"Minnie—my wife—my child—my all!" whispered Miles, drawing her on his heart. "Now we may defy them all, and fate—my own wife!" Even as he spoke, the heart at that moment chilled: another might have felt glad in the romance of their love and flight, Tremenhere choked down a sigh. He would have given all he ever hoped to gain, to be standing with Minnie in church, his licensed wife by friends, relatives, and, above all, the rules of prudence and right. It was not his fault, these stern ideas; circumstances had made him what he was.
They are once more in the train, and speeding away from the Border, towards town. Some twenty miles on their way, they stopped at a station where a down train was waiting. Minnie drew hastily back, and turned very pale: "My uncle," she whispered, "there—and Mr. Dalby!" She had many a dark storm to encounter before they met again.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Tremenhere had in nothing deceived Minnie. He told her that in marrying him she wedded herself to an artist's struggles for fame, wealth, and position: this home was all he had to offer her, cheered by his devoted love. He was considered as one rising rapidly in the profession, but he had much still to achieve before prosperity would crown his efforts. Hitherto, he had saved every possible farthing for the great object of his thoughts; now, he would have to toil with double energy, not to lose sight of that, and support his wife also. But Minnie was so simple in her tastes, so generous, thoughtful, and loving, that it seemed to her another Paradise, their quiet little cottage in the out-skirts of town, which Miles had succeeded in discovering, with a studio attached—or rather, a large room, which he converted into one. True, the gardens were not large and beautiful, like those at Gatestone; but then their very smallness made every flower as a friend. Each morning there was the matinal visit to be paid, the fresh buds on some favourite tree to be counted; and as she bent over their stem, a loving eye looked down upon her, a gentle hand clasped her small, snowy neck, and then she looked up smiling, and the two went in to work. Her's was not very laborious, yet she fancied it absolutely necessary to the performance of his task: she mixed his colours, sorted his pencils, but, more frequently, leaned over his shoulder, with one tiny hand buried among his raven curls, which clustered, thick and glossy, in the nape of his neck. Thus she would watch the progress of his "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night;" which Aurora was a figure of angel lightness, with outstretched arms and hands, skimming through the air, her long, wavy hair flying, in the freshness of the morning breeze, like a cloud behind her; whilst before her fled Shades, clad in dark robes spangled with fading stars, and supported upon the clouds. It was a beautiful group, which Miles was painting to order. We have said Minnie had most lovely hair, like floss silk; when she unwove the plaits, it fell almost to her heel, not heavily, but like a vapour; you passed your hand through it, and it separated and floated in the air like a gossamer web. It was this magnificent mass which Miles had copied for his Aurora. He loved to look upon it; to a painter's eye it had an appearance of something spiritual. In vain he endeavoured to do it justice; for more than once, in despair, he had set all aside, and clasping his little wife in his arms, exclaimed, as he embraced it and her, "My child, I never shall accomplish this! Surely some sprite wove this veil, and will not allow me to represent it with my poor pencil! Not the best artiste en cheveux ever known, shall ever distort these fair locks with his vile grasp. I am almost jealous when the air plays with them! Minnie, 'tis dreadful to suffer from jealousy! I hope you never may be a mother, darling; I should almost hate my own child, lying on your breast!"
"Hush, Miles!" she whispered, laying her hand on his mouth. "Do not speak even of jealousy; 'tis so false a passion, ever leading astray, ever leading us down some crooked path."
"Why, my pretty reasoner, what do you know of jealousy?" and he drew her close to his side, and smiled up in her face.
"Oh! I guess it, dear, from all I have read of its influence, it leads to so much error and bitterness; and——and——I will confess, dear Miles," she added, looking down, "I felt a pang of it myself, when you were absent the other day, in Sussex. I was wondering all day with whom you were walking, talking, amusing yourself; and whether you once, even, saw my spirit flit before your path!"
Miles looked down thoughtfully, doubtingly, a moment, then, raising his eyes, said carelessly—"You know, darling, why I went to Uplands Park. Lord Randolph Gray wished me to come, whilst he was down there, to choose a good light for my 'Aurora' when I have completed it, and also to make some other artistic arrangements, which cannot but prove of great service to me. My Minnie knows I am only an artist, obliged to follow as a profession what was once only pleasure."
"Well, are we not happy, Miles?—I am—oh! very—very happy—perfectly so, since my dear aunt Dorcas has been to see her naughty niece; and, now, tell me all the persons you met at Uplands, for I knew there were several there, and you have always found something else to talk of, when I asked you."