"Come, see the pictures I have lately purchased," said Gowrie. "I shall have scantily room to place them unless I build me a new gallery. It is with such things as these, Dalhousie--with music, pictures, books, and thought, that I have employed my mind, and not in hatching treason or brooding over schemes of disloyalty.--But we will talk no more of such things. This is the way.--John Christie," he continued, speaking to the porter, "bid them serve dinner in the little hall for myself and Sir George, and see that his servants be well entertained. We are in the gallery when the meal is ready."
Thus saying, he led the way across the court towards the right hand, and entering a door in a little projecting tower which stood in one angle, he conducted his friend up a small staircase which was called the Black Turnpike, being but scantily lighted by three small loopholes. At the top of this staircase Gowrie opened a door which led into a very large and handsome room, containing no furniture except some tall straight-backed gilt chairs, covered with rich embroidered velvet. Passing by another door on the right, the earl then took his way across this spacious chamber to an entrance on the opposite side, while Ramsay remarked, "This is the gallery-chamber, if I remember rightly."
"Yes," replied the earl; "and that door behind us leads to my study, which I have furnished well with books. I am afraid, however, that I shall have to change my domicile, for the window looks down into the street, and the noise often distracts my thoughts."
"You will soon have other books to read in your lady's eyes, my lord," replied Sir George Ramsay, with a smile; and passing on, they entered by a small door that splendid gallery which formed the admiration of all men who saw it in those times. The walls were hung with pictures by the older masters of the Flemish, German, and Italian schools. Some were of a very ancient date, almost contemporary with the revival of the arts--more curious, perhaps, than beautiful, but yet not without their beauty too. There were two or three Van Eycks, and one especially, a fine picture of John of Bruges. But that which most attracted the attention of Sir George Ramsay, even from the Titians and the Correggios on the wall, were some large flat wooden cases, placed upright around, and with the tops removed, showing the pictures which the earl himself had collected in Italy. Amongst the rest was one of very large size, on which the clear light from the north shone strongly. It was rich and powerful in tone, and vigorous in conception, representing Niobe weeping over her children amidst a scene of great picturesque beauty, while the vengeful God of Day was seen retiring in the distance with the work of death completed. Before it Sir George Ramsay stopped for a moment or two, and gazed with interest and admiration. When he turned round he found the young earl standing beside him with his arms crossed upon his broad chest, and his eyes fixed upon the female figure with a look of stern thought.
"What a beautiful picture!" exclaimed the knight; "yet it is by a hand I do not know, and seems fresh from the easel. Who was the artist?"
"A young man of the name of Guido Reni," replied Gowrie. "It was painted for me this last year in an incredibly short space of time, for the artist wanted money; and I gave him his own price. But that picture, Dalhousie, has a particular interest for me. Do you not think the Niobe very like my mother?--younger a good deal, but still very like."
"It is, indeed," said Ramsay, "particularly in the brow and eyes. Strange that it should be so, for this Italian most probably never saw her."
"Never in his life," replied Gowrie; "and I can only account for it thus.--I passed several days with this young man in his painting room at Bologna, and chanced, I remember, to mention my mother, and her devoted affection for her children. Whether there is any likeness between myself and her I do not know; but I left him to finish the picture and send it over when it was complete, and when I opened it a few days ago, was struck with the extraordinary resemblance.--Come, here is a Caracci well worth your seeing."
"And that lad lying dead with his arm thrown back under his head, and the left hand clutching the grass, is like your brother Alexander," said Ramsay, lingering before the picture still. But Gowrie had gone on, and his friend soon followed. There was still much to be seen in the gallery; but the habit of that day was to dine at a very early hour; and shortly after, the two gentlemen were summoned to their meal; and Sir George Ramsay mounted his horse almost as soon as dinner was concluded.
Gowrie then retired from the court in which he had seen his friend depart, to the study which he had spoken of in passing through the gallery chamber. There, casting himself into a chair, he thought for a moment or two, but in the end took up a book out of a number lying near, and began to read. He had not perused a dozen sentences, however, when the door opened, and, without announcement, Mr. William Cowper, a gentle and amiable man, one of the ministers of Perth, entered, saying, "I hope I do not interrupt your studies, my lord."