The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1879-01-24

from love of art; but picture-dealers, win
in those days had been all fattery and oh
sequiousness to the young heir, now that b
really wanted to sell his pictures ant
sketches, shook their heads, and politel
but firmly declined to purchase.
At last, one dreary afternoon, when Harr,
was sitting in the little room he called hi
studio. trying tn devise some new schem
to replenish his slender purse, the servan
opened the door and ushered a white hair
ed old gentleman into the room.
Placing chair by the fire for his visitor
Harry inquired his business.
"You are a portrait painter, I believe
r." said the old gentleman, looking a
him through his gold spectacles.
That is my profession, sir" replied
Harry, delighted at the thought of having
found commission at last.
"Well, sir, want you to paint the por
trait of my daughter"
with pleasure, sir" said Harry eager
ly.
"When can the lady give me the first
sitting2"
calais sir, she is dead-dead to me these
twenty years, and killed her-broke her
heart with my harshness and cruelty |" ex.
claimed the old man, in an excited, trem-
bling voice.
A strange chill came over Harry, as the
| idea that his mysterious visitor must be an
escaped lunatic crossed his mind but mas.
tering, with an effort, his emotion, the
stranger continued:
Pardon me, young sir This is of no in
terest to you. My daughter is dead and !
want you to paint her portrait from my de-
scription, as perfectly we'll remember her
twenty years ago."
II will do my best, sir, but it will be no
easy task, and you must be prepared for
many ppointments," said Harry, when,
having given a long description of the form
and features of his long lost daughter, the
old man rose to depart, and for weeks he
worked necessarily upon his mysterious
portrait of the dead girl, making sketch
after SIX etch, each of which was rejected by
the remorse- stricken father, until the work
began to exercise strange kind of fascina-
ton over him, and he sketched face after
face, as if under the influence of spell.
At last, one evening, wearied with day
of fruitless exertion, he was sitting over
the fire watching his wife, who sat opposite,
DuSy upon bOHt nceulGWOTk, WUtu un lueh
suddenly flashed upon him.
"Tull, fair, with golden hair and dark
blue eyesl Why Helen. it is the very pic
ture of yourself2" he exclaimed, starting
from his seat, taking his wife's fair face be-
tween his two hands, and gazing intently
into her eyes.
Without losing moment he sat down
and commenced to sketch Helen's face; and
when his strange patron called the next
day, Harry was so busily engaged putting
the finishing touches to his portrait that he
did not hear him enter the room and work
ed for some moments unconscious of his
presence, until, with the cry of Helen my
daughter |" the old man hurled 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 around to Harry, and asked him in
an eager voice where he had obtained the
original of the picture.
ut is the portrait of my wife," replied
he.
Your wife, sir Who was she Par
don me for asking the question:" he added;
shut have heard lately that my poor Helen
left an orphan daughter, and for the last
six months l have been vanly trying to
find the child of my lost daughter, so that
by kindness aud devotion to my grandc lid
might, in part at least, atone for my harsh
ness toward her mother"
Harry was beginning to tell him the story
of his meeting with Helen at Rome, and
their subsequent marriage, when the door
opened, and his wife entered the room.
Perceiving that her husband was en-
gagged, she was about to retreat, when the
old gentleman stopped her, and after look
ing in her face for few moments, exclaim.
ed, "Pardon me, madam, can you tell me
your mothers maiden name ?"
"Helen Treherne, replied Helen, wonder
inglyl"
old man, in an excited voice. "At last
have found the child of my poor lost daugh-
terri
In few words Mr.. Treherne explained
how he had cast off his only child on ac-
count of her marriage with poor officer,
and refused even to open her letters when
she wrote asking for forgiveness.
"But, thank Heaven !" said he. when he
had finished his sad story, Il can atone in
some measure for my harshness toward my
Helen by taking her Helen to my heart and
making her my daughter"
1t is needless to add that when Sir Philip
Marston heard that his son had married the
heress of one of the finest and oldest es-
tates in thecountry, he at once wrote letter
of reconciliation to Harry, and after all,
Hlen eventually became mistress of Mars
ton Hall, in the picture gallery of which no
painting is more valued and treasured than
THE Mysterious Portrait"