Life — December 26, 1895 — page 27: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

» LIFE : 9 physical resemblance was striking. Both were tall and slight, with narrow faces, long noses and pointed chins. Their eyes were of the same shade of blue, and upon both heads the stiff, straight hair was alike except that with the older man the original straw-color had faded to a yellowish gray. Butacloser look at the two faces revealed a funda- mental difference in expression. With the grandfather there were unmistakable indications of an unamiable and aggres- sive spirit, and of that despotic intolerance that is so often the result of long habits of authority. The old man himself was not aware of these distinctions, and it gave him con- stant pleasure to believe, as he looked upon the frank, sunny face of his grandson, that the only difference was that of years, Whereas the youth, although taking no pride in his own appearance, felt a mild regret that as an older man he should look precisely like his grandfather. But these fears were unfounded. In him were the well-springs of undying youth which years can never dry. “ How is your foot, grandfather? Any better?” “No. Yes, perhaps it is. Did you write to your mother?” “Yes, sir. Four pages.” “And probably forgot everything she wants to know.” “No, sir, not everything. I told her about——" “Oh, that’s all right. Don’t tell me for I know it already.” And he shook his head in a manner that was intended to convey the impression of a playful spirit. Seeing a promis- ing condition for experiment the young man ventured his question, “ Grandfather, who is that pretty girl in the old-fashioned hat above the library mantel? I never saw a more inter- esting face.” The tyrannical blue eyes rested upon his own for an in- stant, as if in indecision. ‘“ She is an English girl | knew a long time ago, when I was your age. We were great friends, and day after to-morrow when you leave | shall give you a letter to her. She and her daughter live a little way from London, And when you get to England next month | want you to go there whether you feel like it or not.” “ Allright, sir. [ promise. And did she give you that life-size painting of herself?” “Ye “She must have been very fond of you.” “ Possibly.” There was a pause, during which they both looked out the window, over the orchard to the meadows beyond. A happy thought entered the head of the investigator. P haps this daughter was the image of her mother! He he: tated, then asked: “ Is there more than one daughter ? “Only one.” Then in an offhand, indifferent way : ble the portrait?” “Not at all. She is rather pretty, but she may have changed. It is forty years since I saw her.” Cyrus Harding felt himself a broken-hearted man; and a very foolish one. “ Oh, of course. * Stupid ? “ Does she resem- How stupid.” Why stupid?” There was a blush on the grandson's face, and he turned it toward the window. “1 was only thinking she was younger.” There was another pause, and each seemed lost in his separate revery. At last the younger man, whose thoughts were still with the portrait, asked, in a gentle, somewhat absent manner, his eyes still fixed upon the meadows : “ Were you in love with each other?” As no answer came, he looked toward his ancestor, and he realized his mistake. The chin was raised, the lips com- pressed, two hostile eyes were fixed coldly upon him, while nervous fingers tapped angrily upon the table. “Cyrus,” he said slowly, in a voice tremulous with sup- pressed wrath, “if you live a hundred years longer you may learn that a little tact is a more gentlemanly quality than your brazen impudence. Try it.” He waved his hand as if to end the interview. The young man rose and stammered an apology as he moved toward the door; he said he spoke without thinking and was sincerely sorry to have given offence. “That is all right,” said the old gentleman, with a per- functory, unforgiving smile ; “1 was hasty myself. Excuse me.” Two hours later, after his lonely supper, he strolled out into the garden, which was also lonely, and where all the “He STROLLEO DREAMILY AvoUT THE Ovo GaRDex.” comicbooks.com