, 1888-11-11

''But his work lives after him. It
may still win the prize"
Roy felt as if the voice came from
without, and turned and looked about
him. He saw the rolled up picture lying
on the table, and thought there could be
no harm in taking one more look. He
stretched it upon his easel, and gazed at
it with envy and delight.
CATER all, it would harm no one" he
thought. Il would AVE lone anything
for him-liHingLw would not have de-
serted him on a barren island or thrown
him to wolvesl l would not save my
self in any way at his expense. But now,
if / can save myself without injuring
him, why not?"
And h commenced one of those I'M
seen battles on the battle ground of the
human heart, where no banners wave
nor trumpet sounds tell of victory-no
muffled drum of defeat, but where the
destiny of souls are ofttimes decided, and
all is lost or won for time and e~ternityl
So three days passed, and one day, i'm
PEELED by an irresistible force, Roy turned
into the street where Lang had his hum
BILE room. But as he reached the corner
he saw a coffin borne out, and turned
shuddering away. 1t was all over, then.
He could do his friend no harm, even if
he won the prize through himl
Roy painted no more his ineffective
pictures. Each day he gloated instead
over the magical island, with its wind
swept ferns, its lambert skies and lumi-
nous air. Each day he looked into the
blue eyes of the island queen, and felt
assured of his own triumph. 1t was a
lime of fever and unrest till the final
day, when, mounted in a frame that had
cost his very last franc, he sent the picture
to the judges, and sat down to wait, He
pawned his watch and lived upon the
proceeds while he waited. He did not
sleep well any more; his old buoyancy
had deserted him.
He took a step forward. There was
time, n he would save himself yet.
What matter if chaos came afterward7
He would have done his duty. But how
could he face those ranks of spectators
and tell his crime9 He faltered and fell
back-it was too late. He heard a hum
of voices. Some one was speaking, but
he could not distinguish the words. He
did not know till some one pushed him
forward, and a voice said in his ear:
Look alive, OIL fellow! 1t is your
name they are cling. Your picture
has taken the -. and no wonder.
How you AVE blossomed out. It's no
more o old style"-
Roy felt himself pushed over toward
the platform. Wa there no help2
He made a strong effort to speak as he
met the smiling faces on every hand.
at is not mine, he managed to say.
''There is a mistake"
A great burden seemed to roll away
from him at these words. He could lift
his head once more among his fellow
men! He was no longer a perjured
cheatl
a murmur rose on every side. What
did it all mean? The professors stared at
him and at one another.
"What does it mean, then? Why are
you here? Let the painter of Miranda
come forward and claim the prize
You're fading. away, my boy" one
of his fellow painters said, on meeting
him the morning of the decision. '.And
what has become of your chum2 He
was always ethereal. Has he sailed
away like thistle down on a puff of
wind? 1 thought he was painting for the
prize2"
80 he was" stammered Roy, with a
guilty flush on his face, ''but sickness
and''-
tOOl Dl1SCy IltSSlCuIS. CI1Du u SleTD
voice, and Roy felt relieved.
He was trembling, nevertheless. He
felt giddy, as one who stands on the verge
of a precipice. He stood by a window
and could catch a glimpse of a blue sky,
and y leecy, wind swept cloud. Could
any one Iook down from those shining
battlements2 he wondered with a vague
shiver. Could one know the griefs and
joys, the temptations and triumphs of
those left behindp His head seemed in a
whirl, as if a hundred wheels were turn
ing there. He longed to stop it all for a
moment that he might think.
Roy ~shuddered. From what pale ranks
of disembodied spirits would they call
back the artist of the prize?
Ill will explain" he began.
But the words were frozen on his lips,
for before him, pale, gaunter than ever,
hollow eyed, purple Tipped, with slow and
wavering steps, he saw his friend APP
pear.
Il am herev a hollow voice said near
him. II was i'll, and my friend sent the
picture for me-"
Roy heard no more. The excitement
of the past six weeks had lone their
work. At that voice from the dead, for
SO it seemed, he staggered and fell
When he came back to his senses, Lang
bent over him kindly.
you're all right now, old fellow" he
said. 81 ought to have given you warn
ing. I'm just able to be out"
Don't take my hand. am a swim
der" cried Roy. "You don't know. l
meant"-
'But you didn't. You were brave at
the last, in the face of ALL l say you are
a trump. Come, never speak of it again.
Let us take a studio togather, and III
stand the expense out of the prize, till
you do something really good. Work
will do it, old fellow"
Roy did succeed at last. his battle
had taught him something.-H. w. Pier
son in Once a Week.