or invisible--to her, he is
always there. In her arms she holds"--the low murmur of chords ceased;
there was perfect silence in the room-"a little child. It is called:
'The Mother.'"

The Veni burst forth in an unrestrained upbearing of confident petition:

"Keep far our foes; give peace at home"--and the door closed behind
Nurse Rosemary.

CHAPTER XXVIII

IN THE STUDIO

Jane mounted to the studio; unlocked the door, and, entering, closed it
after her.

The evening sun shone through a western window, imparting an added
richness to the silk screens and hangings; the mauve wistaria of a
Japanese embroidery; or the golden dragon of China on a deep purple
ground, wound up in its own interminable tail, and showing rampant
claws in unexpected places.

Several times already Jane had been into Garth's studio, but always to
fetch something for which he waited eagerly below; and she had never
felt free to linger. Margery had a duplicate key; for she herself went
up every day to open the windows, dust tenderly all special treasures;
and keep it exactly as its owner had liked it kept, when his quick eyes
could look around it. But this key was always on Margery's bunch; and
Jane did not like to ask admission, and risk a possible refusal.

Now, however, she could take her own time; and she seated herself in
one of the low and very deep wicker lounge-chairs, comfortably
upholstered; so exactly fitting her proportions, and supporting arms,
knees, and head, just rightly, that it seemed as if all other chairs
would in future appear inadequate, owing to the absolute perfection of
this one. Ah, to be just that to her beloved! To so fully meet his
need, at every point, that her presence should be to him always a
source of strength, and rest, and consolation.

She looked around the room. It was so like Garth; every detail perfect;
every shade of colour enhancing another, and being enhanced by it. The
arrangements for regulating the light, both from roof and windows; the
easels of all kinds and sizes; clean bareness, where space, and freedom
from dust, were required; the luxurious comfort round the fireplace,
and in nooks and corners; all were so perfect. And the plain brown
wall-paper, of that beautiful quiet shade which has in it no red, and
no yellow; a clear nut-brown. On an easel near the further window stood
an unfinished painting; palette and brushes beside it, just as Garth
had left them when he went out on that m