And now it was gone--lost, as it seemed, beyond hope; and that
which was left to me was but the empty frame from which the picture had
vanished.
I have no idea how long I stood rooted to the spot where she had left
me, wrapped in a dull consciousness of pain, immersed in a half-numb
reverie. Recent events flitted, dream-like, through my mind; our happy
labours in the reading-room; our first visit to the Museum; and this
present day that had opened so brightly and with such joyous promise.
One by one these phantoms of a vanished happiness came and went.
Occasional visitors sauntered into the room--but the galleries were
mostly empty that day--gazed inquisitively at my motionless figure, and
went their way. And still the dull, intolerable ache in my breast went
on, the only vivid consciousness that was left to me.
Presently I raised my eyes and met those of the portrait. The sweet,
pensive face of the old Greek settler looked out at me wistfully as
though he would offer comfort; as though he would tell me that he, too,
had known sorrow when he lived his life in the sunny Fayyum.
Pages:
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369