The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1880-08-28
hat can it be? Mr.. Hartly, where are

what can 1t be? Mr.. Hartly, where are
you?
Here, sir, replied the artist, gath
erlng himself up from the floor, az the
ghostly butler glided in with a light.
Il beg to say, Mr.. Kesteven he be-
gan, then paused abruptly, his eyes di-
lated by amaze, as, naturally, they
turned to the couch.
There WAS his model. truly. But sit
ting up, pushing her pretty brown hair
back with her little hands, in a half
awakened way.
ut was only a sleep, after all. What
an idiot i have made of myself" he
thought; then again stopped, for, sweet
and musical the young girls tones
reached him.
Papa, DEAR" they said, vaguely.
"where am /? What is it?"
a cry so strange, SO full of Joy, from
the father, drew the artists attention to
him. He was flying across the room
like a mailman, and IN second had
caught the girl to his heart.
F." Mabel, Mabel! my darling pet!" he
1 calculated. "Oh, heaven, / thank thee!
My own, still my own Mabel "
Whatever did it all mean?
The bewildered artist was asking HIM
self that question for the third time,
when he received rather rough push
4 on the shoulder, while q voice whispered.
" For goodness sake, sir, get ont of this
don't you understand?
" Understand? repeated Hartley.
i gazing from the speaker to the old man
and his child, " | can't say | do"
Then get out into the next drawing
room all the same, sir. Mister wouldn't
/ have dear Miss Mabel know for worlds"
The speaker was the butler-no longer
/ a ghostly butler, but the most life-hke
4 and energetic Of buffers With no re-
spect for easel, colors, and canvas, he
/ bundled them all into the back drawing
room, pushing the amazed artist after
! Then, swift as lampighter, he lighted
/ the candles in the wall branches, kicked
! the table-cloth and fragments under the
! table; then said, in the tones of quietest
unconcern, "The doctor, sir, said he'd
wait and see you down stairs"
Alter which, this singular butler came
into the back drawing-room, dropped
! the dividing curtains, sank into chair
and rocked himself to and fro, half
laughing, half crying, gasped through
! the handkerchief he was forcing into his
mouth, ooh, dear. oh, dear! Who
would have thought it? Oh, my master,
what a day for him. To think to-mor-
/ row she might have gone, and it nd
/ have been too latel
/ . In the name of all that Is wise, cried
the artist, shaking him roughly, :" tell
me what this means, you old idiot? |
came here to take the likeness of a sleep
I ing girl, | fancied. Instead of sleep it is
| DEATH
"That's it, sir-that's itn' broke in
the butler; that's what poor master
and all Of us thought-even the doctor
Poor Miss Mabel went off cold and stiff,
quite sudden and every one said she
was dead. SO my master, who hadn't
1 got no likeness of his darling, except
them brown, colorless things, thought,
before the ground took her away from
him forever But here, sir, is master
himself
Mr.. Kesteyen came hurriedly between
+ the curtains.
"Clark, " he said, "send Miss eros to
Miss Mabel at once. Tell her her
mistress believes she has had q long
fainting fit. Bid her hide both day and
date from nay child. That was a wise
hint of yours, Clark, about the doctor.
Thank You.
Then, with face full of contrition,
yet quivering with the undercurrent of
that great Joy, Mr.. Kesteven turned to
the artist
" Mr. Hartley, Of course you have
guessed the truth How canI ask-how
can [ ever hope you will forgive the
cruel deception | put upon you to carry
out the living wish of a supposed dead
4 daughter? | feel you will never ex-
perlence but anger towards me, though
no man I'D this world do | respect and
love more than you
"Mr. Kesteven - calculated the artist,
/ surprised, also moved, by the old gentle
mans earnest manner and apology.
eyes, Mr.. Hartley-love; for to You /
owe my daughters life. There is an in
cision in her arm from which the blood
is running freely. 1t was not there to-
day. You alone could have made ibid
you not 2"
g did; in a moment of impulse, or
Indignation - answered the artist, color
ing to the temples. after [ had done
it | regretted the act; but the result has
been SO happy" -
Mr. Hartley" cried Mr. Kesteven,
Selling his hand, "Heaven inspired you
Tell me, [ pray, what occurred after l
left the room
1t was nearly an hour later when the
artist returned home, with the conscious
ness of strange elation, caused p"oba-
bly, by Mr.. kestevens praise and graft
tude.
The first thing he did was to take a
brush full of sepia and obhterate the en-
tire portrait of the supposed dead
No, +" he reflected: :" if [ paint that
lovely face, it must be afresh, and from
a living model. This would always give
me the horrors, from the idea of what
might have been but for my fear"
He did paint Mabel kesteven from her
own bright, happy self, for the sittings
were arranged during the Christmas din
ner at which Mr. Kesteven insisted the
artist should make one.
The professional visits led to those Of
friendship, and the result was probably
what has been guessed, that Leonard
Hartley wooed and won the lovely girl
whom, by accident, he had rescued from
the tomb.