Nobody

"But it made you ill, that work."

"I am recovering fast."

"You came to a good place for recovering," said Dillwyn, glancing roundthe room, and willing, perhaps, to leave the subject.

"Almost too good," said Lois. "It spoils one. You cannot imagine thecontrast between what I came from – and this. I have been like one indreamland. And there comes over me now and then a strange feeling ofthe inequality of things; almost a sense of wrong; the way I am caredfor is so very different from the very best and utmost that could bedone for the poor people at Esterbrooke. Think of my soups and creamsand ices and oranges and grapes! – and there, very often I could not geta bit of fresh beef to make beef-tea; and what could I do withoutbeef-tea? And what would I not have given for an orange sometimes! I donot mean, for myself. I could get hardly anything the sick peoplereally wanted. And here – it is like rain from the clouds."

"Where does the 'sense of wrong' come in?"

"It seems as if things need not be so unequal."

"And what does your silver spade expect to do there?"

"Don't say that! I have no silver spade. But just so far as I couldhelp to introduce better ways and a knowledge of better things, theinequality would be made up – or on the way to be made up."

"What refining measures are you thinking of? – beside your own presenceand example."

"I was certainly not thinking of that. Why, Mr. Dillwyn, knowledgeitself is refining; and then, so is comfort; and I could help them tomore comfort, in their houses, and in their meals. I began to teachthem singing, which has a great effect; and I carried all the picturesI had with me. Most of all, though, to bring them to a knowledge ofBible truth is the principal thing and the surest way. The rest isreally in order to that."

"Wasn't it very hard work?"

"No," said Lois. "Some things were hard; but not the work."

"Because you like it."

"Yes. O, Mr. Dillwyn, there is nothing pleasanter than to do one'swork, if it is work one is sure God has given."

"That must be because you love him," said Philip gravely. "Yet Iunderstand, that in the universal adjustment of things, the instrumentand its proper work must agree." He was silent a minute, and Lois didnot break the pause. If he would think, let him think, was her meaning.Then he began again.

"There are different ways. What would you think of a man who spent hiswhole life in painting?"

"I should not think that could be anybody's proper life-work."

"I think it was truly his, and he served God in it."

"Who was he?"

"A Catholic monk, in the fifteenth century."

"What did he paint? What was his name?"

"His name was Fra Angelico – by reason of the angelic character whichbelonged to him and to his paintings; otherwise Fra Giovanni; he was amonk in a Dominican cloister. He entered the convent when he was twentyyears old; and from that time, till he was sixty-eight, he served Godand his generation by painting."

Lois looked somewhat incredulous. Mr. Dillwyn here took from one of hispockets a small case, opened it and put it in her hands. It was anexcellent copy of a bit of Fra Angelico's work.

"That," he said as he gave it her, "is the head of one of FraAngelico's angels, from a group in a large picture. I had this copymade for myself some years ago – at a time when I only dimly felt whatnow I am beginning to understand."

Lois scarce heard what he said. From the time she received the picturein her hands she lost all thought of everything else. The unearthlybeauty and purity, the heavenly devotion and joy, seized her heart aswith a spell. The delicate lines of the face, the sweet colouring, thefinished, perfect handling, were most admirable; but it was themarvellous spiritual love and purity which so took possession of Lois.Her eyes filled and her cheeks flushed. It was, so far as paintingcould give it, the truth of heaven; and that goes to the heart of thehuman creature who perceives it. Mr. Dillwyn was watching her, meanwhile, and could look safely, secure that Lois was in no danger offinding it out; and while she, very likely, was thinking of thedistance between that angel face and her own, Philip, on the otherhand, was following the line of his sister's thought, and tracing thefancied likeness. Like one of Fra Angelico's angels! Yes, there was thesame sort of grave purity, of unworldly if not unearthly spiritualbeauty. Truly the rapt joy was not there, nor the unshadowed triumph; but love, – and innocence, – and humility, – and truth; and not a stain ofthe world upon it. Lois said not one word, but looked and looked, tillat last she tendered the picture back to its owner.

"Perhaps you would like to keep it," said he, "and show it to yoursister."

He brought it to have Madge see it! thought Lois. Aloud —

"No – she would enjoy it a great deal more if you showed it toher; – then you could tell her about it."

"I think you could explain it better."

As he made no motion to take back the picture, Lois drew in her handagain and took a further view. How beautiful was the fair, bright, rapt, blissful face of the angel! – as if, indeed, he were looking atheaven's glories.

"Did he – did the painter – always paint like this?"

"Always, I believe. He improved in his manner as he went on; he paintedbetter and better; but from youth to age he was incessantly doing theone thing, serving God with his pencil. He never painted for money; that is, not for himself; the money went into the church's treasury. Hedid not work for fame; much of his best work is upon the walls of themonks' cells, where few would see it. He would not receive office. Helived upon the Old and New Testaments, and prayer; and the one businessof his life was to show forth to the world what he believed, in suchbeautiful wise that they might be won to believe it too."

