The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1867-08-09

She had remained behind after the class
had broken up, and her sweet, conGding
manner to me was irresistible. | fear [
forgot my position as tutor entirely. |
stammered out some hurried, silly declara-
ton of love, and felt as if my very exist
ence depended upon the effect it would
make. can remember the sensation now,
gray old bachelor as am and have not
forgotten the awful feeling of disappoint-
mcnt at the ringing laugh which greeted
my outburst of romance.
"Why, what silly young man you must
be, Mr. Westwood. 1t is really too absurd.
Here am anxious that you should teach
me how to paint, and you actually begin to
talk about love, like Don Quixotte, or
person in play"
And the lively, arch, round, supple,
bright eyed girl laughed again with intense
amusement. | was piqued she had made
me look foolish; she had ridiculed my ten
derest hopes. I had pictured something
quite different to this, and had seen myself,
by her desire, sueing for her hand at the
feet of that old griffin, her aunt, in the ca
thedral close.
"Now, don't be silly any more, Mr..
Westwood, and l will promise never to
mentioned what has occurred. tits too abb
surd, you know
well, perhaps it is.'' 1 said without
understanding her, but with an intense
sense of being absnrdly foolish.
'There," she said, passing from the sub
ject with the supremest Indifference, please
to look at that, and tell me if you think |
shall ever paint, apd will you teach me :?
l have asked aunt and she is willing to fit
me up studio Of my own"
From beneath her cloak she produced a
bit Of oil color-a pool rejecting the droop-
autumn sketch, full of rough unstudied eff
astonished me nightly. There was evil
depth Of tone Of the unstudied touches were
almost startling. -
This is yours? p I said, coldly.
YES" she said, bending her head, and
looking confused
at is very clever; you will paint" I
said
80, thank you, thank you, Mr.. West
wood" she said, looking up with great
earnestness Il was afraid you would
laugh at it; aunt called it red and yellow
daub." Htf
Here is her secret, then, [ thought. Her
genius has made itself manifest to her; she
is under its persistent influence.
| Il would give the world to paint. 1aUtI
succeed, and you must help me-.
! | did help her, during many happy,
happy hour, in that studio overlooking the
river, and in the dear old Greta woods, and
on the grand Teesdale moors. That bit be-
meath Tito by the fireplace is a study she
made under my eye in the bed of the Tees
Notice the rock down beneath the water,
the liquid-amber stream, which Sir Walter
Scott sung about. Something like color,
that
In less than twelve months she painted
far better than her tutor, who before half
that time had passed, was her slave in
everything. | have sat and watched her
and loved her like young fellow can love,
and she knew it, But if ever there was the
faintest attempt at pointed homage on my
part, she would pooh pooh the whole thing
with an indifference to my feelings which
often struck me as heartless in the extreme
Sometimes | went home half mad with
rage and wounded pride, and determined
to leave the place forever; but morning
brought hope, and longing to see Edith,
longing to be at her side, to hear her speak
and her oft-re peated saying, that ''love
heard of,-painting the grandest of arts. :"
never could comprehend her. By de-
grees I came to think of her in the light of
sort of intellectual Undine, before the
human soul tempered the waywardness of
thing that makes woman lovely and Iovea-
BILE, but the one thing above all others most
essential, "a woman heart.
| hpa l raaaiyaa pota from how
aunt, in which was informed that the les
sons must cease, as Miss Niner was going
to leave the Northern city.
| L hurried to the house, and met on the
doorstep big, mustached, dark fellow. l
| asked for Miss Nlner, as usual. She came
running down stairs; and at her call of
| Edward Edward, dear!' the gentleman
turned round and followed her into the
| drawing room.
Come in, Mr.. Westwood; pray come
| in, she said LET me introduce you to
| Captain Howard, ofthe Bombay Artillery
MIR. Westwood, Captain Howard
| We bowed stitfiy to each other, and |
looked for an explanation.
| Il sec you are puzzled, Mr.. Westwood.
| Tomorrow Captain Howard is to be my
husband, and we leave here en- route for
India the next day."
shall not attempt to describe my feel
ings tear they were made very apparent
at the time. Anger and contempt had,
surely, some share in the expression of my
poor stupid face on that occasion !; but [
could only see cool indifference on Edith's.
turned to go away, but Miss Viner
prevented me-
Here" she said ..''is little present
before l go. | hope you will treasure it,
my palette. shall never paint again
There was something peculiarly sad in
the tone Of voice in which she said, Il
shall never paint again"
The next day she had left the old city
with her husband. How wished mysefa
boy, again, painting puppets in that little
back room in the Western city l have
painted many one since, for that matter
BY the way, have lately learnt that
when Miss Jinks died, the Chalkses pur-
chased the Gallery of Arts" and COM
hined the two establishments. How little
we know who will step into our shoes when
we are gone? Perhaps our greatest enemy
Ill IL