I daresay he has heard that Mr. Davenport is
dead, and thinks he sees an opportunity to be taken into partnership. He had a horrid face--sly and cunning, and his way of looking at me
was positively disgusting. It makes me feel sick and horrid even to
think of it." "What shall we do with these things?" John Martin asked, picking up
one of the watches and eyeing it with curiosity. "Are they ours?" Gladys replied. "I certainly consider we've a right to keep them," her father said,
"since we've found them ourselves on our own property, but I suppose,
legally, they are treasure trove and ought to be given up." "Then surely the Government would pay us something for them, wouldn't
it?" "I should think so, at least a decent Government would. Anyhow, I
think to give them up will be our best course. I doubt if the whole
lot is worth fifty pounds. Where was it he said there was water?" "Good gracious!" Gladys exclaimed, "you don't mean to say you are
going to bother about that now!" "It was here, I think," John Martin went on, thrusting his stick in
the ground, "to the best of my knowledge--and I had experts'
advice--there is no water any where near here. Had there been, I
should not have gone to the expense of having pipes laid down to feed
the pond." "Oh, Father, how can you be so silly," Gladys cried, "of course there
isn't any water here. It's only a trick, a trick to frighten you--and
I'm beginning to think it has succeeded." "I shall try here anyway to-morrow," John Martin said grimly. "Let us
go in now." When Gladys went into the garden on the following morning she beheld
an extraordinary sight. Her father, the gardener, and a man whom she
did not recognize at first, as his back was turned towards her, but
who, to her utter astonishment, proved to be Shiel Davenport, were
hard at work, digging a pit. Her father paused every now and then, and rested; but he did not allow
the others a moment's respite. Every time they were about to slack, he
urged them on. It was all very well for the gardener who was
accustomed to it, but it was obviously killing work for Shiel
Davenport, and Gladys--as soon as she had overcome a preliminary
outburst of laughter--gave vent to her sympathies. "What a shame," she exclaimed, "Father how can you? Poor Mr. Davenport
looks ready to drop. Take a rest, Mr. Davenport! Do--you have my
permission." Looking very hot and exhausted, Shiel Davenport threw down his spade
and attempted to make himself presentable. "His clothes will be ruined, Father," Gladys said, indignantly. "They're not his clothes--he's wearing an old suit of mine," John
Martin explained, trying to appear unconcerned. Shiel forced a laugh. "I'm rather out of form, Miss Martin, I haven't
had much exercise lately." "You're getting it now anyway," John Martin chuckled. "And it's blistered your hands horribly!" Gladys cried, pointing to
several raw places. "I will fetch you a pair of father's gloves--he's
a brute!" "Please don't trouble," Shiel exclaimed, "I'll use my handkerchief
instead. Digging is even harder work than painting--in one way." "It's not fit work for you," Gladys replied with another reproachful
glance at her father. "When did you arrive, I never heard you?" "I 'phoned to him last night," John Martin said, looking rather
sheepish. "I thought a day out here would do him good. He thought so
too, and came on by the seven o'clock train. We've been digging ever
since breakfast--but a bit of exercise won't hurt him, and I'll give
him plenty of vaseline presently." They resumed work again; and Gladys retired indoors. At eleven o'clock
John Martin let Shiel go. "You can amuse yourself till luncheon with
books and papers," he said, "you'll find plenty of them in my study. I'll join you later." But Shiel had other ideas of amusing himself, and as soon as he had
washed and changed back into his own clothes, he followed the sounds
of music until he reached the drawing-room. "I'm sure you must feel dreadfully tired," Gladys said, leaving off
playing. "It was too bad of Father to make you work like that." "I'm afraid your father thinks me a very useless article," Shiel
replied, seating himself in an easy chair, and trying his hardest not
to look too ardently. "And an artist is not much good outside his
profession." "Who is?" Gladys smiled. "Shall you still go on painting?" "Now that my uncle has died? It all depends--depends on whether he has
been able to leave me anything in his will. From one or two things
your father has said I fear he has not--in which case I don't quite
know what I shall do. I could hardly expect Mr. Martin to take me into
his firm." "Aren't you any good at invention?" Gladys asked, "I know he wants
some one who is--some one who can help him devise fresh tricks. This
everlasting racking of the brains to think of something new is
beginning to be too much for him." "I wish I could be of some use," Shiel said, "both for his sake and
mine, and may I add yours. Anyhow I'll try. I have a certain amount of
imagination--I suppose most artists have, and henceforth I'll devote
it to trickery." "No, not to trickery!" Gladys said, "to conjuring!" "Well, to conjuring then--to planning something novel and startling in
the way of a trick. And as they say, two heads are better than one,
perhaps, you will help me." "I," Gladys laughed, "why I've never invented anything in my life,
barring a song." "Nevertheless I'm sure you would be of great help to me," Shiel said;
"you would at least criticize my efforts, wouldn't you?" "Oh! I should certainly do that," Gladys laughingly rejoined, "and
probably do more harm than good." "You could never do any harm!" Shiel said, with so much eagerness that
Gladys got up and began searching for a piece of music. "I would give
anything to paint you." "I have been painted--twice," Gladys observed. "For the R.A.?" "Yes! I didn't much care about it, and I grew desperately tired of
sitting." "Who painted you?" "Heniblow painted me once, and Darker painted me once." "Then it's useless for me even to think of it. How did they treat you
in their pictures?" "Heniblow painted me in evening dress, and Darker painted me in the
character of Enid--you know, the Enid in the 'Idylls of the King.'" "Yes. But I should like to paint you as 'Melody in Flower Land.'" "I'm afraid I can't grasp it," Gladys said. "Can't you!" Shiel exclaimed, "I can. The idea came to me when I heard
you singing just now, and saw you sitting here, in the midst of
flowers, and dressed like a rose. I should paint you clad as you are
now--all in pink--seated in the garden singing; and all the flowers
leaning towards you listening. I would give anything to paint it," and
he spoke with such enthusiasm that Gladys, remembering her dream,
flushed. "I think," she said, "we might go into the garden and see how the work
is progressing." "I fear I can't do any more digging," Shiel put in hastily, "I
willingly would if I could, but I really can't use my hands."