Calm came at last, repose of mind, victory. She sat down again, leaned her arms upon the railing, and followed with her eyes the lonely, silver moon. Work was in the world, the all-friend Work; and Beauty was in the world, the all-friend Beauty; and one good put out of reach, mind and spirit must make another and were equal to the task. "Rose Darragh—Rose Darragh!—not if I could would I hurt you," said Hagar; and took her attention from that matter and put it first upon the stars, and then upon some lines of Shelley's that she loved, and then upon the story she had in hand. It was not well to go to bed thinking of a story, and when at last she left the gallery and laid herself straight upon the cool linen, she stilled the waves of the mind-stuff and let the barque of attention drift whither it would. At last she seemed in a deep forest long ago and far away, and there she went to sleep with a feeling of violets under her hand.
Five days, and Denny left Nassau. "It's not saying good-bye. In May, when you come to New York—"
"Yes, in May I'll see you and Rose Darragh. Until May, then—"
Denny and she clasped hands, both hands. "Thank God for friends!" he said with the odd little laugh that she liked, with the catch in the voice at the end of it as though he had started to laugh and then Life had come in. His eyes were misty. He brushed his hand across them. "You are dancing before me," he said apologetically.
She laughed herself. "And you are dancing before me! Good-bye, good-bye, Denny Gayde! Let's be friends always."
From the garden she watched the Miami steam slowly down the narrow harbour, and, passing the lighthouse, turn to the open sea. She watched it until it was but a black speck with a dark feather of smoke, and then until the feather and all had melted into the sky. "Well," she said, "there's work and beauty and high cheer, and Time that smooths away most violences!"
But she did not see Denny and Rose Darragh in May. That evening at dinner Medway was more than usually good company. He had a high colour; his hair and curling beard had been cut just the length that was most becoming; he looked superbly handsome. Often he affected Hagar as would a very fine canvas, some portrait by Titian. To-night was one of these nights.
Greer dined with them, and he was urging Medway as he had urged before to let him paint him. "Fortune's smiling on us both—on you as well as me. Neither of us may have such a chance again! Let me—ah, let me!"
"What should I do with it when it was done, and if I liked it—which you know, Greer, is not dead certain? You can't hang portraits in a nomad's tent, and I haven't a soul in the world to give it to,—my mother would like a coloured photograph of me, but she wouldn't like Greer's picture,—unless Gipsy will take it when she sets up her own establishment—"
"I will take it with thanks," said Hagar. "Let Mr. Greer do it."