"The natural body and the spiritual body," returned Astra. "Not that the two processes are really analogous,—I do not mean that,—but one naturally suggests the other to the mind. And, seeing how I am thus able to accomplish a kind of resurrection, in a way that I understand, I do not find it difficult to believe that the Almighty can do it, in a way that I do not understand, and far more perfectly,—retaining not only the indwelling spirit, but enough of the individual clay to justify Job's saying, 'In my flesh I shall see God.'"
The thought kept them both silent, for a moment; then Bergan turned to see what else of interest was to be found in the studio.
The completed works were not many; Miss Lyte was still too young to have made a large accumulation of such things. There was a bust, with a very sweet and noble expression, wherein she had embodied her recollections of a fellow student in art. There was a half-sleepy, half-ashamed boy-face, looking out from under the shadow of a drooping hat, representing "Little Boy Blue," of nursery fame. There was a winged cherub, with an exceedingly lovely, innocent face,—a very incarnation of celestial joy and peace. In relief, there was a stout urchin, ankle-deep in water, laden with pond-lilies, and looking for more. Finally, there were innumerable studies, sketches, and designs, with all the warmth and freshness of the original inspiration lingering about them; which interested Bergan scarcely less than the finished work, as admitting him still more freely into the arcana of the artist's mind and method.
He was especially interested to observe in how many directions the genius of Miss Lyte had tried its wing. There were studies, and even finished pictures, in oil and in crayon; there was an exquisitely-cut cameo, fastened on a background of velvet; there were designs for stained-glass windows; and in all, there was a curious medley of subjects,—scriptural, mythological, historical, domestic, and still-life. It was plain that she had been slowly feeling her way to some point, where she could take her final stand, and see her life-work lying clear and fair before her. Had she found it? Looking at the Mercury, Bergan could almost believe that she had; but, glancing again at her deep, wistful eyes, he doubted it. A little more time, a profounder and wider experience, would settle her genius, fix her aims, and make her capable of things far higher than aught that she had yet achieved.
Meanwhile, never, he thought, was anything quite so inspiriting as her conversation. As she went with him from statue to statue, and sketch to sketch, talking frankly of her difficulties and struggles, her failures and successes, her aims and aspirations,—now dropping a fertile suggestion, now pointing out a subtile analogy, now giving the key-note to some elevating strain of thought,—she seemed to radiate energy, and exhale inspiration. Listening to her, Bergan's depression and discouragement vanished like mists before the sunshine. When he went back to his studio, it was with new strength and courage and ambition. Somehow, life had ceased to look unsympathizing, and success remote.
VII.
HIDDEN RICHES.
Up to this time, the history of Astra Lyte may be compressed into a few sentences. She was the daughter of Dr. Harvey Lyte, who had been, for many years, the leading physician of Berganton. Her artistic talent having early manifested itself, her father had taken pleasure in fostering and developing it; first, by giving her the benefit of whatever rudimentary instruction the neighborhood offered, and then, by affording her a year's enjoyment of the best art advantages to be procured in New York.
Little more than a year ago, however, the good doctor had been forced to succumb, in his own person, to the two powerful foes that he had spent his lifetime in battling for others,—namely, disease and death. His professional income necessarily dying with him, only a moderate provision remained for his family; enough to enable them to eat the bread of carefulness, but not sufficient to maintain them in the degree of easy comfort and luxury to which they had long been accustomed. In due time changes and sacrifices became necessary; among which may be mentioned the letting of the vacant medical office to Doctor Remy, and the subsequent handing over of other dispensable rooms to the occupancy of Bergan Arling.
Before this last arrangement was effected, however, Astra had gone to New York, to see what could be done to make her art productive of something besides pleasure. That had been a very bright moment, amid the gloom and straitness following upon her father's death, wherein it had occurred to her that she possessed in brain and fingers, in her wonderful power of kneading together thought and matter into beautiful and significant shapes, the means of restoring to her mother the ease and independence which had been impaired by her father's death. Never had her art looked so divine as when it cast aside the soft drapery of personal gratifications and aims, and stood forth a young athlete, eager for strife, a sturdy son of toil, ready to earn its bread by the sweat of its brow.