"Now then, Mr. Norval. Put your hand on my shoulder, the other hand on this chair. Why, you're not falling. Come on!"
Two, three steps Norval took, while the veins stood out on his temples.
"Good God!" he muttered under his breath, "I'm not crumbling, that's a sure thing."
The next day he did a little better; the tenth day he reached the north window with the aid of the chair and the little shoulder, that felt, under his hand, like fine steel. They kept their mighty secret from Law.
"What's on the easels?" Norval asked on the morning of the fourteenth day when he felt the breeze from the north coming in through the half-opened window.
"One easel has a girl on it; a girl with a fiddle."
Norval breathed hard, then gave a laugh.
"Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight," he whispered.
"Yes. Why, yes, Mr. Norval. Those words are on a piece of paper hanging from the frame. How did you know?"
"Miss Walden, I painted that picture. You may not believe it, but I did. It is a portrait of about the purest soul I ever met."