The weekly Thibodaux sentinel and journal of the 8th Senatorial District. [volume] (Thibodaux, Lna. [i.e. La.]) 1875-1898, 1883-01-27
CHAPTER II.
DANGER AHEAD.

DANGER AHEAD.
n Was four o'clock upon dull afternoon
in October. The uptown avenues we're nj
nos: entirely deserted .xcept by few soli-
tary foot-passengers, who looked as lively as
travellers in desert.
In o studio on one of the small thorough.
fares of New York an artist sat at his easel.
lie was young and handsome, but there wos
a look Of discomfort in his face, shadow Of
care upon mis- brow, which gave m unna:u.
rally grave expression to his countenance.
II Was the tace OF o man Who suffers, anC
Suffers intensely.
The picture on his easel was small mini
ature portrait-the portrait of q woman beau
ltll as dream-beautiful as an angel or q
;airy-with that pure and enchanting lowell
aess which seems to speak of the skies-al-
most too beautiful for this common earth
and the creatures who dwell upon it. surface.
The eyes were blue, large, bright aud
llmpld. The small nose was Of the purest
form OF Grecian; the lips Of the bright GRIM
parted, disclosing teeth which glittered like
pearls. The face was framed in floating
tresses of hair, of that shining, golden hue
which is SO often described by poets. yet so
rarely seen in life.
The artist worked with the energy of q
man who has but one object in life-the
completion of his task. His head was bent
over his easel; his hand trembled with con-
vulsive and nervous movement rs he clutched
his brushes and mixed his colors upon the
palette.
He seemed like man possessed with
demon.
A young girl. seated at o window at the op-
posite end of the studio, looked up every
now and then from her work, and fixed her
dark, watchful eyes upon the artist.
Each time she did so, her gaze fingered
longer upon his countenance. till at last she
dropped her hands-her work lay neglected
in h.r lap, and her eyes remained fixed upon
the toiler.
This girl was not beautiful. yet there was
something in her face which, when once
seen, remains forever craven upon the me:n-
ory Of the beholder.
She was very pale-so pale that in the
seemed colorless as that of marble statue.
der eyes were black-of that profound
black which has light in its depths-eyes
which had something strange in their rs.
pect, and which reminded those who looked
INTO them of an open grave--a fathomless
abyss.
These dark eyes, looking out Of q colorless
face, had something mysterious in their
gaze aud in the days of witchcraft would
have struck terror to the hearts of the igno-
rant.
The artist did not see the earnest gazc
fixed upon him. He never raised his eyes
FROM the miniature. Now and then he
sighed heavily as he paused for moment
from bis labor. He seemed wrapt in some
laourrful dream, and utterly unconscious Of
all that was passing around him.
At last the young girl addressed him.
Clarence" she said, "why do you work
so hard?'
He laughed bitterly, but did not raise his
head.
because love my art" he answered.
''and love little else."
..Is that SO, Clarence?" said the girl with
an earnestness which was not unmixed with
scorn. "Is that so?" she repeated, pointing
to pile Of unfinished paintings leaning
against the wall of the studio. ''If it is your
art which you love, why are your great pic
trres all cast aside, neglected, forgotten. for
the portrait Of woman of fashion-for it i;
q portrait which you have there, is it not?"
\ dark and angry expression obscured the
face of the artist as he answered this queS-
ton.
1T is," he said, still bending over the
easel, and never once looking at his queS-
toner.
1.-The portrait of Miss Ovington?"
"The portrait of Miss Maud Ovington,
answered the artist, in tone OF defiance.
The girl laughed harsh and mocking
laugh, which had nothing womanly in its
tone.
1T will be charming ornament for the
lady's boudoir," she said; ''and she will,
doubtless, value il as much as
She paused, looking with a malicious. an
almost demoniac smile at the artist, vho had
now raised his head from the easel
The eyes of the two met.
aAS much as what?" he asked.
Gas much rs she values the he. Of the
srtist when it is cast beneath her feet. Nay,
more, for when she is tired Of the picture
she will only throw it aside, or give it to hel
waiting maid She will not trample upon
lit: she has trampled upon the artists heart.
The Young man rose from his seat with ar
Exclamation Of rage, then, restraining ham
self by o powerful effort. he sank again into
his chair, and, clasping his hands before hi:
.Cla-ice! cousin Claricew he exclaimed
when the storm of grief had passed, ''yo'
are my fathers brothers only daughter-yor
| s-e my sole surviving female relative, and
have loved you as sister. Why-why
then, do you torture me thus? You hav'
discovered my secret; You know that hav'
|ioyea-that do love Maud Ovington-deep
| ly, devotedly-wildly, foolishly, if you will
Iou know also that am loved in return"
Il do not know that" interposed the girl
coldly.