quenched in spirit.



CHAPTER V



It was about the close of the month, that, yielding at length to
the urgent importunities of Rose, I accompanied her in a visit to
Wildfell Hall. To our surprise, we were ushered into a room where
the first object that met the eye was a painter's easel, with a
table beside it covered with rolls of canvas, bottles of oil and
varnish, palette, brushes, paints, &c. Leaning against the wall
were several sketches in various stages of progression, and a few
finished paintings - mostly of landscapes and figures.

'I must make you welcome to my studio,' said Mrs. Graham; 'there is
no fire in the sitting-room to-day, and it is rather too cold to
show you into a place with an empty grate.'

And disengaging a couple of chairs from the artistical lumber that
usurped them, she bid us be seated, and resumed her place beside
the easel - not facing it exactly, but now and then glancing at the
picture upon it while she conversed, and giving it an occasional
touch with her brush, as if she found it impossible to wean her
attention entirely from her occupation to fix it upon her guests.
It was a view of Wildfell Hall, as seen at early morning from the
field below, rising in dark relief against a sky of clear silvery
blue, with a few red streaks on the horizon, faithfully drawn and