The Indianapolis sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis, Ind.) 1880-1904, 1885-03-25
THE MYSTERIOUS PORTRAIT.
BY SYLVESTER SYKES.

IL y oI6lA u 12A0EbllCAJ AuInAoAC0 6Af-
ting room in q hotel in New York a young
lady was sitting in an easy chair before a
bisz Dg fire one dreary November afternoon.
At asst the door opened and a tall, aristo-
cratic young mar entered the room.
"Harry, what a long time you nave BEEN"
she cried. ~springing up from her seat. What
news have you brought? What does your
father say about our-our ~marriage?' hest
tsting at the last words.
Read for yourself, Helen" replied her
husband, handing her an open letter, and,
leaning opposite to her against the mantel-
piece ne watched her as she read:
In marrying as you nave done you have
acted IN direct opposition to my wishes.
From this day you are no longer my son,
and I now wash my hands of you for
ever"
Harry, why did you not tell me of this
oefore2" exclaimed Helen, as she read the
cold, cruel words, looking up through her
tears into her husbands fsce.
MY darling, what was there to tell How
could / know my father would act in this
hard-hearted manner But, my love" ne
continued more seriously. there is an end
20 our shopping excursion into Broadway.
You will have to do without diamonds, nov
that you husband is q ~penniless outcast
instead Of the heir to twenty thousand a
year"
Hush, Harry; don't talk like that" she
said. worried at his hitter tone. you know
that il was not OF diamonds or dresses that
| Uas thinking But what are you going to
do2' laying her hand on his arm and look
ing up sadly into his pale. sad face. You
can not work for a living"
And Why not work for a liying?s he ex-
claimed in q determined voice. Because 1
happen TO be q millionaire's son., brought up
without any knowledge of business. But 1
will U0yx for nv LIVING and ohOU nv EfFa
that | am not unworthy of the confidence
she placed in me" and he stopped and kissed
her sottly.
1t was while pursuing bis st1dies in oil
painting that Harry Marston wooed and
von Helen Tracy, q governess in an Eoglish
family, and an orphan daughter of an officer
in the army.
Their new home, consisting of three rooms
In a house on q dirty East Side street, was
very different from the grand old mansion
where he had hoped TO take his bride, but
ne set TO work cheerfullY at his favorite art
and tried hard to earn q living by painting
portraits. This he found very soon was by
no means sn easy matter.
At last, one dreary afternoon, when Har-
~ was sitting in the dreary little room he
scheme to replenish his slender purse, the
servant ushered in g white haired old man.
Placing a chair by the FIRE for his visitor,
Harry inquired his business.
"You are q portrait painter, | believe,
sir ?' said the old gentleman, looking at him
through his gold-rimmed spectacles.
THAT is my profession, sir" said Harry,
delighted at the thought Of having found a
commission 1T last.
Well, sir, I wasn't you to paint the portrait
of my daughter"
with pleasure, sir" said Harry, eagerly.
when can the lady give me the first sit
ting?"
"AIas, sir, che is dead-dead TO me these
twenty years, and killed her. / broke her
heart with my selfshness and cruelty ex-
claimed the old man in a trembling, excited
voice.
A strange chill came over Harry as the
idea that his visitor might bs al escaped lu-
natic crossed his mind.
Mastering his emotion at last the stranger
said:
Pardon me. young sir. This is of no in.
terest to you. My daughter Is dead and
want you to paint her portrait from my de-
scription, as / perfectly well remember her
twenty years ago."
~ will do my best. sir; but it is by no
means an easy task, and you must be pre-
pared for many disappointment" said Har-
~, when, ha wing given a minute description
of his lost laughter, the old man rose to de-
part.
For weeks Harry worked necessarily on
the portrait of the dead girl, making sketch
after sketch, each of which was rejected by
TINS IemOTSe SLrICkeu Itlu6I, uul1 II yin
began to possess q singular fascination to
him, and he sketched face after fsce, as II
under . spell.
At last. one evening, vearied with a day
of fruitless exertion. he was sitting over the
FIRE watching his wife. who was busy with
some dainty needlework, when an idea sud
denly flashed upon him.
Tall, fair, with golden hair and dark blue
eyes Why, Helen, il is the very picture o.
yourself" be cried, starting to his feet anc
taking his wife's sweet face between his two
hands. Without losing O moment he 81
down and commenced to sketch Helen
face, and when his patron called the mex
morning he was so busily engaged in putting
the finishing touches 10 the portrait that b.
did not hear him enter the room, and worked
on for some moments unconscious of hi
presence until with 3 cry of Helen, M,
darghterli the cid man hurried him asid,
and stood entrsnced before the picture
After gazing for some moments IN silenc
cnly broken by his suppressed sobs, the oil
man turned to Harry and asked him in al
eager voice where he had obtained the origi
nal of the picture.
s.It Is the portrait of my wife" said he.
Your wife, sir! Who wss she? Pardol
me for ssking the question" he added; 'bu
! have heard lately that my poor Helen LEI
an orphan daughter. and for q year 1 hsv
been searching for her, hoping 10 atone fc
the wrong I did her mother"
Harry was beginning to tell him the stor
OF how he met Helen, when the door opene
and his wife entered the room.
Perceiving that her husband was engage
she was about 10 retire when the old ma
stopped her respectfully.
Pardon me, Madam" he said, "bu
would you tell me your mothers Made
nsmeg'