The Argosy — page 370: what you’re looking at

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

298 Sabrina. Sabrina stood on a platform, dressed in a long, straight robe of some shimmering white stuff, which Miles had given her; her long hair was. loose over her shoulders. She looked the poem, for she felt it, and the meaning grew upon her till once or twice her tears fell. “‘ Beautiful,” cried Miles. ‘ Sabrina, fancy yourself on the verge of heaven, and myself the fellow you are grieving for.” In his enthusiasm he sometimes forgot that his model was mortal. I told him so one day. ** Poor little girl,” said he, penitently ; “do tell me when you are tired.” But she never did: indeed she assured‘’'me that the garret was a haven of rest after “those boys.” One morning I looked up from my work and caught an expression on her face which startled me. She was looking at the painter with a tender yearning in her eyes and lovely sorrowful lines round her mouth. Of this she was profoundly unconscious; so was he. A fragrance filled the gloom of the quiet place ; it came from the lilies on her arm. She had gathered them early, with the dew on them. At noon we paused and came down from artistic heights to luncheon, which had been brought to us at my request. The rapt look passed from Sabrina’s face. The artist saw the change, but the man did not perceivé the cause. “‘ What a splendid actress you would make, Sabrina,” said he, eyeing her critically. ‘What do you mean, Miles ? ” “You transform yourself so completely! You will make me ~ famous.” She never thought that it would be her face and form that the world would gaze at; nor did he, for he ‘lived but for his art, a goddess austere to so many, but to him kind as Dian to Endymion. As for Sabrina—well, it is no new thing ; the skiff of her soul was anchored against a shore dangerous but beautiful, in a land where “it seems always afternoon,” so mellow is the light, so soft the air. Sabrina was not yet fully grown to her womanhood, and _ perhaps it was just as well that Miles did not notice that he had disturbed the balance of her nature. So a veil hung between them: and I longed for the picture to be finished lest it should be torn away. I thought once that the revelation had come. Margery had gone on a round of calls with John, and the picture being well on, we had taken a holiday and stolen out through the fields, where the great ox- eye daisies flung themselves against our knees, and so on to the river into which the brook flowed. Here we found a bower formed by trails of ivy, that hung like a curtain between wild cherry trees. The boys had happily been occupied with a rat hunt in the stables, so we were alone. Miles read us “ The Stream’s Secret.” We read a good deal of Rossetti just then. ECONMCOOOKS.CO