The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1881-12-07
Soon she was lost in the diving

ShS wac foot III VIC Wy lue
light
i
The morning sun is streaming
through the skylights of a large, al.
most bare studio. Bare it appears
for such little is there of every.
thing compared to the size of the
room. On the walls are a few char.
ceal studies on gray paper, few
casts Of fragments of classic freizes,
and here and there a piece of pottery
on a rough bracket.
Leaning against the mantelshelfi is
young John Summers. He has been
reading a letter; which he now slow.
ly tears Up and throws into the fire.
"Iam sorry" he says TO himself,
@but I shaft not return homss
must do something for the sSademy
that will tell for good or bad. Hshe
does not, l know | cantot do any
thing else" Then he moves to the
canvas on his easel. "That compo-
sition will be good enough" Even
in the charcoal outline he has caught
something OF likeness of the es.
pected modei-tke clear cut features,
the somewhat hard but prefectly
graceful lines of the figure. Yet
what is most curious, he has preserv-
ed the strange air Of repulsion that
that there is about her. The eyes
are looking steadily out of the can.
vas; but the head and shoulders are
turned away and all the drapery is
running from the foreground. She
is drawn as resting on a couch, with
one arm hanging loosely down. At
the back of the couch is an ibis
perched upon a stand. He keeps
looking intently at the canvas
There is slight noise, and standing
in the open doorway is the expect.
ant model.
"You see l have come," she says;
then she walks up to the study on
the easel. II should think that
would come out well. Isuppose tina,
is the dress you wish me to wear
and she points to a red silk robe
hanging over screen. as that a
dressing room?" He mods assent
She turns toward a door, opens it
and enters, carrying the robe with
her; the door is closed after her, and
he is alone. He takes up piece Of
charcoal, again looks. at the sketch
and makes slight alteration. Then
he walks to shelf and takes down q
book. 1t is Goethe's Affinities. He
turns over few Of the leaves, then
presses the book to his under lip and
says in half whisper,
II wonder what the other fellows
would think Of all this. Yet some
how it seems to come quite naturally
She seems not pleased to be here,
neither do l feel SO at her presence
She is a piece of my fate, perhaps, OF
| hers. One can't tell why the sea.
weed floats away from the rocks and
comes to the sand. Why she is here
at all is strange. One thing is Ger.
tain. | feel that l shall be sure tc
paint my picture now"
She re.enters the room.
81 am to use that couch?" she says
without the slightest tone Of interest
much less Of pleasure.
"Yes," he answers, taking up o
stick Of charcoal.
She walks 10 the couch and liei
down.
"You must have noticed the sketch
very carefully" he remarks in a tone
of surprise.
~ hardly looked at it,"
"Yet you have fallen into the ex
act pose l wanted. You must have
sat before. l beg pardon. OF course
not as professional model"
"And l have never but once sat fo
my portrait" and her voice has nj
touch of sympathy, but only a colo
languor.
He looks at the sketch, throws tn,
piece of charcoal into the fireplace
and takes up his palette and brushes
In less than quarter Of an hour he
face is on the canvass. In less thar
half an hour the red head of the ibi
is painted in. She lies perfect.
still. There is not the slightes
movement, nor the slightest sign o
f,t;nns t., e;lonoo ho o,;,, g.. a.