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

CLOCK somewhere IN tne rOOIn.
At the end of the second hour he could
support it no longer, and closed the sit
ting.
"You'l come tomorrow" inquired
Mr.. Kesteven, wistfully.
"Of course" smiled the artist. GA
compact is compact. This is the
strangest whim for young lady 1 ever
heard of. l could succeed so much bet
ter were your daughter awake"
F" Il know know; but, as told you,
that's impossible. Will you make the
four evenings suffice, for on the fifth my
daughter and leave here"
"Oh, yes, can take the canvas home,
if your footman will call cab," re-
marked the artist. "By the help of the
miniature l can work upon it at my stu
dio tomorrow, and get it advanced be-
fore the evening""
The cab was fetched, and Leonard
Hartley, with the portrait, got in.
swell, I'm glad one sitting is over.''
he reflected. g / never felt anything so
awfully depressing. Pom my word, if
the girl were ugly would even now
throw up the whole thing. But she is
SO eautiful-beautifu enough to be for
given any absurdity. Still, I'm glad to
be in the open air again"
He drew long breath of relief; but
the depression of that silent sitting was
not easily to be shaken off. ~
1t kept with him all the evening; it
held possession of him when asleep, in
the shape of nightmare dreams, from
which he arose next morning but little
refreshed. 5i 4. H.
"What an idiot / ami he thought.
GA too sensitive nature is certainly
curse. WE'LL" he laughed, Sin me its
balanced by not too amiable temper.
One ought to counteract the other. Let's
look at my work.
Going into the studio, he went to the
portrait he had placed upon the easel.
cit is lovely-beautiful! What deli.
cate curves!' he exclaimed. "Never
have had more charming model
The very look seems to give inspiration. "
And Selling the brush he set to work
throwing all his soul into the task.
The second evening was a repetition
of the first, only the oppression to the
artist was greater. f
There was something awful in the
stiffness that surrounded the sleeping
girl.
Leonard Hartley grew nervous.
He started if his brushes clicked
against his pallet. .i
Faint heats came over him, though
the month was December.
Once he had to lean back and wipe
the perspiration from his forehead.
Mr.. Kesteven, rising, quilted the
room, and returned speedily with wine.
Excuse my previous forgetfulness,
Mr.. Hartley" he whispered. cat this
time l have much to occupy my
thoughts H" .tl .]v-t ~ LJb
He placed the decanter and glass by
the artist, who thankfully filled the lat
ter and drank. ... ........ .....
It brought nerve. and he proceeded,
refreshed.
The portrait had now made wonder
full progress. The likeness was unmis-
taxable. The lips curved with a smile,
the eyes shown forth in animation. The
father was delighted.
Wonderful exquisite !" he exclai M
ed with emotion, as he gazed upon it.
cit is herself, Mr.. Hartley. 1 can
never sufficiently thank you. You have
made me your debtor for life.''
When the artist left that night he was
worse than on the previous one. He
wandered restlessly through the streets,
10th to 60 back to the solitude of his
chambers. He seemed to dread to be
alone, craved for the sight of moving,
animated life, and plenty of light.
Once he asked himself if he were In
love with his sleeping beauty, as he
could never get her out of his thoughts
But he laughed at the idea.
No; it was the singular stiffness and
heavy air of that drawing-roo and all
its surroundings, that was the cause
nothing else.
The third evening was worse than
either of the preceding two, or Leonard
Hartley was growing more irritable I'M
der the strain upon his nerves. He felt
that he should like to cry out-perhaps
with an oath-at the gray-haired butler
who moved about like some inhabitant
from the other world. a
But he put restraint on himself, re-
fecting with satisfaction that there was
but one more sitting, and then he would
be free.
"After that, she and her father are
going away" he mused-"I wonder
where? l should like to see her again
when her eyes are open. 1t would be
pleasant to feel their light shine on one. -
The fourth and last evening arrived.
Like those who hasten to get a not con-
genial task over, Leonard Hartley was a
few minutes earlier than usual.
Every thing, however, was ready.
Every thing the same as previously, only
Mr.. Kesteven's manner was altered. 1t
was hurried, restless, nervous, and he
asked the artist if shorter sitting would
suffice that night.
can hour would be enough" an
swered Leonard Hartley, by no means
reluctantly; and thinking, "I suppose
the old gentleman breads his daughters
waking and detecting his little plot.
wish she would; I should like to see her
out of that awful sleep"
The painting had not proceeded a
quarter of an hour when the ghostly
butler, gliding in, whispered something
to his master, who, excusing his alb
sence for brief space to the artist, hur-
riedly left the room.
No sooner had he gone than Leonard
L. Il L.