I trust her
implicitly, even though she is so shrouded in mystery. What the
mischief is the matter with my old water-logged heart that it should
be so heavy and dumpish?"
But so it was. Jennie Burton smiled on him and others as brightly
as ever, and yet he knew her heart was breaking, for she was growing
slighter and more spirit-like daily. His desire to comfort her,
however, by a life-long effort ebbed away, till he was cursing himself
for a fickle, cold-blooded wretch. "I had better shut myself up
in my studio," he said to himself. "I may make a painter, but I
never will anything else;" and early on Tuesday he went doggedly
to work on Mr. Eltinge's picture.
His perplexed and jarring thoughts gradually ceased their discord
as he became absorbed in his loved and familiar tasks. Sweet and
low at first, and in the faint, broken suggestion of his kindling
fancy, the symphonic poem he had heard in the garden began again,
but at last his imagination made it almost real. He listened once
more to Ida's girlish, plaintive voice blending with the murmur of
the brook, the sighing wind and rustling leaves, and the occasional
trill of a bird. He leaned back in his chair, and his eyes became
full of deep and dreamy pleasure.
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