The Cincinnati daily star. [volume] ([Cincinnati, Ohio]) 1875-1880, 1879-05-16


tresses of hair, of that shining, golden hue
which is so often described by poets, yea SO
rarely seen in lite.
The artist worked with the energy Of q
man who has but one object in life-the
completion of his task. His head was bent
over his easel; his hand trembled with con-
vulsive and nervous movements he clutched
his brushes and mixed his colors upon the
palette.
He seemed like a man possessed with
demon.
A young girl seated at q window at the op-
posite end of the studio, looked up every
now and then from her work, and fixed her
dark, watchful eyes upon the artist
Each time she did so, her gaze fingered
longer upon his countenance, till at last she
dropped her hands-her work lay neglected
in her lap, and her eyes remained fixed upon
the toiler.
This girl was not beautiful, yet there was
something in her face which, when once
seen remains forever craven upon the mem
ory of the beholder.
She was very pale-so pale that, in the
dim light of the October afternoon her face
seemed cOorless as that of marble statue.
Her eyes were black-of that profound
black which has light in its depths-eyes
which had something strange in their as.
pect, and which reminded those who looked
into them of an open grave-a fathomless
abyss.
These dark eyes, looking out Of colorless
face, had something mysterious in their
gaze, and in the days of witchcraft would
have struck terror to the hearts of the igno-
rant.
The artist did not see the earnest gaze
fixed upon him. He never raised his eyes
from the miniature. Now and then he
sighed heavily as he paused for moment
from his labor. He seemed wrapt in some
mournful dream, and utterly unconscious Of
all that was passing around him.
At last the young girl addressed him.
Clarence" she said, "why do you work
so hard?"
He laughed bitterly, but did not raise his
head.
because love my art" he answered,
"and love little else.'
"Is that so, Clarence?" said the girl with
an earnestness which was not unmixed with
scorn. "Is that SOP" she repeated, pointing
to a pile of unfinished paintings leaning
against the wall of the studio. 'lt it is your
art which you love, why are your great pic
trres all cast aside, neglected, forgotten, for
the portrait of woman of fashion-for it is
portrait which you have there, is il not?
A dark and angry expression obscnred the
face of the artist as he answered this ques-
ton.
at is" he said, still bending over the
EASEL and never once looking at his ques-
toner
''The portrait of Miss Ovington2"
"The portrait of Miss Maud Ovington, p"
answered the artist, in a tone oil defiance.
The girl laughed-a harsh and mocking
laugh, which had nothing womanly in its
tone.
at will be charming ornament for the
ladys boudoir," she said; land she will,
doubtless, value it as much AS
She paused, looking with malicious, an
almost demoniac smile at the artist, who had
now raised his head from the easel.
The eyes of the two met.
"As much as what?" he asked.
Gas much as she values the heart of the
artist when il is cast beneath her feet. Nay,
more, for when she is tired OF the picture
she will only throw it aside or give it 10 ber
waiting maid. She will not trample upon
it: she has trampled upon the artists heart. y
The young man rose from his seat With an
exclamation of rage, then, restraining him
self by a powerful effort, he sank again into
bis chair, and cIasping his hands before his
face, wcpt aloud.
"Clarice! cousin Clarice" he exclaimed,
when the storm of grief had passed, ''you
are my fathers brothers only daughter--you
are my sole surviving female relative, and
have loved you as sister. Why-whyr
then. do YOU torture me thus? You have
discovered my secret; you know that have
loved-that do love Maud Oyington deep.
lv. devotedly- wildly, foolishly, if you will.
You know also that am loved in return"
81 do not know that" interposed the girl
coldly.
you do not know? Merciful Heaven! i
there is truth in woman, | am low d, anC
loved as truly as my devotion deserves
Why then do you torture me, CLrceY
"Because despise you, cousin"
"Despise me-" exclaimed the young man
ayes, Clarence Suydam, | despise you
have something Of my mothers blood IL
my veins. / came Of a ptouder family thai
yours, as you we'll know, and despise tn
man who loves, as weakly as you do, thi
blue-eyed coquette!
"Coquette, Clarice?"
cave! and so finished coquette that sh
has power to blind and delude you, as sh
would a child, with the promise of play
, thing. Love, cousin! Bah! Maud Owing
, ton knows not the meaning of the WORD
Power, pomp, wealth, admiration-thesea ar
, the things that she loves, but not you, Clal
) ence Suydam!
, ut is false Clarice" exclaimed the arts
"Were you man, / would wiring the lie troI
your throat!
, ..You think that she will marry youi
said Clarlce, with a mocking smlle-"th'
she will descend from her throne that st
l will abandon her place as the lovely quee
of fashion, to become the wife of strugglln
u artist?'
8 II dom cried Clarence Suydam. True,
0 am Door, unknown, unnoticed; but what I
, that? Best by her love, shall have pow
: to fight life's mighty battle. For her SAX
4 how gladly will | labor! Trust me, cousil
a the world shall hear of the husband Of Mau
i Oyington, and art and beauty shall go har
in hand. All, Clarice, it is you who kno
J, not how to love!"
r The girl recoiled with brief shudder
J. her cousin uttered these words.
|. "You are doubtless right, she said, slow
il and with strange emphasis 'lt ID l wi
a know not how to love"
4 aClarice," exclaimed the young man, aft
d pause, give me some proof of what "
v say-give me proof of the talseAood OF hei
s love" -
The girl rose from her chair and walked
"a few PAGES toward table on the other side
n the room-a table covered with books al
II papers.
a .Shall IT, she said, pausing midway
n tween her chair and this table, and lookl
earnestly at her cousin.
"Yes-yes"
"But you will hate me ever afterward-
We hate those who destroy our brightest a