"For endurance and gallantry we may search in vain for a case parallel to this of Mr. Charles Augustus Cheyne. He will receive the medal of the Royal Humane Society, as a matter of course. But in a case of this kind it is to be regretted that some even higher distinction cannot be awarded for endurance and courage inferior to nothing which has gained for a handful of our boldest soldiers the Victoria Cross."
When Marion had finished reading she put the paper down on the table before her, looked feebly at her aunt for a moment, and then fell fainting back in her chair.
CHAPTER XXI.
[COINCIDENCES.]
For a few days Edward Graham worked at his big canvas under Anerly Bridge. The weather was superb, the "studio" as quiet as the top of Horeb, and the artist in the very best of spirits. He had already dead-coloured his work, and got in some of the most important shadows.
This cavernous chamber had many advantages for a painter. The light was of the coolest and softest. But few people and fewer vehicles passed over the bridge to disturb the quiet of the place. Owing to the moisture of the air, the rattling of waggons or carts did not cause any dirt or dust to fall from the roof.
Graham had not told any of the people at The Beagle or in the village that he was going to paint the scene under Anerly Bridge. The morning after the easel, canvas, and colours arrived he had arisen at four and carried them to the bridge, and got them over the parapet and under the arch without anyone seeing them or him. He did not want to be haunted by village boys or idle men. He wanted to paint his picture, and to paint it in peace and quietness.
So every morning he arose before the village was stirring, walked to the bridge, and painted until breakfast-time. He waited until all the people were at breakfast, then went down the little glen as far as the church, got into the churchyard, and returned to The Beagle by the church-path and the main road. He had a simple dinner then at the inn, a pint of cider and a pipe under the portico, where he sat until all the village folk were once more at work. Then he went back to the church again, ascended the glen, and recommenced painting.
A more happy or peaceful time Graham never spent than those hours beneath Anerly Bridge. He was young, in full health, had enough money to keep himself comfortably, was by nature light of heart, and had made a good beginning of a picture which he firmly believed would establish his fame. Nothing could be more delightful than working away at his big canvas down there. No one in Town but Cheyne knew where he was or what he was doing; and even Cheyne had only a general notion that he was painting a landscape, nothing more. He should get back to Town in a month or so with his great picture finished. He should not sell it for awhile, not until he had it on the walls of the Academy anyway. He could live very well until next spring or summer without selling this; and he would put a big price on it, and send it to Burlington House. Suppose it was well hung, he would get his money for it, and a lot of press-notices besides. Cheyne could arrange one or two press-notices, anyway.
The afternoon before the gale he had been at work on the sky. The sky was to be full of pure blue morning light, and across it were to float shining white clouds. All was to be calm and radiant; and somehow or another he did not like the look of the sky that afternoon. The colour aloft was thin and dragged out. There was also a disheartening chill in the air. He felt no disposition for work after dinner. This disinclination he attributed to having drank stout instead of cider with his chop.