The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1873-10-09

said, cand stop and dine. l am quite
alone, and it is pleasant to hear ones
mother tongue in this land of strangers
We exchanged cards, and I accented hi.
invitation as cordially as it was offered
BY degrees We fell into the most amicablt
relations with one another; and presently
he told me, with tears in his eyes, tina
within the last few weeks he had been be
reft of wife and daughter-all he had o.
best and loveliest, and wasquite alone.
Then strove to turn his sad thoughts
into another channel. and by and by w
fell into art talk. could you, Mr.. Stan
ley" said my host, "paint q portrait from
a minute verbal description" feared
not, but would try. On whatnot at tht
other end of the room l found paper and
colors, and I brought my materials to the
table where We sat over our wine. snow
Mr.. st. John, describe and will draw
In hushed voice he infinitely detailed
the items of face. made my sketch
No; it was rejected as unlike. Another
alike unsuccessful. A verbal d, scrip
ton failed to give my pencil the power Of
catching the expression of the dear famil
lar face.
They tell me-" said the old man, in a
low, moody tone, as if he uncOnsciously
thought aloud-"they tell me that at the
last she bore the mark of cruel blow on
her cheek. She, my tender, one eve lamb
that was fain to shelter in my bosom
from every rough wind that blew" Over
whelmed by q bitter tide of recollection
the old man covered his face with his
hands and sank into silence. These few
anguished words, dropping like blood
from a wounded heart, at once re-
called the face of the unknown trav-
cling companion of my midnight
journey. Once more I saw before me the
pale, perfect face, with sorrowful eyes and
a livid mark on the left cheek. At last
fulfilled my neglected promise, and, tax.
ing my pencil, rapidly sketched her por-
trait from memory. Silently l placed my
work before Mr.. St. John. at is she! it is
Emmie-my darling, my darling!" he
cried, and again and again he kissed the
senseless paper on which was traced the
lineaments of one who was very dear.
"You have seen her, then, for no such
powerful likeness could otherwise be pro-
duced. You have caught the very trick
of the half.drooped eyelids."
YES" said, slowly, II have seen her:
And, what is more, on the Goth night of
January last, I promised, at her request,
to paint her portrait from memory"
"Good God! It is impossible. On the
Goth of January she died." I felt like a
man in dream. With slight shiver l
recalled the pallor, the chilli, the white.
ness of the face of my travelling cOmpan-
ion. Was this faithful sketch the vivid
remembrance of dead face? I took out
my notebook and showed Mr.. st. John
the entry-"Promised to paint the por-
trait of lady from memory, this Goth
night of January, 49," A deep silence
over us. As soon as possible l
made my adieu. l returned to Dresden,
and, once more in my studio, FASTENED
to paint full-length portrait Of the mys-
terious presence that haunted me day and
night. should get rid of it that way.
At the rapid rate worked, the pic
ture was seon completed. I threw
all the cunning of hand and brain
into the task, and my knowl-
edge of art told me that my labor had not
been in vain. In each detail painted
the picture as had last seen my mysteri-
Gus sitter, save that in this portrait no un-
lovely scar marred the delicate oval of the
cheek. Anxious to see it placed in Mr..
St. Johns possession, I had it carefully
packed, and I myself took it to Berlin. !
was fortunate to find the old man at home,
and as l begged his acceptance of the
work of my pencil, his cordial satisfac-
ton more than repaid me for the toll Of
of the last few weeks.
II think it is due to you, Mr.. Stanley ~
he said, "that you should know something
of the history of the lady whose portrait
you have so admirably painted, and under
so peculiar" 1t cost him
an evident effort to say these words, and
begged him to spare himself recital that
felt must be painful, but he persisted in
giving me the following rapid life-sketch
Emmie was our only child, and the
fondest love of our hearts twined about
her. During an autumn's wandering on
the Continent we met Baron Wolfstein-
gay, young, handsome, and knowing well
how best to vile away a woman's heart,
he won our Emmie's love. And we, who
loved her better than we loved ourselves,
gave her up, although we knew that in
the very act we tore down our life's Joy
with our own hands. Well, her lover was
of good birth, rich, of excellent reputa-
ton, and as devoted to Emmie as she was
to him. And for her sake we plucked
our one sweet English rose from the
parent stem and Wolfstein bore her on in
to his chateau in the Black For.
est. The world called hers brilliant
part; but there was no brilliancy left for
the mother and me. Without her, house
and hearts were dark and chill. The
events of our days were her letters-at
first they were all sunshine, and full of her
praises. After while, we fan
cied they dropped little in their CHEEKY
tone, her husbands name was more rarely
and at last he was quite ignOr-
ed. Time after time it was arranged that
she should come to US, and time after
time her visit was delayed on some paltry
excuse. We had not seen the face of our
darling for a year. We could bear the
separation no longer. We should go to
her. When so far on our journey as Ber-
lin, nv wife was seized violently ill. ]
wrote to Wolfstein and Emmie of our dis.
FRESNO response came to my cry for
succor.
On the morning of the 21st of January
l bent over my wife to mOisten her fever.
ed lips with little wine. Edward" she
said, taking my hand in hers, "Emmie was
with me in the night" Darling, you
were dreaming" l said, sOothingly
ut was no dream, husband. She stood
where you stand now. Her dress was of
black velvet, with lace about the throat
and wrists. She looked sad, and oh, SO
cold, and down one cheek there was q
horrid mark. Mother she said, you
have no portrait, not even photograph
to remind you of poor Emmie. I shall
send you one' And before could speak
or hay my hands on hers, she was gone
From her rapid pulse I knew fever was
working in her veins, and, fearing this
was the raving of delirium, I soothed hel
as best could. Just then servant en-
tered the room; she held in her hand thai
which we had cause to dread-a telegram
I tore it open; and, as my eye learned it
contents, groan burst from my lips
"Emmie is dead" said my wife, quietly
II knew it dear" 1t was even SO.
This blow rapidly extinguished the
Pickering life of the mother, and she, too
quickly followed Emmie. After this sad
event / arranged to 60 to Wolfstein's
chateau. He had taken no notice of my
various letters; but I concluded that