The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1888-01-19

primes whose beautiful wife leaves him
st night, and whom he DISCOVERS Ia
be vampire at her horrid feast.
What did you understand VAN.
pre- TO DC. before this readingl"
asked at its conclusion.
"a bat OF some Sort" said Mrs. Ad.
Rance, hesitatingly.
II never quite knew. associate the
idea with that of tho ghoul who de-
YOURS the dead"
"But it is revoltiu2!''
II see now, however, that it is one
OF the dead who obtains what passes
tor Life by absorbing the life OF the liv.
ing"
"You make me shudder,'' cried Mrs,
Adriance.
Didn't the story"
TOO unreal, after all"
ut all resolves itself into the cues.
ton OF what it is to live, and what It
is to be dead. To live-is to be sonti.
ent OF all other life. to feel the emo.
tlons and sensations of all other be.
ines, to be aware, through every pore
and at every pulse Of the life of 9th.
ers-" =.
"How few live" said Irene, looking
up with her sad eyes. ="
THAT is very pretty poetry" said
Mrs. Adriance. But poetry. And
about the dead?"
1--WE will have no dealings with the
dead, I said. But the vampire-the
ghou'-we meet her any day." And
went on with my painting.
That night after Mrs. Adriance had
gone out, radiant in her claret velvets
and diamonds, Irene came softly down
the stairs. her face white as the little
ivory chest she carried. the shrine no
doubt that held her love letters and
her keepsakes. 1t was Gervais who
waited for her in the alcove of the
drawing.room where the lights were
low. went out for q stroll in the
frosty, air myself. Perhaps
! did not stay long enough;
for, letting mysel: in again
in the course of an hour. I
heard a broken cry, l saw a passion.
ate embrace and Gervias dashed
headlons by me, and Irene fell faint
lng-to the f1oo>-if had not caught
her in season.
It was q tear-sodden face that
Irene brought to the table next morn
ing, where by her aunt she was pro-
nounced to have q decided influenza.
But at dinner she was unable to be
present at all, and for several days
thereafter she failed to appear.
ut is quite the best so," said Mrs:
Adriance. "Once over an affair of
that sort the nerve is dead and done
with. And then it is for the child 8
Lasting good: Yet it is Incompetent
sible-and with such taste as hers in
everything else-that yellow hair OF
his always looked so crule-for my
own part l could never endure Til.
Gervais very :1ear me. And he was
lnett IDLY wearisor,e."
/ suspended my work for some
weeks at this time III order that
Mrs. Adriance might accompany her
husband on southern Journey, and
l did not return to the house during
that time-being occupied, l may as
well say. with the care OF Gervais, who
wild with grief and rage and longing
and despair needed such care as be.
longs to Maynard child, his faco
CHASTITY, his health shattered, his rea-
son unsettled, and his heart broken.
ut is OF no use," he cried. There
is nothing for me to do about it. She
herself gave the coup de grace. She
said it had been an idle fancy; she
said she wished for her freedom. She
has cared nothing for me. she
has trifled with me, she has played
upon me, and she has driven me mad!"
/ did the best could in the way of
comtort-it was nothing. II one had
gone to the house and kidnapped
Irene and brought her to him and laid
her in his arms, is would have been
nothing. She had herself put out the
light. And otherwise Irene would not
have come. She had understood that
she WAS sacrificing herself; and she had
sacrificed both herself and Gervais.
When next l went to the Adriance
mansion. Mrs. Adriance, lying back
among the cushions of her purple VEL
vet chair, superb in gold-colored gaus-
es and great scarlet peoples, seemed
to me the most magnificent thing in
flesh and blood that I had ever seen.
How rich was the carmine on the olive
OF her cheek, how sumptuous the GRIM
son lips, how like soft fire in mid
night beams thu lustre of those black
frineed eyes! The masses OF her
black hair glittered with their own re-
Elections like the spikes of a silver
crown above that regal brow. She
laughed, a flashing laugh of white
teeth, dimples and color, and cried:
Nov we are all right again! Foryou
see we have Irene back!" How sweet
in another's ears. how womanly, how
lovingly self-forgetful might that have
sounded! But in mine-l looked in a
bewlldered wonder at Irene On the
lounge, in clineing, white gown, her
fair hair allen, the deathly pallor of
her face enhanced by wild violet cir.
cles about her eyes, her form shrunk.
en-, as It were, to O line-the shadow
OF a line. She smiled family and
sweetly, and murmured in g. VOICE
not Irene's voice, but one like the
sound OF a leaf singing in the wind
Eyes, you see1 am here-what is left
of me-"
"And are you still reading the old
STORY OF the vampire ana the maiden
she devours?" I cried IN amazement.
I went after awhile to my studio
the room which consisted OF the up
per floor of the house. Hooked at
my sketches land my canvases;
sketched a new one. lbegan to paint
in earnest the next day, and l painted
as If possessed with O sacred fury. I
was up at daybreak. and 1revised my
work by candlelight. l ate scarcely
nothing, saw nobody, hardly knew 1
lived or breathed. At the end of tho
week l went down to the room where
Mr.. and Mrs. Adriance CHANGED to be
sitting, she with that tinge on her
cheek like the scarlet on the side of g.
pear, and Irene lying on the lounge be-
side them, still and white as il in q
trance-and l babe them to the view.
There on the canvas with all the
power of my pencil, the force of my
will, the strength of my color, had I
pictured the radiant creature, supple,
of Astounding curve. of tints rich as
the Autumn leaf; but through the dia-
phane of her drapery those long and.