, 1883-11-24

ltT 1 nave uOI even DTOhSu lleT
heart Tell me about her ~
"She is young, very mystical, yet
very real, with a smile at one side Ct
her mouth, while the other looks
quite grave"
This was a Characteristic Of Anita's
mouth, and it was she l was describ-
ing--Anita as ! fancied her grown
older, for l had not seen her, scarcely,
indeed, thought Of her, since that
day when we were children.
"It's a pity you can't paint her for
me-" said Eaton, inn etuously, as he
gazed at the moon. 81 don't quite
see her, but she sounds great"
81 might try to paint her to-mor-
row." l suggested, taking a cigarette
froao- m yspoclsqt, and relapsing into
my calm manner again.
"YOu fOrget-t0-morrow will be
too late. But you shall paint her To-
night-nOw, before l kill you"
He put up his oars as he spoke and
came toward me, drawing a rope
through his heavy hands. He was
in a state of wild excitement, and
felt my light airy manner slipping
away as he approached. l was chill
as-as my watery grave was like to
be. Yet let him bind me hand and
foot, and instinCtIvely counted his
deep breaths the while by way of
something to do. A lurch, strug-
gle, and l should have been over
board and lost. Now that there
seemed chance for life, l was in
terror, and was more than half out
Of my senses as watched my Charon
lay me on the hither side of his
stream. He took me from the boat
as if ! had been child. Then he
built fire.
81 can mix colors by freight" he
cried, and unfastening my hands set
his canvas and easel before me, gave
ME brush and babe me begin.
For the life Of me, and in spite of
the threatened death so near at hand,
/ could but feel an, interest in the
freak.
81 must do it in grays or browns.
1t must be a monochrome, or we
shall ruin it," spoke impatiently.
So l did it in grays. The jut Of
black rock, ,the waves, the moon rest
ing on the waves, and little Auita's
face, with the half-solemn, half-smil-
ing look upon it.
The strange scene, the maniac be-
side me, my own former fear and
present excitement and the stirring
of my fancy gave me a certain fic-
ticiOus strength. In less than an
hour, as Il should think, had fin
ished my sketch. 1t was certainly
weird, andas it seemed to me, strong.
In the distance half suggested the
boat, and two men in it, one gazing
eagerly toward the moon and the
face, and the other lying in the stern,
his arms over his head, his eyes tow
ard the heavens. The boat and the
men were small and well In the
shadow.
"Bravo! bravow cried. Eaton.
Don't touch it again! Give me the
brush! Here !" and snatching it
from my fingers he wrote his name,
"7homHs EdtOn," in bold black let
ters under the boat. "This is my
work, remember-mine, not yours.
1t will be great success, and youm
he paused and looked at me-"you
have saved your life" Saying which
he jumped into the boat with my
sketch, laughed a harsh, bleak sort
Of laugh, and rowed away round the
ledge Of rock.
For a few moments sat still think
ing it Over-the strange, ridiculous,
yet almost tragic scenes. 81 am not
sure that little Anita didn't save my
life after ALL" l thought to myself.
1t did not take me long to get out
Of my close quarters, but the walk
home over the dreary, rough coast
was long, and it was late before l
reached the village. What strange
eerie walk it was, with the sea charg-
ing the moist air, and the moon con-
tracting and expanding before my
eyes through the mist that had risen.
Anita shared the walk with me.
l found telegram telling me of
my fathers very serious illness at
Baden-Baden, and l was busy pack.
ing and driving through the chill,
early morning toward the nearest
railway station, so that l had no
chance to look up Eaton. l remem-
Der that l told my driver something
about an artist, friend Of mine who
had turned up, who seemed wrong
in his mind and ought to be looked
after. l believe l wrote a line to the
same effect to Gleason. l know l
meant to do so. But the anxious
voyage and more anxious weeks in
Europe put all other thoughts from
my mind.
1t was after my fathers death late
in the fall that / sailed for home.
Taking up a paper that came out on
the pilot boat l saw the notice of the
Salmagundi exhibition. Coupled
with it was an announcement of the
death of poor Tom Eaton, who had
died in a mad-house the week before.
"An unsuccessful but painstaking
artist" the review went on TO say,
ait is somewhat surprising that the
only work he has left Of any strength
should be now hung at the black and
white exhibition. This sketch was