"That is exactly the work we have to do, – everybody," said Lois, lifting her eyes with a bright light in them. "I mean, everybody thatis a Christian. That is it; – to show forth Christ, and in such wisethat men may see and believe in him too. That is the word inPhilippians – 'shining as lights in the world, holding forth the word oflife.' I did not know it was possible to do it in painting – but I seeit is. O, thank you for showing me this! – it has done me good."

Her eyes were glistening as she gave him the picture again. Philip putit in security, in silence, and rose up.

"Well," said he, "now I will go and hear somebody play the 'Carnival of

Venice,' as if it were all rattle and no fun."

"Is that the way they play it?"

"It is the way some people play it. Good night."

The door closed after him, and Lois sat down alone before the fire again.

CHAPTER XLIV

CHOOSING A WIFE

She did not open her Bible to go on with the investigation Mr. Dillwynhad broken off. Now that he had just been with her in proper person, aninstinct of scared modesty fled from the question whether or no he werea man whom a Christian woman might marry. What was it to her? Lois saidto herself; what did it concern her, whether such a marriage werepermissible or no? Such a question would never come to her fordecision. To Madge, perhaps? But now the other question did ask forconsideration; – Why she winced at the idea that it might come to Madge?Madge did not share her sister's scruple; Madge had not made thepromise Lois had made; if Mr. Dillwyn asked her, she would accept him,Lois had little doubt. Perhaps he would ask her; and why, why did Loiswish he would not? For she perceived that the idea gave her pain. Whyshould it give her pain? For herself, the thing was a fixed fact; whatever the Bible said – and she knew pretty well what it said – forher, such a marriage was an impossibility. And why should she thinkabout it at all? nobody else was thinking about it. Fra Angelico'sangel came back to her mind; the clear, unshadowed eyes, the pure, gladface, the separateness from all earth's passions or pleasures, thelofty exaltation above them. So ought she to be. And then, while thisthought was warmest, came, shutting it out, the image of Mr. Dillwyn atthe music party; what he was doing there, how he would look and speak, how Madge would enjoy his attentions, and everything; and Lois suddenlyfelt as if she herself were very much alone. Not merely alone now,to-night; she had chosen this, and liked it; (did she like it?) – notnow, but all through her life. It suddenly seemed to Lois as if shewere henceforth to be always alone. Madge would no doubtmarry – somebody; and there was no home, and nobody to make home forLois. She had never thought of it before, but now she seemed to see itall quite clearly. Mrs. Barclay's work had been, to separate her, in acertain way, from her family and her surroundings. They fitted togetherno longer. Lois knew what they did not know; she had tastes which theydid not share, but which now were become part of her being; the societyin which she had moved all her life till two years, or three years, ago, could no longer content her. It was not inanimate nature, hergarden, her spade and her wheelbarrow, that seemed distasteful; Loiscould have gone into that work again with all her heart, and thought itno hardship; it was the mental level at which the people lived; thesocial level, in houses, tables, dress, and amusements, and manner; theaesthetic level of beauty, and grace, and fitness, or at least theperception of them. Lois pondered and revolved this all till she beganto grow rather dreary. Think of the Esterbrooke school, and of beingalone there! Rough, rude, coarse boys and girls; untaught, untamed, ungovernable, except by an uncommon exertion of wisdom and will; longdays of hard labour, nights of common food and sleep, with no delicatearrangements for either, and social refreshment utterly out of thequestion. And Madge away; married, perhaps, and travelling in Europe, and seeing Fra Angelico's paintings. Then the angel's face recurred toLois, and she pulled herself up. The angel's face and the painter'shistory both confronted her. On one hand, the seraphic purity and joyof a creature who knew no will but God's will; on the other hand, thequiet, patient life, which had borne such fruits. Four hundred yearsago, Fra Angelico painted; and ever since his work had been bearingwitness to God's truth and salvation; was even at that minute teachingand admonishing herself. What did it signify just how her own workshould be done, if only it were like work? What matter whether rough orsmooth, alone or in company? Where the service is to be done, there theMaster puts his servant; what the service is, he knows; for theservant, all that he has to take care of is, that step by step hefollow where he is led, and everywhere, and by all means in his power, that he show forth Christ to men. Then something like that angel'ssecurity would be with him all the way, and something like that angel'sjoy be at the end of it. The little picture had helped and comfortedLois amazingly, and she went to bed with a heart humbled and almostcontented.

She went, however, in good time, before Madge could return home; shedid not want to hear the outflow of description and expatiation whichmight be expected. And Madge indeed found her so seemingly sleepy, thatshe was forced to give up talking and come to bed too. But all Lois hadgained was a respite. The next morning, as soon as they were awake,Madge began.

"Lois, we had a grand time last night! You were so stupidly asleep when

I came home, I couldn't tell you. We had a beautiful time! O Lois, Mrs.

Burrage's house is just magnificent!"

"I suppose so."

"The floors are all laid in patterns of different coloured woods – asort of mosaic – "

"Parquetry."

"What? – I call it mosaic, with centre-pieces and borders, – O, elegant!