Van Berg never forgot the hour that followed. His pencil was busy
but his thoughts were busier. He felt his artist life and power
kindling within him in a way that was exhilarating and grand. While
his themes were simple he felt that they were noble and beautiful
in the highest degree. The tree--a pretty object in itself--had
been endowed with a human interest and suggested a divine philosophy.
Mr. Eltinge, who sat at its foot, became to him one of the world's
chief heroes--a man who had met and vanquished evil for almost
a century. His white hair and silver beard were a halo of glory
around the quiet face that was turned in kindly sympathy towards
his companion, and Van Berg did his best to bring out the noble
profile.
But the maiden herself--why did his eyes turn so often to her,
and why did he, unasked, introduce her into the sketch with a care
and lingering delicacy of touch that made even her pencilled image
seem a living girl? When not affected or rendered conventional by
society, her voice was singularly girlish and natural, and there
would often be a tone in a plaintive and minor key that vibrated
like a low, sweet chord in his heart rather than in his ears.
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