they looked to bowker to break the news to geoffrey; at least so charley potts said, after a hurried conference with til and her mother, at which annie maurice, overwhelmed by the reaction from excessive excitement, had not been present. they looked to bowker to perform this sad duty--to tell geoffrey ludlow that the prize which had been so long in coming, and which he had held in his arms for so short a time, was snatched from him for ever. "for ever," said old william: "that's it. he bore up wonderfully, so long as he thought there was any chance of seeing her again. he hoped against hope, and strove against what he knew to be right and just, and would have made any sacrifice--ay, to the extent of bowing his head to his own shame, and taking her back to his home and his heart. if she had recovered; and even if she would have shown herself willing to come back--which she never would--i could have faced geoff, and told him what his duty was, and fought it out with him to the last. it would have rather done me good, such a turn as that; but i can't bear this job;--i can't bear to see my old friend, to have to tell him that it's all over, that the light of his life has died out, that-- upon my soul," said old william energetically, "i think they might have got some one else to do this. and yet i don't know," said he, after a moment's pause: "the women couldn't be expected to do it. as for charley, he'd have bungled it, safe. no, i'll go and do it myself; but i'll wait till to-morrow, i think: there's no good adding another day's anguish to the dear fellow's life."
this was on the second day after margaret's death, and bowker yet postponed the execution of his task. on the third day, however, he set out for elm lodge and found geoffrey in the dining-room. the servant who admitted mr. bowker said, in reply to his inquiry, that "master was better certainly, but poor and peaky; did not take much notice of what went on, and were quite off his food." geoffrey's looks certainly bore out the handmaiden's account. his cheeks were thin and hollow; there were great circles round his eyes; his flesh was tight and yellow; his hands so fallen away that they looked like mere anatomical preparations. he looked up as bowker entered, and the ghost of his old smile hovered round his lips.
"so you've come at last, william, after failing in your troth these three days, eh?" said he. "what kept you, old friend?"
bowker was not prepared for any questions. he had gone through all this scene in his mind more than once; but in his rehearsal it was always he who commenced the subject; and this order not being followed, he was rather taken aback.
"i have been particularly engaged," he said. "you know, geoff, that i should not have missed coming to you otherwise; but--it was impossible."
"was it?" said geoffrey, raising his head quietly, and stedfastly regarding him with his bright eyes; "was it on my business that you were engaged?"
"it was," said bowker. he knew at that moment that his friend had guessed the truth.
"then," said geoffrey, "margaret is dead!" he said it without altering the inflection of his voice, without removing his eyes from his friend's face. scarcely inquiringly he said it, apparently convinced of the fact; and he took bowker's silence for an affirmative, and rose and walked towards the window, supporting himself by the wall as he went. bowker left him there by himself for a few minutes, and then, going up to him and laying his hand affectionately on his shoulder, said, "geoff!"
geoff's head was averted, but his hand sought bowker's, and pressed it warmly.
"geoff, dear old geoff,--my old friend of many happy years,--you must bear up in this hour of trial. think of it, dear old fellow. god knows, i'm one of the worst in the world to preach content and submission, and all that; but think of it: it is the--you know i wouldn't hurt your feelings geoff--the best thing that, under all the circumstances, could have occurred."
"ive lost her, william--lost her whom i loved better than my heart's blood, whom i so prized and cherished and worshipped--lost her for ever--ah, my god, for ever!" and the strong man writhed in his agony, and burying his head in his arms, burst into tears.
"but, geoff," said old bowker, with a great gulp, "you could never have been any thing to her again you have nothing to reproach yourself with in your conduct to her. it was her misfortune, poor soul, that she did not value you as she should have done; and yet before she died she spoke very, very affectionately of you, and your name was the last on her lips."
