The Bell in the Fog | Page 9

look at it.
And I have been quite often since. You never forbade me," she added,
looking at him appealingly, but dropping her eyes quickly. "And I like
the little girl--and the boy--very much."
"Do you? Why?"
"I don't know"--a formula in which she had taken refuge before. Still
her candid eyes were lowered; but she was quite calm. Orth, instead of
questioning, merely fixed his eyes upon her, and waited. In a moment
she stirred uneasily, but she did not laugh nervously, as another child
would have done. He had never seen her self-possession ruffled, and he
had begun to doubt he ever should. She was full of human warmth and
affection. She seemed made for love, and every creature who came
within her ken adored her, from the author himself down to the litter of
puppies presented to her by the stable-boy a few weeks since; but her
serenity would hardly be enhanced by death.
She raised her eyes finally, but not to his. She looked at the portrait.
"Did you know that there was another picture behind?" she asked.
"No," replied Orth, turning cold. "How did you know it?"

"One day I touched a spring in the frame, and this picture came forward.
Shall I show you?"
"Yes!" And crossing curiosity and the involuntary shrinking from
impending phenomena was a sensation of aesthetic disgust that he
should be treated to a secret spring.
The little girl touched hers, and that other Blanche sprang aside so
quickly that she might have been impelled by a sharp blow from behind.
Orth narrowed his eyes and stared at what she revealed. He felt that his
own Blanche was watching him, and set his features, although his
breath was short.
There was the Lady Blanche Mortlake in the splendor of her young
womanhood, beyond a doubt. Gone were all traces of her spiritual
childhood, except, perhaps, in the shadows of the mouth; but more than
fulfilled were the promises of her mind. Assuredly, the woman had
been as brilliant and gifted as she had been restless and passionate. She
wore her very pearls with arrogance, her very hands were tense with
eager life, her whole being breathed mutiny.
Orth turned abruptly to Blanche, who had transferred her attention to
the picture.
"What a tragedy is there!" he exclaimed, with a fierce attempt at
lightness. "Think of a woman having all that pent up within her two
centuries ago! And at the mercy of a stupid family, no doubt, and a still
stupider husband. No wonder--To-day, a woman like that might not be
a model for all the virtues, but she certainly would use her gifts and
become famous, the while living her life too fully to have any place in
it for yeomen and such, or even for the trivial business of breaking
hearts." He put his finger under Blanche's chin, and raised her face, but
he could not compel her gaze. "You are the exact image of that little
girl," he said, "except that you are even purer and finer. She had no
chance, none whatever. You live in the woman's age. Your
opportunities will be infinite. I shall see to it that they are. What you
wish to be you shall be. There will be no pent-up energies here to burst
out into disaster for yourself and others. You shall be trained to

self-control--that is, if you ever develop self-will, dear child--every
faculty shall be educated, every school of life you desire knowledge
through shall be opened to you. You shall become that finest flower of
civilization, a woman who knows how to use her independence."
She raised her eyes slowly, and gave him a look which stirred the roots
of sensation--a long look of unspeakable melancholy. Her chest rose
once; then she set her lips tightly, and dropped her eyes.
"What do you mean?" he cried, roughly, for his soul was chattering.
"Is--it--do you--?" He dared not go too far, and concluded lamely, "You
mean you fear that your mother will not give you to me when she
goes--you have divined that I wish to adopt you? Answer me, will
you?"
But she only lowered her head and turned away, and he, fearing to
frighten or repel her, apologized for his abruptness, restored the outer
picture to its place, and led her from the gallery.
He sent her at once to the nursery, and when she came down to
luncheon and took her place at his right hand, she was as natural and
childlike as ever. For some days he restrained his curiosity, but one
evening, as they were sitting before the fire in the hall listening to the
storm, and just after he had told her the story of the erl-king, he took
her on his knee and asked