th hope, the cloud over our lives seemed
silvering at the edges, and he was sanguine that his picture would
compel recognition, and bring him fame, which in art means food.
But Earl Palma had resolved otherwise. It was our misfortune, that in
my haste to see the picture, I neglected my usual precautionary
measures to elude suspicion, and your guardian tracked me to the
attic, where the finishing touches were being put on. Unluckily
Belmont was never a favourite among the artists, and he explained to
me that it was because he was proud, reticent, and held himself aloof
from their club life and social haunts. Taking advantage of his
personal unpopularity, your magnanimous guardian organized a cabal
against him. No sooner was the painting exhibited, than a tirade of
ridicule and abuse was poured upon it, and the journal most
influential in forming and directing artistic taste, contained an
overwhelmingly adverse criticism, which was written by a particular
friend and chum of Erle Palma, who, I am convinced, caused its
preparation. Oh, Regina! it was a cruel, cruel stab, that entered my
darling's noble tender heart, and almost maddened him. In literature,
savage criticism defeats its own unamiable purpose, by promoting the
sale of books it is designed to crush; but unfortunately this law
does not often operate in the department of painting. In a fit of
gloomy despondency, Belmont offered his lovely work for a mere
trifle, but the picture dealers declined to touch it at any price,
and rashly cutting it from the frame, he threw the labour of years
into the flames. Meantime grand-mamma had died, and Belmont's mother
became hopelessly bedridden, while his young brother had made his way
to Europe, where he occupied a menial position in a sculptor's
_atelier_ at Florence. A more rigid surveillance was exerted over me,
and the dancing dervishes crowned me queen of their revels. By day
and by night I was surrounded with influence intended to beguile me
from the past, to narcotize memory, to make me in reality the
heartless, soulless, scoffing creature that I certainly seem. But
Erle Palma has found me stiff tough clay, and despite his efforts, I
have been true to the one love of my life. What I have suffered, none
but the listening watching God above us knows; and sometimes I
despise and loathe myself for the miserable subterfuges I am forced
to practise in order to elude my keepers. Poor mamma loves me, after
a selfish worldly