The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1885-08-07
THE PORTRAIT.

In small but handsomely furnished
sitting-room in hotel in New York. q
young Lady was sitting in an easy-chair
before a blazing fire one dreary November
afternoon.
AT last the door opened and tall, arIs-
tocratic looking young man entered the
room.
Harry, what a long time you have
been u she oried, springing up from her
seat. What ne7ysE have you broughtS
What does your father say about our
our marriage p hesltating at the last
word
g Read for yourself, Helen" replied her
husband, handing her an open letter, and,
leaning opposite to her against the man
telpiece, he watched her as she read:
I'm marrying as you have done you
have acted in direct opposition to my wish
es. From this day yOu are no longer my
son, and l wash my hands of you for
ever"
Harry, why did you not tell me of
this before 2'' exclaimed Helen, as she
read the cold, cruel words, looking up
through her tears into her husbands
face
My darling, what was there to tell ?
How should l know my father would
act in this hard-hearted manner' But,
nv love" he continued more seriously,
there is an end Of our shopping excursion
into Broadway. Nou will have to do
without diamonds, now that your hus-
band is peuniless outcast instead of the
heir to twenty thousand a year.
Hush, Harry don't talk like that"
she said worried at his bitter tone. You
know that it was not of diamonds or dress
ss that I was thinking. But what are
you going to do % laying her hand on his
arm and looking up sadly into his pale
sad face, " You cannot work for liv-
ing"
And why not work for a Hving'" he
exclaimed in a determined voite " Be
cause happen to be a mHlionaires son,
brought up without any knowledge OF
businessp But / will work for my living
and show my wife that am not unworthy
of the confidence she placed In me. =" and
he stopped and kissed her softly.
It was while pursuing his studies IN oil
painting that Harry Marston wooed and
won Helen Tracy, goyerness In an Eng
lish family. and the orphan daughter OF
an officer in the army.
Their new home, consisting of three
rooms in n house on dirty east side
street. was very different from the grand
old mansion where he had hoped TO take
his bride, but he set to work cheerfully at
his tAvorite art and tried hard to earn a
living by paiztina portraits This be found
very soon was by no means an easy mat
Ter.
At last, one dreary afternoon when
Harry was sitting in the dreaEy little
room he called his studio, trying 20 devise
some scheme to repleuish his slender
purse, the servant ushered In a white
haired old man
Placing a chair by the fire for his visitor,
Harry inquired his business
'' Iou are a portTait-painter, I believe,
sir - said the old gentleman, looking at
him through his Vold-rimmed speotacles,
That is my profession, sir" said Har-
ry, delighted at the thought of having
found 3 commission at last.
well. SIR, l want you to paint the
portrait of my daughter"
With pleasure, sir. " said Harry, eager
IL. when can the Lady give me the first
sitting 2"
Alas, sir, she Is dead-dead to me
these twenty years, and | killed her. l
broke her heart with my selfshnsss and
cruelty,'A exclaimed the old man in a
trembling. excited voice
A strange chill came over Harry as the
idea that his visitor might be an escaped
iunStIc crossed his mind
Mastering his emotion at last, the stran-
ger SAID
Pardon me, young sir. This is of no
interest to you My daughter is dead, and
wsnt you to paint her portrait from my
description, as I perfectly well remember
her twshty years ago"
"I viii do my best, SIR, but it is by no
mesas an easy task, and you must be pre-
pared for many disappointments." said
Harry. when having given a minute de
sur1ptiOr of his IonR-lest daughter, the
old man rose to depart.
For weeks Harry worked incessaatly en-
the portrait of the dead girl, making
sketch sitter sketch, each of which was re.
jeoted by the remorse-strtcloen father.
At,lsst, one evening. wesried with a day
Of fruttless exsrtisn. he whs sitting over
ths Ere Watching hfs wife. who was busy
ever seme dainty needlswork, when an
idea suddenly flashed upon him.
Tall. fair, with golden hair and dark
blue syes Why, Helen, 1t is the very
ptotsrs Of yourself - he cried, starting 70