CHAPTER V
It was the next evening, and the Forest Hill Mission had assembled in full force. They were there, from little Mrs. Brown in her black percale, even to Mrs. Ketchum, who had pocketed her pride, and in a low-necked gown with a long train was making the most of her position on the committee. She arranged herself to “receive” with John Stanley and his mother, though she ignored the fact that Mrs. Brown and “those seven hobbledehoy boys” were also on the committee. Occasionally she deplored the fact that Miss Manning had not come, that she might also stand in a place of honor, but in her heart she was glad that Miss Manning was not present to divide the honors with herself. It appeared that Mr. Stanley was delighted with the picture, had seen its original abroad, and knew its artist. Such being the case, Mrs. Ketchum was delighted to take all the honor of having selected the picture, and had it not been for those truthtelling, enlightening seven boys, John Stanley might never have known to this day Margaret Manning’s part in it.
None of the central group saw Margaret Manning slip silently in past the servant at the door, as they stood laughing and chatting among themselves after having shaken hands perfunctorily with the awkward, embarrassed procession headed by Mr. Talcut and the young minister who had recently come to the place.
When Margaret came down stairs she paused a moment in the hall; but as she saw they were all talking, she went quietly on into the new wing that had been for the time deserted by the company, and placed herself in front of the picture. She had spoken to Mrs. Stanley, who had been called upstairs to the dressing room for a moment just as she came in, and so did not feel obliged to go and greet the group of receivers at once. Besides, she wanted to have another good look at the picture before she should go among the people, and so lose this opportunity of seeing it alone.
From the first view it had been a great delight to Margaret Manning. She had never before seen a picture of her Master that quite came up to her idea of what a human representation of his face should express. This one did. At least it satisfied her as well as she imagined any picture of him, fashioned from the fancy of a man’s brain, could do. And she was glad to find herself alone with it that she might study it more closely and throw her own soul into the past of the scene before her.
She had stood looking and thinking for some minutes thus when she heard a quick step at the door, not a sound as of one who had been walking down the broad highly-polished floor of the hallway, but the quick movement of a foot after one has been standing. She looked up and saw John Stanley coming forward with an unmistakable look of interest and admiration on his face.
He had made an errand to his library for a book to show to the minister in order to get a little alleviation from Mrs. Ketchum’s persistent monopolization. He had promised to loan the book to the minister, but there had been no necessity for giving it to him that minute, nor even that evening. As he walked down the hall he saw a figure standing in his library, so absorbed in contemplating the picture that its owner did not turn nor seem to be aware of his coming. She was slender and graceful and young. He could see that from the distance, but as he came to the doorway and paused unconsciously to look at the vision she made, he saw that she was also beautiful. Not with the ordinary beauty of the ordinary fashionable girl with whom he was acquainted, but with a clear, pure, high-minded beauty whose loveliness was not merely of the outward form and coloring, but an expression of beauty of spirit.
She was dressed in white with a knot of black velvet ribbon here and there. She stood behind his big leather chair, her hands clasped together against one cheek and her elbows resting on the wide leather back. There were golden lights in her brown hair. Her eyes were looking earnestly at the picture, her whole attitude reminded him of a famous picture he had seen in Paris. He could but pause and watch it before either of them became self-conscious.
“SHE STOOD BEHIND HIS BIG LEATHER CHAIR, HER HANDS CLASPED TOGETHER AGAINST ONE CHEEK.”
There was in her intent look of devotion a something akin to the look he had seen the night before in the face of the boy Joe. He recognized it at once, and a feeling half of envy shot through him. Would that such a look might belong to his own face. But the remembrance of Joe brought another thought. Instantly he knew that this was Margaret Manning. With the knowledge came also the consciousness that he stood staring at her and must do so no more. He moved then and took that quick step which startled her and made her look toward him. As he came forward, he seemed to remember how he had sat in that chair smoking a few nights before, and how the vision of the “ladye of high degree” had stood where this young girl now was standing, only he knew somehow at a glance the superiority of this living presence.
A flush at the remembrance of his visitors of the night before and their errand crossed his face, and he glanced instinctively toward the chimney cupboard to see if the door was safely locked.
“I beg your pardon.” he said, coming forward. “I hope I do not disturb you. I came for a book. This must be Miss Manning, I think. How comes it that I have not had the pleasure of an introduction? They told me you had not come. Yes, I met your father on the steamer coming over. Is he present this evening?”
It was the easy, graceful tone and way he had, the same that had elicited the notice of the “ladye of high degree,” only somehow now he had an instinctive feeling that it would take more than a tone and a manner to charm this young woman, and as she turned her clear eyes upon him and smiled, the feeling grew that she was worth charming.
He began to understand the admiration of those awkward boys and the feeling that had prompted their visit of the night before, and to consider himself honored since he had a part in their admiration.
Margaret Manning was prepared to receive him as a friend. Had she not heard great things of him? And she knew him at once. There was a fine photogravure of him given by his mother at the request of the school—and unknown to himself—hanging in the main room of the Forest Hill Mission.
Their conversation turned almost immediately upon the picture. John Stanley told how he had seen the original and its artist abroad, and how proud he was to be the owner of this copy. The disagreeable experiences he had passed through on account of it seemed to have slipped from his mind for the time being.
She listened with interest, the fine, intelligent play of expression on her face which made it ever an inspiration to talk with her.
“How you will enjoy reading over the whole account of the Last Supper right where you can look at that face,” she said wistfully, looking up at the picture. “It seems to me I can almost hear him saying, ‘Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.’ ”
He looked at her wonderingly, and saw the mark of that peace which passeth understanding upon her forehead, and again there appeared to him in startling contrast his vision of the “ladye of high degree,” and he pondered it afterward in his heart.
“ ‘And this is life eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.’ He said that in the upper room,” she mused, and after a moment, “was it then too, that he said, ‘For I have given you an example that ye should do as I have done to you’? I can’t quite remember,” and her eyes roved instinctively about the elegantly furnished room in apparent search for something.
He divined her wish at once, and courteously went in search of a Bible, but in his haste and confusion could not lay his hand upon one immediately. He murmured some apology about not having unpacked all his books yet, but felt ashamed as soon as the words were uttered, for he knew in his heart the young girl before him would have unpacked her Bible among the very first articles.
At last he found a little, old-fashioned, fine-print Bible tucked in a corner of a bookcase. It had been given him when he was a child by some Sunday-school teacher and forgotten long ago. He brought it now, and with her assistance found the place.
“How I should enjoy studying this with the picture,” said the girl, as she waited for him to turn to the chapter.
“And why not?” he asked. “It would be a great pleasure to have you feel free to come and study this picture as often as you like. And if I might be permitted to be present and share in the study it would be doubly delightful.”
It was with the small open Bible on the chairback between them that the file of awkward boys discovered them as they came down the hall, hoping to find an empty and unembarrassing room where they might take refuge. They paused as by common consent, and stood back in the shadow of the hall portière, as if the place were too sacred for them to more than approach its entrance. Their two earthly admirations were conversing together, the Bible between them, and the wonderful picture looking down upon them. They stole silent, worshipful glances into the room and were glad.
Then came Mrs. Ketchum with rustling, perfumed robes and scattered dismay into their midst and broke up the brief and pleasant tête-à-tête to her own satisfaction and the discomfiture of all concerned.