This carcass, with its shaky machinery and
defective breathing apparatus, is the prison. I look out of the window till
the walls crumble away--"
"And then?" asked one Paul Tarrant, a painter who prided himself on being a
Christian as well.
"Then, the spark which I call myself, goes back to Nature, as the cloud
gives the raindrop back to the sea from whence the sun drew it."
"A lie, man!" answered the other hotly.
"Perhaps. It matters nothing. God--if there be a God--will not blame me for
making a mistake. Meantime I live like the rook and the thrush. They never
pray, they praise, they sing 'grace before meat' and after it, as Nature
taught them."
"A simple child of Nature--beautiful spectacle," said Brady. "But I'm sorry
all the same," he continued, "that you've found nothing in Cornwall to keep
you here and make you do some work. You talk an awful deal of rot, but we
want to see you paint. Isn't there anything or anybody worthy of you here?"
"As a matter of face, I've found a girl," said Barron.
There was a clamor of excitement at this news, above which Brady's bull
voice roared approval.
"Proud girl, proud parents, proud Newlyn!" he bellowed.
"The mood ripens too," continued Barren quietly. "'Sacrifice all the world
to mood' is my motto. So I shall stop and paint."
A moment later derisive laughter greeted Barron's decision, for Murdoch, in
answer to a hail of questions, announced the subject of his friend's
inspiration.
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