Through the screen of alder and grape and willow
and virgin's-bower the sunlight fell, as through the delicate traceries of
a cathedral window. The bright waters of the spring, softly held by the
green sod, crept away under the living wall, without a sound; but the deep
murmur of the distant, larger stream, reached the place like the low
tones of some great organ. A few regularly placed stones, where once had
stood the family spring-house; with the names, initials, hearts and dates
carved upon the smooth bark of the alders--now grown over and almost
obliterated--seemed to fill the spot with ghostly memories.
All that afternoon, the artist remained in the little retreat. The next
day, equipped with easel, canvas and paint-box, he went again to the
glade--determined to make a picture of the charming scene.
For a month, now, uninterrupted by the distractions of social obligations
or the like, Aaron King had been subjected to influences that had aroused
the creative passion of his artist soul to its highest pitch. With his
genius clamoring for expression, he had denied himself the medium that was
his natural language. Forbidding his friend to accompany him, he worked
now in the spring glade with a delight--with an ecstasy--that he had
seldom, before, felt.
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