"tell me about that, william," said geoffrey, raising his head; "tell me what she said about me." he was comparatively calm even then, and sat quite quietly to listen to the details which bowker had heard from annie maurice, and which he now poured into geoff's eager ears. when he had finished, geoff thanked him, and said he felt much easier and more relieved than he had been for some days past, but that he was tired out, and would ask bowker to excuse him then, and by all means to come the next day. honest william, glad to have accomplished his mission under such apparently favourable circumstances, and with so little of a "scene," took his leave.
but the next day, when he arrived at elm lodge, he found dr. brandram's gig at the gate, and on entering the house was met by dr. brandram himself in the hall. "and a very fortunate man i esteem myself in meeting you, my dear mr. boucher--beg pardon, bowker! boucher--name of old friend of mine in norfolk--very fortunate indeed. let's step into the dining-room, eh?--no need to stand in the draught, eh? you see i speak without the least professional feeling--ha, ha." and the little doctor laughed, but very softly. "now look here, my dear sir," he continued; "our friend upstairs--i advised his remaining upstairs to-day--this _won't do_, my dear sir--this _won't_ do."
"i know it, doctor, almost as well as you," said old william gruffly; "but what i don't know, and what i suppose you do, is--what will?"
"change, my dear sir--thorough and entire change; not merely of air and scene, but of thought, life, habits, surroundings. he has a splendid constitution, our friend; but if he remains much longer in this cage, from which all the--all the joys have flown--he'll beat himself to death against the bars." this was a favourite simile with dr. brandram; and after he had uttered it he leant back, as was his wont, and balanced himself on his heels, and looked up into the eyes of his interlocutor to see its effect. on this occasion he was not much gratified, for old bowker had not troubled himself about the poetical setting, but was thinking over the sense of the doctor's remark.
"change," he repeated, "thorough change; have you told him that yourself, doctor?"
"fifty times, my dear sir; repeated it with all the weight of medical authority."
"and what does he say?"
"always the same thing--that his duty keeps him here. he's an extraordinary man, our friend, a most estimable man; but it would be an excellent thing for him,--in fact, make all the difference in the length of his life,--if his duty would take him abroad for six months."
"it shall," said old bowker, putting on his hat, and driving it down hard down on his head. "leave that to me. i'll take care of that." and with these words he nodded at the doctor and departed, leaving the little medico more astonished at the "odd ways" of artists than ever.
when mr. bowker had once made up his mind to carry any thing out, he never rested until it was achieved; so that on quitting elm lodge he at once made his way to mr. stompff's "gallery of modern masters," which he entered, greatly to the surprise of the proprietor, who was hovering about the room like a great spider on the watch for flies. there had never been any thing like cordiality between the great _entrepreneur_ and the rough old artist; and the former opened his eyes to their widest extent, and pulled his whisker through his teeth, as he bowed somewhat sarcastically and said, "this is an honour and no flies?" but before his visitor left, mr. stompff had occasion to rub his eyes very hard with a bright silk pocket-handkerchief, and to resort to a cupboard under the desk on which the catalogues stood, whence he produced a tapering flask, from which he and mr. bowker refreshed themselves--his last words being, as mr. bowker took his departure, "you leave it to me, old fellow--you leave it to me."
carrying out apparently the arrangement herein entered upon, the next day the great mr. stompff's brougham stopped at elm lodge, and the great mr. stompff himself descended therefrom, exhibiting far less than his usual self-sufficiency, swagger, and noise. to the servant who opened the door in answer to his modest ring he gave a note which he had prepared; and geoffrey coming down into the dining-room found him waiting there, apparently deep in a photographic album. he rose, as the door opened, and caught geoffrey warmly by the hand.
"how are you, ludlow? how are you, my dear fellow? it must have been pressing business that brought me here just now, worrying you when you're only just recovered from your illness, my boy; pressing business, you may take your oath of that." and all the time mr. stompff held geoffrey's hand between his own, and looked into his eyes with a wavering unsettled glance.
"i'm better, thank you, mr. stompff, much better; so much better that i hope soon to be at work again," said geoff nervously.
"that's right; that's the best hearing possible. nothing like getting back to work to set a man straight and bring him to his bearings."
"you were getting nervous about the 'esplanade,'" said geoff with a sickly smile--"as well indeed you might, for it's been a long time about. but you need not be frightened about that; ive managed to finish it."
"have you?" said stompff, very dry and husky in the throat.
