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Page 28
And Barbara--how did Barbara feel? She could never have analyzed and put
into definite thought the inner life she was leading during these days.
Indeed, it is doubtful whether she had the slightest conception of the
change that was gradually working within her. But rapidly she was
putting away childish things, and "woman's lot" was coming fast upon
her. Mrs. Douglas would have been astounded, indeed, could she, with her
eyes of experience and wisdom, have looked into the heart of Barbara,
whom she still called "child." That which the young girl could not
understand would have been a revelation to her who had been a loving
wife. With what an overwhelming pity would she have hastened to restore
her to her parents before this hopeless love should grow any stronger,
and she become aware of its existence!
Dr. Burnett's admiration for Robert Sumner was unbounded. He had known
him from boyhood, and had always been his confidant, so far as an older
man can be with a younger. Many times he had talked to his children
about him--about his earnestness and sincerity of purpose--his high
aims, and his willingness to spare no pains to realize them.
Barbara, who, perhaps, had been more than any other of the children her
father's comrade, had listened to these tales and praises until Robert
Sumner had become her ideal of all that was noble. No one had dreamed of
such a thing, but so it was; and through all the excitement of
preparation and through the journey to Italy, one of her chief
anticipations had been to see this young man of whom her father had
talked so much, and, herself, to learn to know him. The story of his
marriage disappointment, which had led to his life abroad, and a notable
adventure in Egypt, in which he had saved a woman's life, had added just
that romance to his reputation as an artist and a writer on art that had
seized hold of the young girl's imagination.
Now, as she was daily with him in the home, saw his affectionate care
for his sister, Malcom, and Margery, and felt his good comradeship with
them all, while in every way he was teaching them and inspiring them to
do better things than they had yet accomplished, a passionate desire had
risen to make herself worthy of his approbation. She wished him to think
of her as more than a mere girl--the companion of none but the very
young. She wished to be his companion, and all that was ardent and
enthusiastic in her nature was beginning to rush, like a torrent that
suddenly finds an outlet, into the channels indicated by him.
She did not realize this. But the absorbing study she was giving to the
old pictures, the intensity of which was surprising to Bettina, was an
indication of it. Her quick endeavor to follow any line of thought
suggested by Mr. Sumner--and her restlessness when she saw the long
conversations he and Miss Sherman would so often hold, were others. It
seemed to her lately as if Miss Sherman were always claiming his time
and attention--even their visit to Santa Maria del Carmine to study the
frescoes by Masaccio, who was the next artist they were to learn about,
had been postponed because she wished Mrs. Douglas and Mr. Sumner to go
somewhere with her. Barbara did not like it very well.
But to Howard she gave little thought when she was away from him. He was
kind, his flowers were sweet, but they were all over the house,--given
to others as well as to herself. It was very good of him to take herself
and Betty in his fine new carriage so often; but, perhaps,--if he did
not so continually ask them,--perhaps,--they would oftener drive with
Mr. Sumner and Malcom; and she knew Betty would like that better, as
well as she herself.
She was often annoyed because he evidently "admired" her so much, as
Betty called it, and did wish he would not look at her as he sometimes
did; and she felt very sensitively the signs of irritation that were so
apparent in him when anything prevented them from being with him as he
wished. But she was very sorry for his loneliness; for his exile from
home on account of ill-health; for the weakness that he often felt and
for which no pleasures purchased by money could compensate. She was
grateful for his kindness, and would not wound him for the world; so she
frankly and graciously accepted all he gave, and, in return, tried to
bring all the happiness she could into his days.
Chapter VIII.
Howard's Questionings.
_When the fight begins within himself,
A man's worth something. God stoops o'er his head,
Satan looks up beneath his feet--both tug--
He's left, himself, i' the middle: the soul wakes
And grows_.
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