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adept； on learning that her husband was to be absent that night she
had refrained from incontinently rushing upstairs and opening the
picture…frame； preferring to reserve the inspection till she could
be alone； and a more romantic tinge be imparted to the occasion by
silence； candles； solemn sea and stars outside； than was afforded by
the garish afternoon sunlight。
The children had been sent to bed； and Ella soon followed； though it
was not yet ten o'clock。 To gratify her passionate curiosity she
now made her preparations； first getting rid of superfluous garments
and putting on her dressing…gown； then arranging a chair in front of
the table and reading several pages of Trewe's tenderest utterances。
Then she fetched the portrait…frame to the light； opened the back；
took out the likeness； and set it up before her。
It was a striking countenance to look upon。 The poet wore a
luxuriant black moustache and imperial； and a slouched hat which
shaded the forehead。 The large dark eyes； described by the
landlady； showed an unlimited capacity for misery； they looked out
from beneath well…shaped brows as if they were reading the universe
in the microcosm of the confronter's face； and were not altogether
overjoyed at what the spectacle portended。
Ella murmured in her lowest； richest； tenderest tone： 'And it's YOU
who've so cruelly eclipsed me these many times！'
As she gazed long at the portrait she fell into thought； till her
eyes filled with tears； and she touched the cardboard with her lips。
Then she laughed with a nervous lightness； and wiped her eyes。
She thought how wicked she was； a woman having a husband and three
children； to let her mind stray to a stranger in this unconscionable
manner。 No； he was not a stranger！ She knew his thoughts and
feelings as well as she knew her own； they were； in fact； the self…
same thoughts and feelings as hers； which her husband distinctly
lacked； perhaps luckily for himself； considering that he had to
provide for family expenses。
'He's nearer my real self； he's more intimate with the real me than
Will is； after all； even though I've never seen him；' she said。
She laid his book and picture on the table at the bedside； and when
she was reclining on the pillow she re…read those of Robert Trewe's
verses which she had marked from time to time as most touching and
true。 Putting these aside； she set up the photograph on its edge
upon the coverlet； and contemplated it as she lay。 Then she scanned
again by the light of the candle the half…obliterated pencillings on
the wall…paper beside her head。 There they werephrases； couplets；
bouts…rimes； beginnings and middles of lines； ideas in the rough；
like Shelley's scraps； and the least of them so intense； so sweet；
so palpitating； that it seemed as if his very breath； warm and
loving； fanned her cheeks from those walls； walls that had
surrounded his head times and times as they surrounded her own now。
He must often have put up his hand sowith the pencil in it。 Yes；
the writing was sideways； as it would be if executed by one who
extended his arm thus。
These inscribed shapes of the poet's world；
'Forms more real than living man；
Nurslings of immortality；'
were； no doubt； the thoughts and spirit…strivings which had come to
him in the dead of night； when he could let himself go and have no
fear of the frost of criticism。 No doubt they had often been
written up hastily by the light of the moon； the rays of the lamp；
in the blue…grey dawn； in full daylight perhaps never。 And now her
hair was dragging where his arm had lain when he secured the
fugitive fancies； she was sleeping on a poet's lips； immersed in the
very essence of him； permeated by his spirit as by an ether。
While she was dreaming the minutes away thus； a footstep came upon
the stairs； and in a moment she heard her husband's heavy step on
the landing immediately without。
'Ell； where are you？'
What possessed her she could not have described； but； with an
instinctive objection to let her husband know what she had been
doing； she slipped the photograph under the pillow just as he flung
open the door； with the air of a man who had dined not badly。
'O； I beg pardon；' said William Marchmill。 'Have you a headache？ I
am afraid I have disturbed you。'
'No； I've not got a headache；' said she。 'How is it you've come？'
'Well； we found we could get back in very good time after all； and I
didn't want to make another day of it； because of going somewhere
else to…morrow。'
'Shall I come down again？'
