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[Illustration]
1901
It may seem a somewhat Irish method of beginning the story of "TwoYears Ago" by a scene which happened but a month since. And yet, willnot the story be on that very account a better type of many a man'sown experiences! How few of us had learnt the meaning of "Two YearsAgo," until this late quiet autumn time; and till Christmas, too, withits gaps in the old ring of friendly faces, never to be filled upagain on earth, began to teach us somewhat of its lesson.
Two years ago, while pestilence was hovering over us and ours; whilethe battle-roar was ringing in our ears; who had time to think, to askwhat all that meant; to seek for the deep lesson which we knew mustlie beneath? Two years ago was the time for work; for men to do withall their might whatsoever their hands found to do. But now the stormhas lulled once more; the air has cleared awhile, and we can talkcalmly over all the wonders of that sudden, strange, and sad "Twoyears ago."
So felt, at least, two friends who went down, just one week beforeChristmas-day, to Whitbury, in Berkshire. Two years ago had come toone of them, as to thousands more, the crisis of his life; and he wastalking of it with his companion; and was on his way, too, to learnmore of that story, which this book contains, and in which he hadborne his part.
They were both of them men who would at first sight interest astranger. The shorter of the two he might have seen before—at picturesales, Royal Academy meetings, dinner parties, evening parties,anywhere and everywhere, in town; for Claude Mellot is a generalfavourite, and a general guest.
He is a tiny, delicate-featured man, with a look of half-lazyenthusiasm about his beautiful face, which reminds you much ofShelley's portrait; only he has what Shelley had not, clusteringauburn curls, and a rich brown beard, soft as silk. You set himdown at once as a man of delicate susceptibility, sweetness,thoughtfulness; probably (as he actually is) an artist.
His companion is a man of statelier stamp, tall, dark, and handsome,with a very large forehead; if the face has a fault, it is that themouth is too small; that, and the expression of face too, and thetone of voice, seem to indicate over-refinement, possibly a tooaristocratic exclusiveness. He is dressed like a very fine gentlemanindeed, and looks and talks like one. Aristocrat, however, in thecommon sense of the word, he is not; for he is a native of the ModelRepublic, and sleeping-partner in a great New York merchant firm.
He is chatting away to Claude Mellot, the artist, about Frémont'selection; and on that point seems to be earnest enough, though patientand moderate.
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