[MISTRESS AND MAID]
In the meantime the Advocate and his wife strolled through the grounds. Although it was evident that much labour had been bestowed upon them, there were signs of decay here and there which showed the need of a master mind; but as these traces were only to be met with at some distance from the villa itself, it was clear that they would not interfere with the comfort of the new arrivals. The house lay low, and the immediate grounds surrounding it were in good condition. There were orchards stocked with fruit-trees, and gardens bright with flowers. At a short distance from the house was an old châlet which had been built with great taste; it was newly painted, and much care had been bestowed upon a covered pathway which led to it from a side entrance to the House of White Shadows. The principal room in this châlet was a large studio, the walls of which were black. On the left wall--in letters which once were white, but which had grown yellow with age--was inscribed the legend, "The Grave of Honour."
"How singular!" exclaimed the Advocate's wife. "'The Grave of Honour!' What can be the meaning of it?"
But Mother Denise did not volunteer an explanation.
Near the end of the studio was an alcove, the space beyond being screened by a dead crimson curtain. Holding back the curtain, a large number of pictures were seen piled against the walls.
"Family pictures?" asked the Advocate's wife, of Mother Denise.
"No, my lady," was the reply; "they were painted by an artist, who resided and worked here for a year or so in the lifetime of the old master."
By the desire of the lady the housekeeper brought a few of the pictures into the light. One represented a pleasure party of ladies and gentlemen dallying in summer woods; another, a lady lying in a hammock and reaching out her arm to pluck some roses; two were companion pictures, the first subject being two persons who might have been lovers, standing among strewn flowers in the sunshine--the second subject showing the same figures in a different aspect; a cold grey sea divided them, on the near shore of which the man stood in an attitude of despair gazing across the waters to the opposite shore, on which stood the woman with a pale, grief-stricken face.
"The sentiment is strained," observed the Advocate, "but the artist had talent."
"A story could be woven out of them," said his wife; "I feel as if they were connected with the house."