He handled
each with the reverence of a son. Having dressed in them, he drew
himself up with not a little of the Celt's pleasure in fine clothes,
and walked into the painting room.
Lenorme started with admiration of his figure, and wonder at the
dignity of his carriage, while, mingled with these feelings, he was
aware of an indescribable doubt, something to which he could give
no name. He almost sprang at his palette and brushes: whether he
succeeded with the likeness of the late marquis or not, it would
be his own fault if he did not make a good picture! He painted
eagerly, and they talked little, and only about things indifferent.
At length the painter said,
"Thank you. Now walk about the room while I spread a spadeful of
paint: you must be tired standing."
Malcolm did as he was told, and walked straight up to the Temple
of Isis, in which the painter had now long been at work on the
goddess. He recognised his sister at once, but a sudden pinch of
prudence checked the exclamation that had almost burst from his
lips.
"What a beautiful picture!" he said. "What does it mean?--
Surely it is Hermione coming to life, and Leontes dying of joy!
But no; that would not fit. They are both too young, and--"
"You read Shakspere, I see," said Lenorme, "as well as Epictetus.
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