Then first it began to dawn on Mrs. Locke that the young man who mended the books and the heir to Mortgrange were the same person.

“It fell down one day, and has not been put up again,” she answered.

“Do you know where it is?”

“I will find it, sir.”

“Do, if you please. Whose portrait is it?”

“The last lady Lestrange’s, sir—But bless my stupid old head! It’s his own mother’s picture he’s asking for! You’ll pardon me, sir! The thing’s more bewildering than you’d think! I’ll go and get it at once.”

“Thank you. I will wait till you bring it.”

“There’s nowhere for you to sit, sir!” lamented the old lady. “If I’d only known! I’m sure, sir, I wish you joy!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Locke. I’ll sit here on the mattress.”

Richard had not forgotten how the eyes of the picture used to draw his, and he had often wondered since whether it could be the portrait of his mother.

In a few minutes Mrs. Locke reappeared, carrying the portrait, which had never been put in a frame. Knotting the cord, Richard hung it again on the old nail. It showed a well-formed face, but was very flat and wooden. The eyes, however, were comparatively well-painted. It seemed to Richard that he could read both sorrow and disappointment in them, with a yearning after something she could not have.

He went back down and out for a walk in the park with Wingfold. There Richard told his friend as much as he knew of his story, describing as well as he understood them the changes that had passed upon him in the matter of his thoughts toward and relation to God, making no secret of what he owed to the spiritual influences of Barbara.

After listening with profound attention, Wingfold told him of his own awakening, saying that he had passed through an experience in many ways like his own, with the same root doubts. He added that, long before he was sure of anything, it had become possible for him to keep going, and that he was still—as strong as his belief now was—looking and hoping and waiting for a fuller dawn of what had made his being already blessed.

They discussed whether Wingfold should accept the baronet’s careless invitation, and concluded it better that he not stay to dinner. Then, as there was yet time, and it was partly on Wingfold’s way, they set out for the smithy.

50. Wingfold and Arthur Manson

— Fifty —

Wingfold and Arthur Manson