Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1886-06-13

:
believe be often plays IN rather objec-
tiopsble concert hall. and l fancy--I an
mot sure, but I have my fexrs-there Is
some ENHANCEMENT with o girl who sings
there. ] am very sorry, very much
concerned about all this. He has such
promise, and am fond Of the lad"
IT am very much indebted to you
for your kindness and confidence" the
other said in the same level voice. 81
am afraid ] have not much influence,
but what | can do will. ! was fear
ing there was something wrong"
" You won't be too severe on him."
urged the good.natured, easy-going
painter, unconsciously taking the tone
Of father appealing to judge. There
is so much good feeling about him, and
no one can help liking him."
"Tbat is just the worst Of it. Feel
ing without principle is only another
snare. l will do my best ; and thank
you"
AS be stood up to 60 DIR. Kennedy
looked long at the Claude. You are
lucky to have such a gen." he said
with the enthusiasm of knowledge. at
is by far the most beautiful specimen |
have seen of him. II ever you are hard
up and want to sell let me know. Lord
Enderby would give anything almost
for it,"
81 shall never part with it. When
| 60 it may be for sale," Mr.. Dumaresq
answered briefly.
"No, Gemma," he said to himself,
as be stood before the hearth alone, 81
shall keep your legacy as long as | live;
it may be the only thing left me Of my
old life with you some day. Your other
legacy will give me many heartache
yet."
He went out that very evening in some
hope Of finding Clement at the studio,
where he slept occasionally, as he had
not come home. lie was not there,
however there was nothing but con-
fusion and silence in the great, untidy
room, covered with litter Of artistic
properties, uncleaned palettes, unfin-
ished sketches, tobacco pipes, and the
lay figure standing in an outrageous at
titude, with a soft felt hat cooked
rakishly over one of her eyes. The yio-
lin case was gone. This was a signif-
cant fact after what Mr.. Kennedy had
said. Mr.. Dumaresq hesitated few
minutes over his next step, and decided
suddenly upon it. He went to Mr..
Kennedy's house, and sent up note
asking for the name of the concert hall
he had mentioned. On receiving it he
took hanson at once, and went there.
lie had never entered such place in
his life; but out Of the atmosphere Of
smoke and bright gas and general rowdi-
ness he took away some distinct i'm
pressions. One, the first that forced
itself upon him, was the individuality Of
one Of the singers {; he felt, he knew not
why, that this was the girl Of whom Mr..
Kennedy lad spoken. She was small,
plump and pretty, with a cloudy frizz
Of golden hair round an almost child
ish-not at all bad-face. She was not
in any way immodest or Objectionable
she looked, on the contrary, fresh to it
all and half frightened. She had
sweet, clear voice like lark's. worthy
of something better than the silly comic
song, which was not, however, worse
than silly. She seemed now and then
to glance off the stage there was an air
of consciousness about her as if some
one were watching her. Dumaresq
knew who it was when Clement came
from that direction, looking flushed,
excited, handsome, with his violin. His
father groaned inwardly, and let his
head fall on his breast. Gemma's boy
here, and like this lie played an odd,
wild, eerie sort of tune, getting faster
and faster till it finished in q kind Of
skirl. lie was applauded, but net half
as much as the pretty girl, whom the
people round about called L" Title"
Mr.. Dumaresq wrote on bit of pa
per the following words:
81 have heard you play here tonight,
and have seen Mr.. Kennedy. | must
ask you to come tomorrow evening, if
| do not see you before them. D."
Folding this note and directing it, he
made his way out, and leaving the note
with the doorkeeper to give his son, he
went home. lie did not put any Of his
sensations into shape he took up this
new trouble with stern patience, as he
had accepted his others, half proud Of
bis power of self-control. lie expected
nothing but misery in life, he told him
self, and nothing now could take him
by surprise; but he meant to do what
be could for the boy, for his mothers
sake. He more than half despised him,
but there was, after all, tenderer
thought at the bottom. lie tried to
foster this by looking at the sepia
sketch, which Clement had made years
ago to please him, that evening when
he played the little air which be had
christened the " Claude" after the pic
ture. There is good in him, there is
good in him." the father repeated as he
held the sketch before his eyes. "If
his mother had lived it might have come
to more. l never could get any hold
upon him. That is part Of the curse
which has been upon me since she
went"
CHAPTER III.
The following evening, after solitary
and barely tasted dinner, Louis Du-
sat stern, silent, and immova-
BILE, awaiting with that resolute patience
with which he steeled his spirit, the
visit he had demanded from his son.
The room was but dimly lighted his
face was in deep shadow by the picture
above bis head, over the sunshine Of
which sudden eclipse seemed to have
fallen. Nine, 10, ii o'clock came.
Dumaresq had told himself it was no
use; Clement meant to keep away;
but just as he was putting mis- watch
back in his pocket he heard the door
bell, and then a minute afterwards q
stumbling step up the stairs, rattle at
he handle, and the young man came il.
He was highly flushed, his eyes had a
strange glitter; he seemed to bring in |
with him an odor of cigars and wine.
A Gaap ch;va~ nf .ul J;.,ot |