Richmond dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1884-1903, 1888-01-08

have moved 0 spectator 10 tears az us
pathos.
Madeline saw nothing pathetic in IL;
every thing seemed supportable, poverty
aud hunger and discomfort, 20 long as
she could kiss those little red lips and
hear the baby prattle OF her boy. Yet
when che had undressed and laid him
down again on the rug, and only his
| low breathing disturbed the silence IN
the room, she wrung her hands and her
eyes grew wild and frightened What
was she to do il her one means OF earn
ing money failed her They could not
live long on the few shillipgs she had IN
her purse then.
Madeline shuddered and whispered the
word, starvation.
She looked around the room there
was nothing that could be converted into
money besides the canvas and her cloak
what furniture was there belonged to the
woman from whom the room was rented,
and who took charge OF the baby during
/ her absence.
She had no jewels with her; nothing
except her wedding ring her eyes grew
| hard and stern as she looked at it IL
had brought her little but suffering, but
her need would be great before she
parted with it.
What was she to do? The question
pressed itself upon her 1t had never
obtruded itself SO persistently as to-
night; with girlish tnsOucidncc she had
borne the revelation Of her husbands
faithlessness with womsnly hurt she
had escaped from the letters he had him
self broken. and she had borne with
motherly love the indignity of her posi-
ton for the sake of her child he, at
least, should have no reason to associate
evil with the name of the father he
would never know.
Now and then, in the first few weeks
OF separation from her husband, Made
line had thought of the future, but the
prospect had been seen through the me-
dunn of her optimism and inexperience,
and it had not alarmed her. She was so
gay and sunny it was impossible for a
shadow to last long upon her, and when
her money came toan end would be easy
enough TO earn more by selling her paint-
ings-Madeline was rather proud Of the
forethought which had induced her to IN
clude her painting materials among the
few things she had brought from home
on the evening of her sudden flight
and then she had baby with her, and she
could not be unhappy where be was.
They had notmanaged badly Mt first, the
two. With a joyous sense OF danger es-
capped, the young mother had taken her
child to a respectable clearinghouse,
where she had remained until rapidly
decreasing funds had warned her that
she must reduce her expenditure.
Since that time, IN spite of economy
to which Madeline had been wholly
unaccustomed, she had been obliged to
fall back upon her own efforts in order
TO support herself and the boy.
knowledge Of human nature came TO
her in a painful guise, and she learned,
too late to spare herself suffering, the
difference between assured position and
uncertain mediocrity. The work which
had been applauded the elegant studio
with It's costly footings seemed almost !
unworthy of notice away from its sump
tuous surroundings, and in the alien en-
tOurOge of the dealers shops it grew
positively feeble and pretentious. 1t
was not without merit, neverthe-
less; Madeline could catch the
splendor of q sunset, and bring the
breadth and slope of breezy downs so
close that in presence of her landscapes |
one held his breath and felt the shadows |
Of mountain masses of clouds sweeping |
over him the winds grew heavy with |
the scent of heather and gorse when she !
pictured stretching moorlands, and the |
roar of breakers could plainly be beard |
when her subject was yellow sand or
flashing waves. Perhaps her art was |
simply the trick of nature certain it is |
that away from the sea and beyond sight |
of the mOOrland ii failed her she could |
not create by force of imagination.
The few sketches she had brought with |
with her had been sold after much diff !
Guilty, and Madeline had seated herself |
to paint for her living. She looked |
around the attic ut the bare whitewashed |
walls, and then through the window at
the long vista of chimney-pots, then
back again to the room in which was |
nothing beautiful-nOthing except her
self and the child-and she pressed her |
hand to her forehead despairingly-
where could she find a subject?
The boy had answered her unspoken
question by creeping to her feet and |
pulling at her gown she had kissed him
joyfully, and had set him on the floor
and begun to paint. At the end of the
sitting she had blocked in his figure, and
in few days the baby was smiling on
the canvas. rosy and beautiful.
ii was hard TO part with the picture
she had painted with such pride and JOY,
but it was necessary, and SO Madeline
had started out that morning to seek
purchaser. She went from shop to shop,
half relieved yet disappointed TO meet
with refusals only, and 1t was as last at
tempt that she had gone into the shop in
Regent street where we first saw her.
Now every effort had failed, and she was
asking herself what she was to do. She
drew out her purse and counted the
money it contained, and her heart sank,
for there were only three shillings, and
on Saturday the months rent was due
If the picture was not sold before Satur-
day she would be penniless.
Madeline was an orphan and friend
less she grew cold as she realized that
she must help herself or perish with her
child.
One other alternative WAS before her
she might return TO her husband and
give up the terrible struggle with fate,
but her womans pride refused to con-
sent to such course, and she rose and
bent over the sleeping child He stirred
in his sleep and she soothed him softly,
then she stood up brave and strong to
face the future for the sake OF her boy
she must never return to her husband.
CHAPTER III.
Two months later, and Madeline Vi
wien sat with haPgard face nursing her
dying child. Could the pinched face,
the little shrunken limbs, the white lips.
belong to the baby who had laughed
merrily on the floor only eight weeks
ago? The mothers heart rose up in bit
ter denial. 1t was not her child, but the
offspring of despair and want, lying on
her knee She held the thin little frame
passionately to her as she glanced round
the room. Was there nothing left
a. Al 4 4 4 -. l. 1. l.