies and discontents; but it re-enforced a natural asceticism, and weakened whatever power she possessed of playing on a husband's passion. Meanwhile, Fenwick was partly aware of her state of mind, and far from h

y that she would be a beauty. But, in his secret opinion, she was spoilt and mismanaged; and he talked a good deal to Phoebe about her bringing-up, theorising and haranguing in his usual way. Phoebe listened generally with impatience, re

rom Ambleside, pale a

ester

e called, f

ng in his voice, Ph

g's happened! Old Morr

counts. Mr. Morrison had shot himself, leaving a statement acknowledging a long course of fraudulent dealings with the funds entrusted to him, and pleading with his employers for his wife and daughter. 'Great sympathy,' said the Guardian reporter, 'is felt in

the paper, commenting, exclaiming; while Fenwick

me to him and sa

t the money, J

o return it in mone

the pic

I must think about it

rison know-ab

ay. I nev

nd the daughter'

'd settled something on them, which can't b

, shuddering. 'But, Joh

Morri

due time. But please remember, Phoebe, that'

to emphasis

e flu

it to any one,' she said,

vered before him-now as he remembered it in life, and now as he imagined it in death. Hard fate! There had been an adventurous, poetic element in Morrison-something beyond the ken of the ordinary Philistine-and it had come to this. Fenwick remembered him among the drawings he had collected. Real taste-real sense of beauty-combined no doubt with the bargaining instinct and a natural love of chicanery.

ll always be. We are all acting. Each man or woman carries this p

e made little fuss! Instantly, however, the inner man rebelled against the implied comparison of himself with Morrison. An accidental concealment, acquiesced in temporarily, for business

existence perhaps to ears unprepared-and laying greedy hands upon the 'Genius Loci.' It would have been hard to keep him off it-unless Lord Findon had promptly come forward-and it would have been odious to yield it to h

er unable or proudly unwilling to alter it, he had returned it to its owner. Whereupon a furious note from Miss Bella, which-knowing that her father took no account of her tempers-Fenwick had torn up with a laugh. It was clear that she had heard of her father's invitation to him to 'beautify' it, and when the picture reappeared unaltered she took it as a direct and personal insult-a sign

raced! He would like to help her, and her mother-for Morrison's sake. Stirred by a fleeting

but the joy of atmosphere and light-the pleasure of his physical strength. Near one of the highest crags he came upon a shepherd-boy and his dog collecting some sheep. The collie ran hither and thither with the marvellous shrewdness of his breed, circling, heading, driving; the stampede of the sheep, as they fled befor

exultant sense as a vast treasure-house stored for him only-a mine inexhaustible offered to his craftsman's hand. For him the sweeping hues, the intricate broideries-green or russet, red or purple-of this winter world!-for him the delicacy of the snow, the pale azure of the sky, the cloud-shadows, the white becks, the winding river in the valley floor, the purple crags, the lovely accents of light and

-he had sprung at a bound into this ecstasy, this expansion of the whole man. It brought with it a vivid memory of the pictures he was en

*

illustration work, and extracted a further advance upon it. And the old cousin in Kendal proved unexpectedly generous. She wrote him a long Scriptural letter, rating him for disobedien

sketch of himself to leave with her. He began it unwillingly, then got interested, and finally made a vigorous sketch, as ample as their largest looking

er. He was provoked into various harsh speeches, and Phoebe felt that despair which weak and loving women know, when parting is near

ck had punished for some small offence. Phoebe hotly defended her-first with tears, then with passion. For the first time these two people found themselves looking into each other's e

s she had said. But there must be some reason behind it. And slowly, in the firelight, she fell to brooding over the image of that pale classical face, as she had seen it in the sketch-book. John had talked quite frankly a

. Phoebe sat picturing it; while the curtain of rain descended once more up