第39章

touchedit。”

But，totheincreasedastonishmentofAnnie，whenthetipofher

father’sfingerwaspressedagainstthatofherhusband，onwhich

thebutterflystillrested，theinsectdroopeditswings，andseemed

onthepointoffallingtothefloor。Eventhebrightspotsofgold

uponitswingsandbody，unlesshereyesdeceivedher，grewdim，and

theglowingpurpletookaduskyhue，andthestarrylustrethat

gleamedaroundtheblacksmith’shandbecamefaint，andvanished。

“Itisdying！itisdying！”criedAnnie，inalarm。

“Ithasbeendelicatelywrought。”saidtheartist，calmly。“AsI

toldyou，ithasimbibedaspiritualessence-callitmagnetism，or

whatyouwill。Inanatmosphereofdoubtandmockery，itsexquisite

susceptibilitysufferstorture，asdoesthesoulofhimwho

instilledhisownlifeintoit。Ithasalreadylostitsbeauty；ina

fewmomentsmore，itsmechanismwouldbeirreparablyinjured。”

“Takeawayyourhand，father！”entreatedAnnie，turningpale。“Here

ismychild；letitrestonhisinnocenthand。There，perhaps，its

lifewillrevive，anditscolorsgrowbrighterthanever。”

Herfather，withanacridsmile，withdrewhisfinger。Thebutterfly

thenappearedtorecoverthepowerofvoluntarymotion；whileitshues

assumedmuchoftheiroriginallustre，andthegleamofstarlight，

whichwasitsmostetherealattribute，againformedahaloroundabout

it。Atfirst，whentransferredfromRobertDanforth’shandtothe

smallfingerofthechild，thisradiancegrewsopowerfulthatit

positivelythrewthelittlefellow’sshadowbackagainstthewall。He，

meanwhile，extendedhisplumphandashehadseenhisfatherand

motherdo，andwatchedthewavingoftheinsect’swingswithinfantine

delight。Nevertheless，therewasacertainoddexpressionofsagacity，

thatmadeOwenWarlandfeelasifherewereoldPeterHovenden，

partially，andbutpartially，redeemedfromhishardscepticisminto

childishfaith。

“Howwisethelittlemonkeylooks！”whisperedRobertDanforthto

hiswife。

“Ineversawsuchalookonachild’sface。”answeredAnnie，

admiringherowninfant，andwithgoodreason，farmorethanthe

artisticbutterfly。“Thedarlingknowsmoreofthemysterythanwe

do。”

Asifthebutterfly，liketheartist，wereconsciousofsomething

notentirelycongenialinthechild’snature，italternately

sparkledandgrewdim。Atlength，itarosefromthesmallhandof

theinfantwithanairymotion，thatseemedtobearitupward

withoutaneffort；asiftheetherealinstincts，withwhichits

master’sspirithadendowedit，impelledthisfairvision

involuntarilytoahighersphere。Hadtherebeennoobstruction，it

mighthavesoaredintothesky，andgrownimmortal。Butitslustre

gleamedupontheceiling；theexquisitetextureofitswingsbrushed

againstthatearthlymedium；andasparkleortwo，asifstardust，

floateddownwardandlayglimmeringonthecarpet。Thenthe

butterflycameflutteringdown，and，insteadofreturningtothe

infant，wasapparentlyattractedtowardstheartist’shand。

“Notso，notso！”murmuredOwenWarland，asifhishandiwork

couldhaveunderstoodhim。“Thouhastgoneforthoutofthymaster’s

heart。Thereisnoreturnforthee！”

Withawaveringmovement，andemittingatremulousradiance，the

butterflystruggled，asitwere，towardstheinfant，andwasabout

toalightuponhisfinger。B