Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1878-04-14
food" Socrates, the divine philosopher,
told of hash, "That it was an end without
means.
The Mysterious Portrait.

Z y
blazing fire, one dreary November after
noon Her hat and cloak lay upon the
table beside her, and from the eager,
impatient glances she turued toward the
door at every sound Of footstep on the
staircase outside, 1t was evident that she
expected a visitor.
At last the door opened, and tall arts
tocratlc-lo looking young man entered the
room.
Harry, what long time you have
been!' she exclaimed, springing up from
her seat" What news have you brought?
What does your father say about our
our marrage?' hesitating with the shyness
OF bride at the last word.
Read for yourself, Helen" replied her
husband, handing her an open letter, and
standing opposite her, leaning against the
marble mantlepiece, watching intently
the expression Of her fair young face as
she read:
"ln marrying as you have done, you
have acted in direct, deliberate opposi-
ton to my wishes. From this day you
are no longer my son, and l wash my
nanOS OF you 1OreVcr."
Harry, why did you not tell me of
this before? z" exclaimed Helen, as she read
the hard, cruel words, looking up through
her tears into her husbands's face.
"My darling, what was there to tell?
How could know that my father would
act in this hard-hearted manner? knew
tnat ne wished me to marry the daughter
OF nobleman living near Mars.on Hall,
and so unite the two estates; but | had
no idea that he would cast me off for dis
obeylng his wishes. And even if l had
known it, !" he added, fondly clasping his
young bride to his heart, and kissing
away the tears from her eyes, 81 should
not have acted differently. My Helen is
worth fifty cstatates, as long as she loves
me shall never regret the loss of Mars
ton Hall and its fair acres. But, nv
love- ne continued, more seriously.
!" there is an end of your promised shop
ping expedition into Bond Street. You
will have to do without diamonds now
that your husband is penniless outcast,
instead OF the heir to fifteen thousand a
year."
FLUSH, Harry! Please don't talk like
that" she said. hurt at his bitter tone.
You know it was not of diamonds or
dress was thinking But what are YOU
going to do, Harry?" she continued, lay
ing her hand upon his arm, and looking
up sadly into his pale, set face, "You
cannot work for living.n
"And why not work for living?" he ex-
claimed, in determined voice. ';Because
happen to be the son of a baronet,
brought up and educated without any
ideas or knowledge of business? But l
aoaN work for my living, and show my lit
tie wife that | am not unworthy of the
trust and confidence she reposed in me
when she placed this little hand in mine, >
he added, STOPPING to kiss the small white
hand that rested confdingly upon his
arm.
1t was while pursuing his favorite
study OF oil painting among the famous
galleries of Rome that Harry Marston
wooed and won Helen Tracey,a governess
in an English family residing in Italy,
and the orphan daughter of an officer in
the army. Before he had known her a
month, Harry, who had been in love--or
fancied himself in love, with at least half
dozen different young ladies in as MANY
felt that he had at last met his
fate.
Delighted at the idea Of being loved
for himself alone, he had not told her of
his real position; and it was not till af-
ter the marriage ceremony was over that
Helen discovered she had married the
eldest son of a 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 Phillip
Marston, which awaited him at his club
on returning 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 surely that
his father would relent and be reconciled
to him after a time, Harry troubled HIM
self very little about his lost inheritance;
and though their new home-co consisting
OF three small poorly furnished rooms in
a back street-was very different from
the grand old mansion to which he had
hoped to take his bride, he set to work
cheerfuly at his favorite art, and tried
hard to earn living by painting pictures
and portraits. But he soon found that it
was not SO easy as he thought.
1t was all very we'll when he was heir
to Marston Hall, and studied painting
merely from love OF art; but picture deal
ers, who in those days had been all flat
terry and obsequiousness toward 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
ushe1ed a white hard old gentleman into
the room.
Placing chair by the fire for his visit
or, Harry inquired his business.
" You are a portrait painter, I 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 having
found a commission at last.
well, sir, ] want you to paint the
e.