The Morristown gazette. [volume] (Morristown, Tenn.) 1867-1920, 1878-11-13

doomed to incompleteness. was thrust
ANONYMOUSLY aside, as so many 9TH
ers we're thrust; and some fresh can
vas appeared upon the easel.
There was nothing but bread and
butter that evening; but Mark heed
ed il not. His face brightened az
he SAT opposite the open window,
Through which the glory of the IA
ding day streamed, and he chatted
gaily.
When the meal was over, / seated
myself at the western window. on
which the rosy hues of the sunset
we're softly stealing. and took up
the embroidery upon which I had
been busy all the afternoon. It was
a fresh piece-a baby's robe to be
deliberately worked. Marx frowned.
Always preoecupied, always at
work " he said. Whats it for?"
The christening robe for Mrs.
Calthorpe's baby" a
Mark started up in a passion.
Helen! How often have told you
4 would not have you lower yourself
to work for people! That upstart,
vulgar Mrs. Calthorpe! Why, she
is not it to tie your shoe strings %
"But she is rich, Mark. She pays
literally" &EGa
Il don't like you to do it, Helen.
Just as if you were only common
seamstress -
1--WE must have bread, Mark. We
are not ethereal enough to live with
out it."
Bread! Is the money all gone
that Hadley paid me for that little
picture?"
"Why, yes, Mark. Two-thirds of
it went 10 things you wanted for
your painting-room.'
Mark sat pulling his whiskers and
gazing at me. knew how much he
hated these domestic details. His
tone became genhe-his eyes moist.
"When that picture 1 am contem-
plating is painted-which l have be-
gun to-day-when that gets into the
exhibition, and purchased, then l
shall rapay for all these sacrifices.
Helen"
"You will never get picture into
the exhibition. Mark"
How discouragingly you speak
1t had not used to be so. Helen.
Time was when yoa were interested
in my plays, and cheered me on
with hopeful and approving words.
"Oh, Mark, believe me! If in my
secret heart / could acknowledge
that Heaven had bestowed upon you
a talent to cultivate, no words would
be too strong to encourage you, and
no sacrifice that / could make, in
the cause of your advancement.
would be too great. But think of
the years-the precious legacy Of
time-frittered away in idle dreams
and useless tolls. What have you
accomplished? Has any good been
gained2 Has anyone been benefit
ted by your labors? Have any great
and snblIme thoughts been dissent
mated through your devotion to this
same art, for which you sacrifice
yourself. Rouse yourself from these
delusive dreams. Throw them of.
Turn TO some manly and useful EN-
ployment, which viii benefit your
self and make the world better for
you and for me. e.s.E ~
No reply. We sat few moments
in silence. l went on with my work
again. Presently Mark came across,
kissed my forehead Without speak
ing, and shut himself into his studio.
The days went on. Mark shut
himself up more than ever; tried
to do we'll all Ihad to do, spite of my
dreary heart.
At last there came break in this
monotony. Il was towards the close
of a beautiful day in June, that
sweetest of months. Alas !! it had
not been sweet to me. was stand
ing at the open door, plucIIing the
yellow leaves from a honey suckle
which twined about the trelliswork.
wondering whether | might veature
to see after Mark, for he had not
been down since early morning.
when l heard his step behind me.
Turning, 1 met his blazing eyes and
felt the clasp of his burning hand as
it took mine.
will you come 10 the studio, Hell
en?"
He pulled me almost fiercely after
him, threw open the door, aud drew
me in.
sSee, Helen, | have completed
picture Your bitter words have
wrought much good"
But as Mark spoke. he reeled with
sudden faintness. and caught at the
back of a chair. Steadying himsclf,
he added, half petulantly-"Why
are you looking with such a face at
me? Look at the picture, / shall