if it were only to feel
once more the overwhelming spirit of the mysterious goddess of the
golden cestus? In silence they walked side by side over the bridge.
Half-way across, they stopped and looked up the river. The tide was
running in with a swift current, and the broad river was nearly at the
full; the strong September sun fell upon the water, which was broken
into little waves under a fresh breeze meeting the current from the
north-west. There were lighters and barges majestically creeping up
stream, some with brown three-cornered sails set in the bows and
stern, some slowly moving with the tide, their bows kept steady by
long oars, and some, lashed one to the other, forming a long train,
and pulled along by a noisy little tug, all paddle wheel and engine.
There was a sculler vigorously practicing for his next race, and
dreaming, perhaps, of sending a challenge to Hanlan; there were some
boys in a rowing-boat, laughing and splashing each other; on the north
bank there was the garden of the Embankment, with its young trees
still green, for the summer lasted into late September this year, and,
beyond, the red brick tower of the old church, with its flag post on
the top. These details are never so carefully marked as when one is
anxious, and fully absorbed in things of great importance. Perhaps
Arnold had crossed the bridge a hundred times before, but to day, for
the first time, he noticed the common things of the river. One may be
an artist, and yet may miss the treasures that lie at the very feet.
This is a remark which occurs to one with each new Academy Show. With
every tide the boats go up and down with their brown sails, and always
the tower of Chelsea Church rises above the trees, and the broad river
never forgets to sparkle and to glow in the sunshine when it gets the
chance. Such common things are for the most part unheeded, but, when
the mind is anxious and full, they force themselves upon one. Arnold
watched boats, and river, and sunshine on the sails, with a strange
interest and wonder, as one sees visions in a dream. He had seen all
these things before, yet now he noticed them for the first time, and
all the while he was thinking what he should say to Iris, and how he
should approach the subject. I know not whether Iris, like him, saw
one thing and noticed another. The thoughts of a maiden, as Lala Roy
said, are secret thoughts. She looked upon the river from the bridge
with Arnold. When he turned, she tur