'O no。 I'm as tired as a dog。 I've had a good feed； and I shall
turn in straight off。 I want to get out at six o'clock to…morrow if
I can 。 。 。 I shan't disturb you by my getting up； it will be long
before you are awake。' And he came forward into the room。
While her eyes followed his movements； Ella softly pushed the
photograph further out of sight。
'Sure you're not ill？' he asked； bending over her。
'No； only wicked！'
'Never mind that。' And he stooped and kissed her。
Next morning Marchmill was called at six o'clock； and in waking and
yawning she heard him muttering to himself： 'What the deuce is this
that's been crackling under me so？' Imagining her asleep he
searched round him and withdrew something。 Through her half…opened
eyes she perceived it to be Mr。 Trewe。
'Well； I'm damned！' her husband exclaimed。
'What； dear？' said she。
'O； you are awake？ Ha！ ha！'
'What DO you mean？'
'Some bloke's photographa friend of our landlady's； I suppose。 I
wonder how it came here； whisked off the table by accident perhaps
when they were making the bed。'
'I was looking at it yesterday； and it must have dropped in then。'
'O； he's a friend of yours？ Bless his picturesque heart！'
Ella's loyalty to the object of her admiration could not endure to
hear him ridiculed。 'He's a clever man！' she said； with a tremor in
her gentle voice which she herself felt to be absurdly uncalled for。
'He is a rising poetthe gentleman who occupied two of these rooms
before we came； though I've never seen him。'
'How do you know； if you've never seen him？'
'Mrs。 Hooper told me when she showed me the photograph。'
'O； well； I must up and be off。 I shall be home rather early。
Sorry I can't take you to…day； dear。 Mind the children don't go
getting drowned。'
That day Mrs。 Marchmill inquired if Mr。 Trewe were likely to call at
any other time。
'Yes；' said Mrs。 Hooper。 'He's coming this day week to stay with a
friend near here till you leave。 He'll be sure to call。'
Marchmill did return quite early in the afternoon； and； opening some
letters which had arrived in his absence； declared suddenly that he
and his family would have to leave a week earlier than they had
expected to doin short； in three days。
'Surely we can stay a week longer？' she pleaded。 'I like it here。'
'I don't。 It is getting rather slow。'
'Then you might leave me and the children！'
'How perverse you are； Ell！ What's the use？ And have to come to
fetch you！ No： we'll all return together； and we'll make out our
time in North Wales or Brighton a little later on。 Besides； you've
three days longer yet。'
It seemed to be her doom not to meet the man for whose rival talent
she had a despairing admiration； and to whose person she was now
absolutely attached。 Yet she determined to make a last effort； and
having gathered from her landlady that Trewe was living in a lonely
spot not far from the fashionable town on the Island opposite； she
crossed over in the packet from the neighbouring pier the following
afternoon。
What a useless journey it was！ Ella knew but vaguely where the
house stood； and when she fancied she had found it； and ventured to
inquire of a pedestrian if he lived there； the answer returned by
the man was that he did not know。 And if he did live there； how
could she call upon him？ Some women might have the assurance to do
it； but she had not。 How crazy he would think her。 She might have
asked him to call upon her； perhaps； but she had not the courage for
that； either。 She lingered mournfully about the picturesque seaside
eminence till it was time to return to the town and enter the
steamer for recrossing； reaching home for dinner without having been
greatly missed。
At the last moment； unexpectedly enough； her husband said that he
should have no objection to letting her and the children stay on
till the end of the week； since she wished to do so； if she felt
herself able to get home without him。 She concealed the pleasure
this extension of time gave her； and Marchmill went off the next
morning alone。
But the week passed； and Trewe did not call。
On Saturday morning the remaining members of the Marchmill family
departed from the place which had been productive of so much fervour
in her。 The dreary； dreary train； the sun shining in moted beams
upon the hot cushions； the dusty permanent way； the mean rows of
wirethese things were her accompaniment： while out of the window
the deep blue sea…levels disappeared from her gaze； and with them
her poet's home。 Heavy…hearted； she tried to read； and wept
instead。
Mr。 Marchmill was in a thr