Sibyll, meanwhile, seated herself abstractedly on
a heap of fagots piled in the corner, and seemed busy
in framing characters on the dusty floor with the
point of her tiny slipper. So fresh and fair
and young she seemed, in that murky atmosphere, that
strange scene, and beside that worn man, that it might
have seemed to a poet as if the youngest of the Graces
were come to visit Mulciber at his forge.
The man pursued his work, the girl renewed her dreams,
the dark evening hour gradually stealing over both.
The silence was unbroken, for the forge and the model
were now at rest, save by the grating of Adam’s
file upon the metal, or by some ejaculation of complacency
now and then vented by the enthusiast. So, apart
from the many-noised, gaudy, babbling world without,
even in the midst of that bloody, turbulent, and semi-barbarous
time, went on (the one neglected and unknown, the
other loathed and hated) the two movers of the all
that continues the airy life of the Beautiful from
age to age,—the Woman’s dreaming
Fancy and the Man’s active Genius.
CHAPTER II.
MasterAdamWarnergrows A miser,
andbehavesshamefully.
For two or three days nothing disturbed the outward
monotony of the recluse’s household. Apparently
all had settled back as before the advent of the young
cavalier. But Sibyll’s voice was not heard
singing, as of old, when she passed the stairs to her
father’s room. She sat with him in his
work no less frequently and regularly than before;
but her childish spirits no longer broke forth in idle
talk or petulant movements, vexing the good man from
his absorption and his toils. The little cares
and anxieties, which had formerly made up so much
of Sibyll’s day by forethought of provision for
the morrow, were suspended; for the money transmitted
to her by Alwyn in return for the emblazoned manuscripts
was sufficient to supply their modest wants for months
to come. Adam, more and more engrossed in his
labours, did not appear to perceive the daintier plenty
of his board, nor the purchase of some small comforts
unknown for years. He only said one morning,
“It is strange, girl, that as that gathers in
life (and he pointed to the model), it seems already
to provide, to my fantasy, the luxuries it will one
day give to us all in truth. Methought my very
bed last night seemed wondrous easy, and the coverings
were warmer, for I woke not with the cold.”
“Ah,” thought the sweet daughter, smiling
through moist eyes, “while my cares can smooth
thy barren path through life, why should I cark and
pine?”
