The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1877-12-22

I -. " ANhil W Aeeiu now 10 uNe--lht cain
belief Of all Italians. He INDUCED in a fire
on cold evenings, ate beefsieaks more fire..
\ qaently than the soup meat, or "lesso,n had
eeiiee after dinner; and the signorina wore old
gowns as atonement for such luxuries.
| Although she had Withdrawn from the
studio, not a movement there escaped Mari
eta Why should not the signorina have
chance tool She could paint the portrait Of
the Padre Ceechi TO the fife, so that the holy
man man might behold his own face as in mirror
Chel chel These old picturesl The fish
might still slip through tho net. The woman
gazed out Of her kitchen window a moment,
smiled reaectyely, and stole back to the
stadio. The two visitors we're in remote
corner Of the large apartment scrutinizing a
copy OF the familiar George of Denmark, BY
oasiermahs; Edward Runyonis back was also
turned Marietta stepped noiselessly across
the room, slipped the canvas Elena had shown
her out oil the box, placed it against the wall
and vanished into her kitchen again.
liite is full of such chances. A moment
later Edward Runyon was startled by the
lady pausing in that dark corner, STOPPING
and taking up picture for closer inspection.
Look at ths!h she exclaimed, with sud
aen animation, and placed il on the easel
AS 1t is possible for one person, man or
woman, TO gather all the elements Of vast
asaemblage into concentration on his or her
own distinct individuality, so this study drew
all light from those lifeless creations on the
walls by its Astounding vitality. 1t was mere.
iy sketch, faulty in color, perhaps, and with
crude defects on the very surface, yet the fine,
keen head of the old alchemist started out Of
the shadowy chamber, where he had so long
kep' his feyerish, steadfast vigil, and claimed
the sympathy OF beholderS by his own earn
estness and intense absorption.
Permit me to say that here you have ex-
celled YOURSELF said the lady, gravely, and
evidently esteeming herself connoisseur.
You have left the mannerisms Of those
studies, with marked increase of power and
case oftreatment."
"l beg yourpardon, said Edward Runyon,
stliffy, and gazing at the canvas with dilating
eyes.
The lady smiled good dhumoredy
" on do not agree with me, thenP'
Where did you obtain the picture, ma.
dame?" he asked, still more stiiHy. 81 am
not acquainted with the artist
The lady glanced at her husband, she was
beginning to think Edward Rnnyon a trihe
cracked.
THE signorina painted it, interposed the
voice Of Marietta.
The signorina is my daughter" explained
the artist, in confusion. "She is out think
there may be some mistake"
The lady was as sharp and incisive in man
ner as he was vague and bewildered.
~ will buy this sketch for my gallery if
your daughter wishes to sell it,n she said,
promptly.
ut is her own property, madame re.
sponded Edward Runyon, with thiekly beat
ing heart.
She scanned him with cold severity.
Evidently your daughter possesses genius,
extraordinary power, and originality. She
may become q great artist il properly en-
eourdged. Next year | will return, and Judge
OF her progress. lsuppose she must be young
If she will take two hundred and fifty francs,
send the picture to our hotel tomorrow morn.
ing. -
The yellow door changed once more, card
lay on the table, and Edward Runyon sank
into chair opposite the easel, gazing, as il
in dream, at the face Of the Padre Cecchi.
Despite this outward apathy a storm of con
ilieiing emotions was raging within his breast.
What Elena geniusl to become a famous
artist, rival! This silly woman, believing
herself to be a critic, had spoken such words.
Had a Hover sprung up at his side, and he
remained Ignorant OF its beauty and fragrance7
Stay! be should have recognized the promise
OF his daughters sketch at glance. Why
had she not shown it TO him2 All, why, in
deedl ALI the slumhering pain, the benumb.
ed misery, of his own nature was awakened
reused to action once more. In the suffering
he wrought, the alchemist, with his hollow
cheek, sharp nose, and strange eye, might be
weighing Edward Runyon's palpitating heart
between his finger and thumb instead of the
vial. The longing for an ideal perfection in
the mans nature, Of which the studies on the
wall were feeble groupings toward truth never
attained-wholly unattainable, indeed
ed at him, while he yearned toward his child
picture. Why should she not be an artist.
Had he ever destined her for any thing else!
Her first plaything had been a bit Of red
chalk, her only school the galleries, where she
had frequently worked by his side faithfully
and well. What heed had he given to hel
efforts? He had thought, half bitterly, thai
some time she might become teacher OF
drawing, as she was only woman. Doubt.
less this lady who had stepped into his path
with strange results had departed inspired
with that subtle self-esteem which is permitted
the rich and great as patrons.
The church bells, those many.toned voices
of Florence, Ginning from every campanile,
reached his ear; the sky was blue, and q
wandering sunbeam fell through the high
window on the picture. Was there sweeter
harmony in these bells for Christmas. .dayi
They brought to Edward Runyon deep sad
ness, and also soothing resignation. Years
ago-oh, how manyl-his young wife had FIRST
stood at his side on Christmas day, and now
it seemed as if cool soft hand was gently laid
on his throbbng forehead, closing his tired
eyelids. Marietta, glancing through the door,
thought him asleep.