The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1880-09-18

LIZ 'nan, placing the lamp on the Ia
Die, stand gazing upon the girl.
T ne mad been ricked,-dupedi
ihen, suddenly, he remembered Mr..
hesteven's words:
oo.,! Mr. Hartley, do you remember the
comvefSaEsome six weeks ago?''
~ course, he did!
ne saw it all now.
:, nis words respecting the portrait of
inc dead Gray had taken him to see had
peen overheard, and, aware of his re-
PuSnance, this horrible, CHASTITY trick
n'.G oeen put upon him.
,,d TOT brief while loathing, horror,
Dlahueq with fierce indignation, ragged
HOW should he meet his employer on
ms returnP How could he give his an
ger vent in the presence Of his dead
let Hartley vowed never to put brush
agaln TO that portrait, and religiously
kept his word.
Stay!
over him. ri ''-- '--'' '-oi- o''ii'0
v, was ne right after all.
was ne not duping himself ?-making
terrible mistaken
II SO, into what an unpleasant posi-
alon might it lead him?
MIR. Kesteven had said his child was
|flnaer the influence of opiates. .
49, nut might account for the coldneaa---
though the artist did not think it.
If so, how absurd would have been
his anger?
But If not? Then would it be justifi-
able; almost-he did not know this de-
ception would be actionable.
How decide?
Selling penknife from the table,
pulling it open-regardless, in his an
ger, OF the consequences-app
the girl, he ran the keen blade into her
arm.
How white it was! M
Would blood Gomez Pray Heaven,
yes!
No!-though, almost unconsciously,
he had pressed the fesh-not the faint
est sign!
1t was, then not sleep-but death!
With cry of horror and indignation,
Leonard Hartley, turning, dashed to-
ward the door.
On the way his foot struck against a
low stool, he stumbled forward, and
threw out his hands to catch some sup
port. His right clutched but the table
cloth, and he fell, bringing the vases,
books, and the lamp crashing after him.
All was darkness. t't
He was alone with the dead!
Only for a space. There were hur-
rying feet in the passage; the door was
thrown wide, and the artist heard Mr..
Kesteven's voice exclaiming, in accents
of terror and alarm, "Good gracious
what has happened? Darkness! Clark,
run, run, bring light! Oh, Heaven /!
what can it be? Mr.. Hartley, where
are your
"Here, SIR" replied the artist, gath
ering himself up from the floor, as the
ghostly butler glided in with light.
81 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.
1t was only sleep, after all. What
an idiot l have made of myself" he
thought; then again stopped, for, sweet
and musical the girls young tones reach.
ed him.
"Papa, DEAR" they said, vaguely,
"where am l? What is itp"
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 a second he had
caught the girl to his heart. @
''NIabel, Mabel! my darling pet!' he
calculated. "Oh, Heaven, thank thee
My own still my own Mabel"
Whatever did it all meanp
The bewildered artist was asking him.
self that question for the third time,
when he received rather rough push
on the shoulder, while a voice wills.
pered, "For goodness sake, sir, get out
of this don't you understand"
"Understandp," repeated Hartley,
gazing from the speaker to the old man
and his child. 81 can't say 1 do"
"Then get out into the next drawing
room all the same, sir. Master wouldn't
have dear Miss Mabel know for worlds. .
The speaker was the butler-no longer
a ghostly butler, but the most life-like
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 lamplighter, 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.'' l
After which, this singular butler came
into the back drawing-room, dropped
the dividing curtains, sank into chair
and rocked himself to and fro, hall
laughing, half crying, gasped through
the handkerchief he was forcing into his
mouth, "Oh, dear! oh, dear! Who
would have thought itp Oh, my master,
what day for him! To think to-mor-
row she might have gone, and it 'ud
have been too late!'' l5e-.
in the name of all that is wise, ,
cried the artist, shaking him roughly,
"tell me what this means, you old idiot
1 came here to take the likeness of q
sleeping girl. / fancy, instead of sleep,
it is DEATH
"That's it, sir-that's it," broke in
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