The Carbon advocate. [volume] (Lehighton, Pa.) 1872-1924, 1878-07-20
THE DUMB PAINTER ;
LOVE THE CoNoUERoR

western rays that came through the lattices
and played upon her white dress and the
cool white of the marble floor. She was
sitting upon couch of light construction,
the whole being twisted from canes while
her small feet, with their delicate silken
slippers, were resting upon another couch of
the same material Around her swept the
waves of her long black hair, which she was
coiling and uncoiling alternately; now
gathering the heavy masses into one or two
long, rich braids, and then Ainging down
the wreath of tresses, until they covered her
like bridal veil.
The poor little Spanish maiden was evil
IDENTIFY i'll at ease. The elastic lounge, upon
which her slender figure was supported,
swayed and bent with her nervous move
mentsj and the pet dog that lay beside her,
vainly trying to lick her hand, seemed as
tonished that it would not lie still long
enough for the operation.
"What can do, ax?" she said, address,
ing the dog. 81 am silly little maiden,
and dread to have it found out that am so
Here are my good father and mother, in
whose eyes have been all perfection, and
who thought that even this grandose Don
Carlos was not more than half good enough
for me, will now believe that the spirit of
evil has taken me. Max, you are good
dog, but | don't believe you have wit enough
to get poor Maraquita de Mona out of this
difficulty"
Max laid his paw on her arm, closed and
unclosed his eyes, and looked as wise as
some others might when expecting tale of
confidence from a young damsel; but Mara
quita's playful mood had passed, and she
rose and paced the room with restless steps.
By this time the sun had sunk out of
sight, and the voice of Don Albert de Mona,
calling to his daughter to be ready for drive
to the plaza, was heard, as he decended the
stairs and knocked at the door.
"Not tonight, father" she replied: az am
i'll. My head aches terrible-pray excuse
me. will remain here quietly until you
and my mother return"
"Well, the afternoon has been sutry,"
said her father. "Lie down and rest while
we are absent. Shalt call your maid?"
ono, father" she replied. IL do not need
her-I shall be better alone"
Better alone! All, Donna Marquita, thy
poor father is deceived, but thou canst not
hide it to thyself that it is only to see the
handsome painter of Logrono that thou sit
test braiding thy beautiful hair-only to
watch him, as he comes down the street in
the twilight, and as he looks up with eager
glance at the lattice, to throw a moss rose
bud at his feet. Thou knowest, too, that at
that token he will venture to enter thy pres
ence, and that his lips will greet thee as the
one dearest to his heart. Not with words
will be that greeting, but with another Ian
guage, always understood-the language of
kisses.
No, not with words-for the painter,
Navarette, is both deaf and dumb But
there is no need of words for lovers. And
so it was with these two lovers; they met
and parted, with only the souls telegraphic
signals, and they needed no echo from the
lips.
Donna Aaraquita had been invited by a
friend, some months before, to visit the
studio of Juan Fernandes Ximenes Navar-
cite, to see beautiful painting of the virgin
which he had recently executed. This
young painter, who was called FL Mudo,
from his misfortune, was rapidly gaining
fame, and this very painting was the great
stepping to public favor. The excitable
Spaniards warmed with enthusiasm at the
beauty of the head, which was said to have
been copied from that of the artists mother,
Donna Catalina Ximenes,
Among the many who visited the studio
were Don Albert and his daughter. The
beauty of the painting, the filial, admiring
reverence of the artist in taking his mothers
head as a model, the silent world" in which
he lived, all wrought upon the susceptible
imagination of the young girl, and from
thence-torward FL Mudo was associated in
all her dreams.
On his part the painter had seen vision
of beauty such as he thought he had never
before beheldi and yet it must have been
only the sympathetic and cordial manner of
Donna Maraquita that induced the thought
for, although see was indeed noble-looking,
and with grace blended with dignity, yet
so were many others.
Again and again she came, sometimes ac-
companied by her father, but oftener alone;
and at last the painter was delighted to find
that she could converse freely with him in
the deaf-and-dumb alphabet With what
joy he now related 10 her his whole life-its
mournful childhood and youth, when no
sound of bird or breeze or human voice
could reach his ear; and how he used to 60
wandering for whole days through picture
galleries, until the idea seized him that he,
too, must paint, and how that, ever since
thaf hour ha had liyad In n hiobor aud