"yes; if you'll step into the studio, i'll show it you." they went down the little steps which margaret had traversed so oft; and geoffrey, as he pulled the big easel round into the light, said, "it's not quite what i wished. i--circumstances, you know, were against me--and but--it can be altered, you know; altered in any manner you wish."
"altered be--hanged!" cried stompff, very nearly relapsing into the vernacular; "altered!" he repeated, gazing at it with delight; now approaching closely to the canvas, now stepping away and looking at it under the shade of his hand; "why, that's first chop, that is. you've done it up brown! you've made reg'ler ten-strike, as the yankees say. altered! i wouldn't have a brush laid upon that for a fifty-pun' note by george, ludlow, well or ill, you lick the lot in your own line. there's none of 'em can touch you, d'ye hear? altered!--damme it's splendid."
"i'm very glad you like it," said geoff wearily, "ye glad; more especially as it may be a long time before paint again."
"what's that you say?" said mr. stompff, turning upon him sharply. "what's that you say?" he repeated in a gentler tone, laying his hand softly upon geoffrey ludlow's shoulder--"a long time before you paint again? why, nonsense my good fellow; you don't know what nonsense you're talking."
"no nonsense, mr. stompff, but plain, honest, simple fact. i seem to have lost all zest for my art; my spirit is broken, and--"
"of course, my good fellow; i understand all that well enough; too much england,--that's what it is. home of the free, and ruling the waves and all that. pickles! capital place to sell pictures; deuced bad place to paint 'em. now look here. you've been good enough to say more than once that ive been your friend, eh? not that ive ever done more than give a good price for good work, though that's more than some people do--some people, eh? we know who--never mind. now, i want you to do _me_ a turn, and i am sure you will."
geoffrey bowed his head and said, "so long as you don't require a picture from me--"
"picture! o no; of course not. a steam engine, or a hansom cab, or a stilton cheese--that's what i look for from you naturally, isn't it? ludlow, my dear fellow, how can you talk such stuff? now listen. the british public, sir, has had a sickener of british subjects. little dab and his crew have pretty nearly used up all the sentimental domesticity; and we've had such a lot of fancy fairs, and hyde parks, and noble volunteers, and archery fêtes, and gals playing at croky, that the b.p. won't stand it any longer. there'll be a reaction, you'll see; and the 'cademy will be choke full of charles the seconds, and nell gwynns, and coves in wigs, and women in powder and patches, and all that business, just because the modern every-day gaff has been done to death. i shall have to give in to this; and i shall give in of course. there's lots of coves can do that trick for me well enough to sell. but i look for more from you;--and this is what i propose. you go straight away out of this; where, i don't care--so long as you remain away a year or so, and keep your eyes about you. you'll work hard enough,--i don't fear that; and whatever you do, send it home to me and i'll take it. lor' bless you, there's rigs that the b.p. knows nothing about, and that would make stunnin' objects for you--a _table-d'h?te_ on the rhine, a students' _kneipe_ at heidelberg, a _schützenfest_ in switzerland; and then you've never been to italy yet, and though that game's been worked pretty often, yet any thing italian from you would sell like mad." he paused for a moment and looked up at geoffrey, whose eyes were fixed intently on him, and who seemed eager and excited.
"it's all one to me," said he; "i scarcely know what to say; it's very kind of you. i know you mean it well; but do you think i can do it? do you really think so?"
"think so! i know so," said mr. stompff. "see here! i never take up a thing of this sort without carrying it through. we said five hundred for the 'esplanade,' didn't we? you've had three on account--that's right! now here's the other two; and if you're as well pleased with the bargain as me, no knife shall cut our love in two, as the song says. now you must leave this money behind for the old lady and the little 'un, and that nice sister of yours---o yes, by the way, what makes charley potts paint her head in all his pictures, and why don't he sell to me instead of caniche?--and here's a hundred in circular notes. i went round to my bank and got 'em this morning on purpose for you to go abroad with. when they're done, you know where to send for some more."
