Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1880-09-25

in those days had been all flattery
and obsequiousness to the young
heir, now that he really wanted to
sell his pictures and sketches,
shook their heads and politely but
| firmly declined 10 purchase.
At last, one dreary afternoon,
when Harry was sitting in the lit
tie room he called his studio, try
ing to devise some new scheme to
replenish his slender purse, the
servant opened the door and ush-
cred white-haired old gentle nan
| into the room.
Placing a chair by the fire for
his visitor, Harry inquired his bu-
siness.
"You are a portrait painter. l
believe, sir ?" said the old gentle
man, looking at him through his
gold spectaeles.
That is my profession, sir ?"
replied Harry, delighted at the
thought of having found Gus
toner at last.
"Well, sir, l want you to paint
the portrait of my daughter"
with pleasure, SIR said Har-
ry, eagerly. "When can the lady
give me the first setting?'
"Alas sir, she is dead--dead to
me these twenty years, and l kill
ed her-broke her heart with my
harsh cruelty" exclaimed the old
man in an excited, trembling
voice
4 strange chill came over Har-
ry, as the idea that his mysteri-
Gus visitor must be an escaped lu-
matte crossed his mind but mas
tering, with an effort, his emotion,
the old man continued:
pardon me, young sir. This is
of no interest to you. My daugh-
Ter is dead, and | want you to
paint her portrait from my dis
cription, as | perfectly well re.
member her twenty years ago"
II will do my best, sir, but it
will be no easy task, and you
must be prepared for many disap-
pointments, said Harry.
Having given a long description
of the form and features of his
long-lost daughter, the old man
departed, and for weeks Harry
worked necessarily upon the mys-
terious portrait of the dead girl,
making sketch after sketch, each
Of which was rejected by the re-
morse-stricken father, until the
work began to exercise strange
kind of fascination over him, and
he sketched face after face as if
under the influence of spell. AT
last, one evening, wearied with a
day of fruitless exertion, he was
sitting by the fire watching his
wife, who sat opposite, busy on
some needleWork, when an idea
flashed suddenly upon him.
"Tall, fair, with golden hair
and dark blue eyes! Why, Hell
en-, it is very picture of your
self!" he exclaimed, starting from
his seat, taking his Wife's fair face
between his two hands, and gaz-
ing intently into her eyes.
Without losing a moment he sat
down and commenced to sketch
his wife's face; and when his
strange patron called the next day,
Harry was so busily engaged put
ting the finishing touches to his
portrait that he did not hear him
enter the room, and working on
for some moments unconscious of
his presence, until, with the cry of
"Helen, imy daughterv the old
man hurried him aside, and stood
entranced before the portrait.
After gazing for some minutes
in silen ce, broke 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 obtain
ed the original of the picture.
1t is the portrait of my wife,"
replied he.
"Your wife, sir! Who was he?
Pardon me for asking the ques-
tion," headed, "but l have heard
lately that my poor Helen left an
orphan daughter, , nd for the last
six months l have been vainly
trying to find the child of my lost
daughter, so that by kindness and
devotion to my grandchild l
might, in part at least, atone for
my harshness toward her MOTHER
Harry was beginning to tell
him the story of his meeting with
Helen at Rome, and their subse-
quent marriage, when the door
opened and his wife entered the
| room.
Perceiving that the husband was
engaged, she was about to retreat,
when the old gentleman stopped
her, ar d after looking earnestly
in her face for lew moments, ex-
claimed, Pardon me, madame,
can You tell me VOur mothers