The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1877-09-06

Delighted at the idea of being loved
for himself alone, he had not told her OF
his real position; and it was not till after
the marriage ceremony was over that
Helen discovered she had married the
oldest son of baronet, and the heir to
an estate producing fifteen thousand a
year.
1t was not without some inward mis-
givings that Harry wrote to his father
telling him of his marriage, which were
more than realized by the result, as we
have seen by the letter from Sir Philip
Marston, which awaited him at his club
on his return to England with his bride.
But, full of confidence in his ability to
maintain himself and his young wife by
his own exertions, and thinking that
surely his father would relent and be
reconciled to him after time, Harry
troubled himself very little about his lost
inheritance; and though their new home
consisting of three small, poorly
furnished rooms in a back street-was
very different from the grand old man
sion to which he had hoped to take his
bride, he set to work cheerfully at his
favorite art, and tried hard to earn a
living by painting pictures and por-
traits.
But he soon found that it was not so
easy as he thought. 1t was all very
well when he was heir to Marston Hall,
and studied painting merely from love
of art; but picture-dealers, who in those
days had been all fiattery and obse-
quiousness towards the young heir, now
that he really wanted to sell his pictures
and sketches, shook their heads, and
politely but firmly declined to purchase.
At last, one dreary afternoon, when
Harry was sitting in the little room he
called his studio, trying to devise some
new scheme to replenish his slender
purse, the servant opened the door, and
ushered a white-haired old gentleman
into the room.
Placing a chair by the fire for his
visitor, Harry inquired his business.
"You are portrait-painter, l believe,
sir?" said the old gentleman, looking at
him through his gold spectacles.
"That is my profession, sir,'' replied
Harry, delighted at the thought of hay
ing found a commission at last.
"Well, sir, | want you to paint the
portrait of my daughter
"With pleasure, sir,' said Harry,
eagerly. "When can the lady give me
the first sitting?"
"Alas, sir! she is dead-dead to me
these twenty years; and killed her--l
broke her heart with my harshness and
cruelty!" exclaimed the old man, in an
excited, trembling voice.
A strange chill came over Harry, as
the idea that his mysterious visitor must
be an escaped lunatic crossed his mind
but mastering, with an effort, his emo
ton, the stranger continued: "Pardon
me, young sir. This is of no interest to
you. My daughter is dead, and l want
you to paint portrait from my descrip-
ton, as perfectly remember her TWEEN
ty years ago"
81 will do my best, sir; but it will be
no easy task, and you must be prepared
for many disappointment" said Harry,
when, having given him a long descrip-
ton of the form and features of his long
lost daughter, the old man rose to de-
part; and for weeks he worked inces-
sanity upon the mysterious portrait of
the dead girl, making sketch after sketch,
each of which was rejected by the re-
morse-stricked father, until the work be-
gan to exercise strange kind of fascin-
alton over him, and he sketched face
after face, as if under the influence of
spell.
At last, one evening, wearied with a
day of fruitless exertion, he was sitting
over the fire watching his wife, who sat
opposite, busy with some needlework,
when an idea flashed upon him.
"Tall, fair, with golden hair, and
} dark blue eyes! Why, Helen, it is the
very picture of YOURSELF" he exclaimed,
starting from his seat, taking his wife s
fair face between his two hands, and
gazing intently into her eyes.
Without losing a moment he sat down
and commenced to sketch Helen's face
and when his strange patron called the
next morning, Harry was so busily en-
gagged putting the finishing touches to
his portrait, that he did not hear him
enter the room, and worked on for
some moments unconscious of his pres
ence, until, with the cry of g Helen! my
daughter!" the old man hurried him
aside, and stood entranced before the
portrait
After gazing for some minutes in
silence, broken only by his own half
suppressed sobs of remorse, the old
man turned slowly round to Harry. and
asked him, in an eager voice, where he
had obtained the original of the pic
ture.
cit is the portrait of my wife," re-
piled he.
"Your wife, sir! Who was she?
Pardon me for asking the question: he
added; g but | have heard lately that
my poor Helen left an orphan daughter,
and for the last six months | have been