"you are very kind, mr. stompff, but--"
"no, i ain't. i'm a man of business, i am; and there ain't many as is very fond of me. but i know what the b.p. wants, and i know a good fellow when i see one; and when i do see one, i don't often laacklet him slide. i ain't a polished sort of cove," said mr. stompff reflectively; "i leave that to caniche, with his paw-paw bowins and scrapins; but i ain't quite so black as some of the artists paint me. however, this is a matter of business that i'm rather eager about; and i should be glad to know if i may look upon it as settled."
"look here, mr. stompff," said geoffrey ludlow, turning to his companion, and speaking in an earnest voice; "you have behaved generously to me, and you deserve that i should speak frankly with you. i should immensely like to get away from this place for a while, to shake off the memory of all that has passed within the last few months--so far as it is possible for me to shake it off--to get into new scenes, and to receive fresh impressions. but i very much doubt whether i shall be able to undertake what you wish. i feel as if all the little power i ever had were gone; as if my brain were as barren to conceive as i know my hand is impotent to execute; i feel--"
"i know," interrupted mr. stompff; "regularly sewed up; feel as if you'd like somebody to unscrew your head, take your brains out and clean 'em, and then put 'em back; feel as if you didn't care for the world, and would like to try the hermit dodge and eat roots and drink water, and cut society, eh? ah, ive felt like that sometimes; and then ive heard of some pictures that was comin' to the hammer, and ive just looked in at christie's, and, lord, as soon as i heard the lots a-goin' up, and felt myself reg'ler in the swing of competition, ive given up all them foolish notions, and gone home and enjoyed a roast fowl and a glass of sham and mrs. s.'s comp'ny, like a christian! and so will you, ludlow, my boy; you'll pull through, i'll pound it. you work just when you feel inclined, and draw upon me when you want the ready; i'll stand the racket, never fear."
the conspiracy between mr. stompff and old william bowker had been carried out minutely in detail; one of the points insisted on being that, the position once carried, geoff should have no time for retreat. accordingly, while mr. stompff was proceeding to elm lodge, mr. bowker was indoctrinating the ladies (whom he knew he should find at sydenham) as to the tenour of their advice; and scarcely had mr. stompff quitted geoffrey when mr. bowker was announced. to his old friend, geoffrey, now in a very excited state, told the whole story of stompff's visit and of the proposition which he had made; and old william--whom no one would have given credit for possessing such control over his face--sat looking on with the greatest apparent interest. when geoffrey came to an end of his narration, and asked his friend whether he had done right in partially acceding to what had been offered him, or whether--it was not too late--he should retract, mr. bowker was extremely vehement--more so than he had ever known himself to be--in insisting that it was the very best thing that could possibly have happened. when mrs. ludlow and til returned, they unhesitatingly pronounced the same opinion; and so geoff's departure was decided on.
he had a great deal to attend to before he could leave; and the mere bustle and activity of business seemed to do him good at once. mrs. ludlow was thoroughly happy in preparing his clothes for his journey; mr. bowker and charley potts were constantly at elm lodge, the latter gentleman finding his assistance usually required by miss til; and on the day before that fixed for geoffrey's departure, annie maurice called to take farewell. it was an interview which had been dreaded by both of them, and was as brief as possible. annie expressed her satisfaction at his having been persuaded to seek change, by which she was sure he would benefit, and extended her hand in "goodbye."
geoff took her hand, and holding it tenderly in his, said:
"annie, some day i may be able--i am very far from being able now--to tell you how the knowledge of your kindness to--to one whom i have lost--has sustained me under my bitter sorrow. god bless you, my more than sister! god bless you, my good angel!" and geoffrey touched her forehead with his lips, and hurried from the room.
the authorities at the south-eastern terminus at london bridge thought that some distinguished exile must be about returning to france that night, there were so many curiously-hatted and bearded gentlemen gathered round the mail-train. but they were only some of our old friends of the titians come to say "god speed" to geoffrey ludlow, whose departure had been made known to them by mr. stompff. that worthy was there in great force, and old bowker, and charley potts, and little dabb, and old tom wrigley, and many others; and as the train wound out of the station, bearing geoff along with it, there were rising tears and swelling knots in eyes and throats that were very unused to such manifestations of weakness.
