Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1882-12-24

~,
What was thats' his grandson in
terrupted.
"To leave the old firm as I found IL,
fourishing under the old name, that
has been transmitted stainless from
father to son for four generations
since the time Of our founder, Simon
Vanderhaven." And he glanced ut an
old portrait by the chimney-piece,
which seemed to look back at him with
sympatbyand approval.
rBut my cousin Coinellus-" Bern
haTdt began. Esst -
tYour cousin Is an excellent mana
[ ger and a keen man Of business-some-
I what to keen, perhaps-but he is not q
I Nanderhayen. had hoped that your
father would have been my successor,
but he is gone before me. You will
soon be the last of the old stock
Bernbar(it assilent moment, look
ing AZ his grandfather with eompunc-
ton and regret. "Grandfather," he
faltered, ''I did not understands
did not know you felt it so deeply. Be
licye me, ] am grieyed to disappoint
YOU, but "Grieve for yourself, rath-
er, if you disobey me,n was the sternly
spoken rejOiner. "But i do not accept
YOUR decision as final," added N. Van
ilerbaven. rs he rose; 81 give you TO
the end Of the month to reconsider
it,"
Bernhardt followed him to the door,
and held back the tapestry, looking
whistfuIly into his face.
at would be easy to decide il had
only myself to think Of" he muttered,
''but there is Annette-l mean there is
someone else who has right TO be con-
sidered."
The old gantlemon stopped short on
the threshold. "A-ahp he said, inter-
negatively. "And who is Annette il
you please~
''She is-her name is Van ElyeD,"
be stammered.
"The daughter of that Van Even who
died bankrupt few years ago."
Bernhardt colored. HE was an
honorable man, though unfortunate.
He left a name as stainless as our own
"Hsve said naught to the contrary?
But he died bankrupt. and left his wife
and daughter to live on charity-or
starve.n
'VThey do neither, monsieur. Annette
maintains herself and her mother by
laee-making."
The other made a sort Of grimace.
"And you propose to make this little
girl your wife,"
with your permission, monsieur"
'"Or without it, was the dry addition.
"You will ask her advice in the matter
we have been discussing, L suppose|
w-yes, | shall certainly consult her. "
"And let her decide for you," the old
merchant recommended, glancing
shrewdly at him under his heavy brows.
Il will wager she takes my view OF the
subject when she knows what Is at
stake. Women are wonderfully clear
sighted and reasonable where their
own interests are concerned. | leave
my cause with perfect confidence in
Mile. Annette's hands" And with an
ironieal bow and smile, he passed over
the threshold and closed the door.
Left to himself, the young man paced
the room with 3 face of troubled thought.
Yes, Annette would take his grand
fathers view of the case, he supposed,
though not, rs the latter had cynically
suggested, from interested motives. 1t
wss not poverty she would fear, but the
separation which was Inevitable Ii he
were cast at once on his own resources.
IL might be wears before he could ask
her to share his lot, and he had no right
to expect that she should waste her
youth in waiting for him. And yet,
to give I'D the one purpose and ambi-
ton ofhis life; to turn his back on the
luminous heights that rose before him,
and descended to the gray and level
plain. 1t was hard indeed. The sound
of the chimes reused him from his
troubled reflections. He glanced at his
watch. "A quarter to I! L did not
know it was so late. promised to meet
Annette on the Pont du Beguinage at
sunset" He put aside his brushes and
palette, and exchanging his blouse for
coat left the house and took his way to
one of the innumerable bridges which
give the old city its Flemish name. He
was first at the trysting-place.
The golden summer evening, the
gently-hOwing water, the sOftly-chim-
ing bells all blended together in charm
that sOOthed and cheered him. He
took out his pocket sketch-bOOk, and
was dotting down the outlines of the
scene, when the sound of light foot
step made him turn. 1t was Annette.
She did not see him at first, and he
watched her as she advanced, glancing
about her with her soft, short-sighted
eyes. How sweet she looked, he thought,
with her pretty, pensive mouth and
dreamy eyes; those eyes which had al
ways q shade of tender melancholy,
even when her lips smiled, as they did
most brightly when he came forward to
meet her.
Yes, she was worth any sacrifice, he
decided. His mind was made up now
as TO the course he should take.
"Have | kept you waiting?" she
asked, giving him a dainty little hand
that a duchess might have envied. 81
have been very busy finishing some
work. Daylight grows precious after
| midsummer"
You try your eyes too much, deal"
| he said, looking at her tenderly. You
| know they are not strong, and If you
overwOrk them they may fail you AL
! together some day"
"Do not suggest anything so terribly"
she said, with little shiver, passing
| her hand over them. "Have you been
drawings she continued, looking at
| his sEeteh-book.
at Is only an outline" he returned,
showing it to her.
1.-THE view from here would make q
beautiful picture" she remarked; "you
must paint it one day for me.",
al shall paint no more, Annette"
She looked up, startled. "What dc
you mean"
81 mean" he returned with forced
laugh, "that in future l am to be slave
of the quill instead of the brush. You
remember l told you my grandfather
wished me to enter the business when
was of age?"
"And you have consented?"
mot yet, but must. He tells me il
refuse he will turn me adrift; then
you and / must part. That is not to
be thought of, is it, darlingr
$50 II is for my sake that you arr
giving up your art?" she said regret
fully.
mo, for my own, because / can live
without art. but can't live without
YOU" was his reply, as he drew bel
l hand ihrOnUh his arm