Yes, I knew that
she was now neither a beggar in the street, nor a prisoner in one of
the dens of London, nor starving in a squalid garret, but was safe
under the sheltering protection of a good man. I knew that I had only
to pass between those folding-doors to see her in Wilderspin's
picture--see her dressed in the 'azure-coloured tunic bordered with
stars,' and the upper garment of the 'colour of the moon at
moonrise,' which Wilderspin had so vividly described in Wales; and
yet, paralysed by expectation, I could not stir.
III
Soon I was conscious that my mother, Sleaford, and Wilderspin were
standing by my side, that Wilderspin's hand was laid on my arm, and
that I was pointing at the predella--pointing and muttering,
'She lives! She is saved.'
My mother led me into the other studio, and I stood before the great
picture. Wilderspin and Sleaford, feeling that something had occurred
of a private and delicate nature, lingered out of hearing in the
smaller studio.
'I must be taken to her at once,' I muttered to my mother; 'at once.
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