Raising him gently, the attendants placed David on the royal couch, and applied such restoratives as, in those times, were most highly esteemed. Gradually the king's senses returned: he sat up; drained a silver goblet of water; then rose and waved his attendants away. And never, even to his wife, even to his most cherished friend, did David speak of his vision: he locked his secret in his heart.
No one dared to ask the king questions; but it was noticed by those who watched him most closely, that David could never command his voice to sing the Twenty-second Psalm, nor could hear it recited by others, without a burst of silent tears.
[CHAPTER IV.]
The Carpenter's Death.
SCARCELY had Percival finished reading his legend, when we were interrupted by the visit of the medical man. Having other calls to make, I took my leave of Percival, promising to return on the following day, to make myself better acquainted with his little picture gallery.
The next morning, after some conversation on other subjects, we examined together another oil-painting taken down from the wall.
Seyton. This is doubtless a representation of the interior of the humble abode in Nazareth, in which for many years Christ found a home. The youth whose back is turned towards us, so that scarcely any of his face is seen, is doubtless intended for the Saviour Himself. But why should only the outline of the cheek be given; and even that, be half-hidden by the auburn locks that fall downwards as the Lord stoops, as if to catch the faint utterance of the dying man by whose couch He stands?
Percival. Thrice did I begin that picture. In my first attempt, I sketched a full face as that of Christ; but so utterly did I fail in depicting on it Divine power and dignity, blended with human love, that in despair, I began another picture. In that, the position chosen for the chief figure showed the complete profile; and as far as earthly beauty was concerned, I may say that my sketch was not a failure. Every feature was as faultless as my poor skill could make it; but still I was utterly dissatisfied with my work. The beauty was classic and not celestial; nor did the face show any sign of toil.