“Yes, I have sold my grand picture; the dream--the joy of a lifetime. Sold it, too, to a man who is worthy to possess it. I shall see it in Lord Arundale's noble gallery; I shall know that it, at least, will remain where, after my death, it will keep from oblivion the name of Michael Vanbrugh. Glorious indeed is this my triumph--yet less mine, than the triumph of high Art. Do you not rejoice, my pupil!”
“I do, indeed, my dear and noble master.”
“And, brother, brother--you will be very rich. The price you asked for the 'Alcestis' was a thousand pounds,” said Meliora.
“But for your sake only, dear Michael,” cried his sister; and her tearful eyes spoke the truth. Poor little soul! she could but go as far as her gifts went, and they extended no farther than to the thought of what comforts would this sum procure for Michael--a richer velvet gown and cap, like one of the old Italian painters--perhaps a journey to refresh his wearied eyes among lovely scenes of nature. She explained this, looking, not angry but just a little hurt.
“A journey! yes, I will take a journey--one which I have longed for these thirty years--I will go to Rome! Once again I will lie on the floor of the Sistine, and look up worshipingly to Michael the angel.” (He always called him so.)
“Stay?--Until my heart grows pulseless, and my brain dull. Why should I ever come back to this cold England?
“No: let me grow old, die, and be buried under the shadow of the eternal City.”
“He will never come back again--never,” said Miss Vanbrugh, looking at Olive with a vague bewilderment. “He will leave this pretty cottage, and me, and everything.”
There was a dead silence, during which poor 'Meliora sat plaiting her white apron in fold after fold, as was her habit when in deep and perplexed thought. Then she went up to her brother.
“Michael, if you will take me, I should like to go too.”
“What!” cried Mrs. Rothesay, “you, my dear Miss Vanbrugh, who are so thoroughly English--who always said you hated moving from place to place, and would live and die at Woodford Cottage!
“Hush--hush! we'll not talk about that, lest he should hear,” said Meliora glancing half frightened at her brother. But he stood absorbed by the window, looking out apparently on the sky, though his eyes saw nothing--nothing! “Michael, do you quite understand--may I go with you to Rome?”