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328 THE POKTRAIT.
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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» Chapter Vii. A Seau.Ch Into Motives Is...
on ; exonerated Neptune from all blame , patted his head , and appeared to listen as before to what my companions were
sayingbut I did not again hear the name of Cleveland . Did I wish to , hear details ? No—I had heard enough . The three words rung in
my ears the whole day , yes , and for many days , as a bell tolling a requiem for the dead . Ohthose sad bellsthose frowning icebergs !
Who at some period of their , lives has not , heard the weary chiming of . the oneand felt the icy presence of the other ?
, " You see , my dear , I was right about Cleveland , " said Mr . Martyn , but this time he addressed his wife .
cc whom is he married ? " asked Mrs . Martyn . _"Why to the lady in Florence to be sure . I always told you he
was engaged . I wonder if he means to claim his picture . I have no doubt he intends to bring , his wife to Englandand then we
shall see him and ask him about it . " , TheProperzia had now been for months in the possession of Mr .
Martyn _^ , greatly to his satisfaction , and to the envy , he asserted , of the rival patron of artMr . Waddington . ( who had offered Cleveland
as before stated , a larg , e _SLirn . for it . ) , , A gloom had been shed over our home circle of intimate friends
by the dangerous illness of one much valued by Mrs . Martyn ; and on account of this circumstance we were still in town , confined to
the dust and heat at a season when London is well-nigh unendurable . The very sunlight seemed sorrowful as it struggled into the
square with limited power , * the sky too had such narrow bounds that it did not look like heaven ' s own curtainthe dust-laden trees
wore a sombre , weary appearance , and alread , y the dry rustling sound of their leaves when touched by the wind spoke of
approaching decay . The scene altogether , instead of bringing with it the bright joyousness of the early autumn of the yeargave nought but
desolate imagery to my fancy , and in the long evenings , I used to look out on itpining all the while for the green freshness of the
fields , and the , rushing of the river as I used to hear it in my childhood .
I was standing listlessly one of these same even ngs at an open windowand listening to an old man laying an org * an until a sense
of such , extreme sadness and oppression p came over my spirit that I was glad to shed a few tears by way of relief . The music was
plaintive , the player a poor exile from a sunnier land : not a creature was to be seen except the old organistand the trees and
the square looked gloomier than ever . , I sat at the window behind the white lace drapery and wept
silently , the tones of the organ becoming fainter and fainter as the man left that side of the square , until at length they entirely ceased ,
and unbroken silence reigned , disturbed only at intervals by a stray cab or carriage rattling past . I need scarcelsay that sometimes
my rebellious heart would call up thoughts y of my lost artist . I
was still seated in a fit of abstraction , my thoughts far away from
328 The Poktrait.
328 THE POKTRAIT .
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Citation
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English Woman’s Journal (1858-1864), July 1, 1861, page 326, in the Nineteenth-Century Serials Edition (2008; 2018) ncse.ac.uk/periodicals/ewj/issues/ewj_01071861/page/38/
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