Woman and Artist

"My plan is working well," said Lorimer; "I will give the signal to Philip. Be careful that she does not enter this room until everything is ready."

The doctor nodded assent, as he opened Dora's door and disappeared inside.

Philip came upstairs, trembling like a culprit. When he looked around and took in the details of the poor studio, which was such a faithful copy of another dear to both, he could not restrain his emotion. All that Dora had kept back from his knowledge, this pathetic room revealed to him. He had difficulty in keeping back his tears.

"Dora is there," whispered Lorimer, pointing to the room.

"Ah, she is there!"

He stepped softly over on tiptoe. Through the door of this room, the heart of Philip sent a message to Dora: "If a man's devotion can revive a woman's long-lost smile, and redeem the wrong that he has thoughtlessly inflicted, you shall live joyously once more, cherished and adored. The remainder of my life shall be consecrated to your happiness."

Dr. Templeton came into the studio, and announced that Dora was sleeping.

"To tell you the truth," said he to Lorimer, "your plan frightened me somewhat at first. I was afraid that the shock might be a little too much for our fragile patient. She is far from strong, she has been overtaxing her strength, and the emotions of this day, followed up by such a scene as you have planned, would, I feared, be a heavy strain to subject her to. However, I have just carefully sounded her heart, and, thank Heaven, I feel relieved. It is beating regularly enough now, and I think we can, in all security, try the little manœuvre you suggest. It is a trifle melodramatic perhaps, but an excellent idea for all that."

"Well, then, to work at once," said Lorimer. "Let us proceed to make this room a still more faithful copy of the St. John's Wood studio than Dora has done, by adding to it the artist himself."

Philip, docile as a child in the hands of these two friends, lent himself to the scheme, and did exactly as he was bid. He began by taking off his coat and donning his working jacket, then, palette and brush in hand, he seated himself on the stool in front of the easel that bore the portrait of Dora.

"Perfect," said Lorimer, who surveyed every detail, as if he had been superintending a rehearsal of one of his plays. "If I am successful to-day, this scene will be my chef-d'œuvre."

Dr. Templeton went to Dora's room and found her sleeping soundly.

"She sleeps still," he said, as he rejoined the others; "do not let us disturb her. When she wakens, Hobbs is going to let me know, and I will go in and fetch her."

They remained talking together in hushed tones for about twenty minutes. Hobbs opened the door, and made a sign to signify that the patient was awake.

Immediately Dr. Templeton rose and went to the bedroom, while Lorimer lowered the blinds and darkened the studio, so that nothing could be clearly distinguished. Philip again took up his position at the easel.

"As soon as ever the room gets lighter, work away at the picture, so as to give the impression that you are finishing it, and take no notice of anything else around you… Hush, I think I hear her coming!"

Sounds were heard coming from Dora's room.

The door was opened slowly.

"Now then, attention!" whispered Lorimer, "and quite steady, please, as the photographers say."

The doctor led in Dora, followed by Hobbs.

"How dark it is!" said Dora; "have I slept a long while? Mr. Lorimer is gone, I suppose?"

Lorimer was watching from behind a screen the working out of his stratagem.

"Dear Mrs. Grantham," said Dr. Templeton, "I am going to make a particular request of you. I want to try an experiment. Just to please me, would you mind taking this palette and these brushes, and seating yourself in front of that easel?"

The reader remembers that Dora had placed, side by side, in her poor room, the two easels that had so stood in Philip's studio.

"It is not exactly a favour I ask, it is a prescription that I have great faith in for you, and that may have great results – I beg of you!"

"Why, of course, with pleasure," said Dora, allowing herself to be drawn towards the second easel.

"Now, mix your colours and prepare to do some painting."

"But what shall I mix?" demanded Dora; "I am only too willing to obey."

"Oh, never mind what – I am making a little experiment with you – that is all; I will tell you later on more about it – come, you can't refuse me.

"But, my dear doctor, the room is too dark; I cannot see; is it evening already?"

"You are right. I will give you some more light."

Little by little, the doctor raised the blind. Philip did not stir. Faithful to his instructions, as soon as the light was let in, he began assiduously using his brush.

Dora, languid and ignoring all that was taking place around her, was mechanically mixing her colours, while waiting for Dr. Templeton to tell her that he had finished his experiment, and that she might rise from her seat. The room was now quite light.

"Well, doctor," said she, "is it over?" She turned round, and saw Philip at work on the portrait, and absorbed in his occupation, as he had been in the dear old days gone by. Palette and pencils fell from her hands. She gazed silent and breathless. She took her head in both hands, as if to assure herself that she was awake and not dreaming.

Philip turned with an imploring look in his eyes. Then, laying down his brush and palette, he rose slowly and stood with open arms.

Dora uttered one cry, "Philip!" and, sobbing with joy, she buried her face in her husband's breast.

"Dora, my Dora!" repeated Philip, caressing the beautiful head that lay once more in his embrace.

They remained for several minutes, oblivious of everything around, united in a new-found exquisite bliss.

Hobbs ran to hide her own tears and emotions in the bedroom of her beloved mistress.

"Well, my dear doctor," said Lorimer, "we have had an afternoon's work, but it has been successful, eh?"

"Yes," replied Dr. Templeton, "she is saved."

"And now I am going to wind up the old clock and set it going once more," said Lorimer.

This done, the two men softly stole out of the studio.

And the old clock, with its good, round, cheery face, seemed to smile at Philip and Dora, while its tick-tack said, as plainly as could be, "Here are the good days come again, and I will count their hours for you."