“I ran back with them, and made him take some wine; and, thus revived, he rose and thanked me.
“‘What are you going to do?’ I said, staring.
“‘I’m going back to town, sir,’ he said quietly, but with his lower lip trembling. ‘I am not fit to undertake the task. I thank you, but it is too late. I am not well.’
“I looked at him with business eyes, and in that brief glance, as in a revelation, I saw the struggles of a poor proud man of genius, who could not battle with the world. I saw the man who had sold, bit by bit, everything he owned, in his struggle for daily bread; and as I looked at him I felt ashamed that I should be so rich, and fat, and well.
“‘Mr Grantly,’ I said, offering my hand, ‘I am a rough man, and spoiled by bullying people, and having my own way. I beg your pardon for what I have said, and am going to say. You came down here, sir, to paint my little girl’s portrait, and you are going to paint it before you go back to town; and when you do go, you are going to have fifty guineas in your pocket. Hush! not a word, sir. My old friend Tom Smith told me that you were a gentleman and a man of honour. Tom Smith is never deceived. Now, sir, please come into the dining-room and have some lunch. Not a word, please. If good food won’t bring you round, you shall have the doctor; for, as the police say,’ I continued, laughing, ‘you’re my prisoner—but on parole.’
“He tried to speak, but could not, and turned away.
“‘All right,’ I said, ‘all right;’ and I patted him on the shoulder, and walked away to the window for a few minutes before I turned back to find him more composed.
“That afternoon we all three went out into the wood, and I made Cobweb stand as I had seen her on that day.
“Grantly was delighted, and insisted upon making a sketch at once; and then the days wore on, with the painting progressing slowly, but in a way that was a wonder to me, so exquisite was every touch, for the artist’s whole soul was in his work.
“Those were delightful days, but there was a storm coming. I quite took to the young fellow, though, and by degrees heard from him his whole story—how, young and eager, he had, five years before, come to town to improve in his art, and how bitter had been his struggle, till, just before he had encountered Smith, he had been really, literally dying of sickness and want.