I then
went to Wilderspin's studio, and found, to my surprise and relief,
that he and Cyril had returned from Paris. I learnt from the servant
that Wilderspin had just gone to call on Cyril; accordingly to
Cyril's studio I went.
'He is engaged with the Gypsy-model, sir,' said Cyril's man, pointing
to the studio door, which was ajar. 'He told me that if ever you
should call you were to be admitted at once. Mr. Wilderspin is there
too.'
'You need not announce me,' I said, as I pushed open the door.
Entering the studio, I found myself behind a tall easel where Cyril
was at work. I was concealed from him, and also from Wilderspin and
Sinfi. On my left stood Cyril's caricature of Wilderspin's 'Faith and
Love,' upon which the light from a window was falling aslant!
Before I could pass round the easel into the open space I was
arrested by overhearing a conversation between Cyril, Sinfi, and
Wilderspin.
They were talking about _her_!
With my eyes fixed on Cyril's caricature on my left hand; I stood,
every nerve in my body seeming to listen to the talk, while the veil
of the goddess-queen in the caricature appeared to become
illuminated; the tragedy of our love (from the spectacle of her
father's dead body shining in the moonlight, with a cross on his
breast, down to the hideous-grotesque scene of the woman at the
corner of Essex Street) appeared to be represented on the veil of the
mocking queen in little pictures of scorching flame.
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