Alice, or the Mysteries — Book 02

								

two portraits, broke the symmetry of the tall bookcases.  In one of these
fireplaces were half-burnt logs; and a huge armchair, with a small
reading-desk beside it, seemed to bespeak the recent occupation of the
room.  On the fourth side, opposite the window, the wall was covered with
faded tapestry, representing the meeting of Solomon and the Queen of
Sheba; the arras was nailed over doors on either hand,--the chinks
between the door and the wall serving, in one instance, to cut off in the
middle his wise majesty, who was making a low bow; while in the other it
took the ground from under the wanton queen, just as she was descending
from her chariot.
Near the window stood a grand piano, the only modern article in the room,
save one of the portraits, presently to be described.  On all this Evelyn
gazed silently and devoutly: she had naturally that reverence for genius
which is common to the enthusiastic and young; and there is, even to the
dullest, a certain interest in the homes of those who have implanted
within us a new thought.  But here there was, she imagined, a rare and
singular harmony between the place and the mental characteristics of the
owner.  She fancied she now better understood the shadowy and
metaphysical repose of thought that had distinguished the earlier
writings of Maltravers,--the writings composed or planned in this still
retreat.
But what particularly caught her attention was one of the two portraits
that adorned the mantelpieces.  The further one was attired in the rich
and fanciful armour of the time of Elizabeth; the head bare, the helmet
on a table on which the hand rested.  It was a handsome and striking
countenance; and an inscription announced it to be a Digby, an ancestor
of Maltravers.
But the other was a beautiful girl of about eighteen, in the now almost
antiquated dress of forty years ago.  The features were delicate, but the
colours somewhat faded, and there was something mournful in the
expression.  A silk curtain, drawn on one side, seemed to denote how
carefully it was prized by the possessor.
Evelyn turned for explanation to her cicerone.
"This is the second time I have seen that picture," said Caroline; "for
it is only by great entreaty and as a mysterious favour that the old
housekeeper draws aside the veil.  Some touch of sentiment in Maltravers
makes him regard it as sacred.  It is the picture of his mother before
she married; she died in giving him birth."
Evelyn sighed; how well she understood the sentiment which seemed to
Caroline so eccentric!  The countenance fascinated her; the eye seemed to
follow her as she turned.
"As a proper pendant to this picture," said Caroline, "he ought to have
dismissed the effigies of yon warlike gentleman, and replaced it by one
of poor Lady Florence Lascelles, for whose loss he is said to have
quitted his country: but, perhaps, it was the loss of her fortune."
"How can you say so?--fie!" cried Evelyn, with a burst of generous