Frostburg mining journal. [volume] (Frostburg, Md.) 1871-1913, 1888-08-25

| hearted, open handed, and rs loyal as a
Scot. Putting aside my brushes, | sought
| Denbtgh; then we dined together and soon
afterward l returned to my room alone.
Late that evening, when l went ont
again, could have met my principal cred
itor and safely deHed the danger of recog-
milton. I had sacrificed my beard-that
profusely flowing beard which. if some
what untidv, was also of that picturesque
kind mostly affected by artists. l had sac
rifced it without pang, and by so doing
had completely destroyed my own identity.
In point of fact, l was now a tall, we'll
built, and C)ean, shaven young fellow, not
altogether bad-looking, and certainly at
tired with the most scrupulOus regard to
neatness and refine ment.
Nor was | Julian Nancourt-I was plain
John Warner, and was to stlrt at mid
night for the West, commissioned by Den
! bigh to look after certain claims in which
he had an interest
Two weeks later | read in New York
paper a long account of the mysterious
disappearance and supposed snicide of
Julian Nancourt, an artist of recognized
ability, who, after years of honorable en-
deavor, had attained an envied position in
his profession, and babe fair TO become one
of the greatest historical painters of the
age.
l laid aside the paper with curious sort
of SILVER; felt Ike man might feel who
has just seen his own tombstone. But
then, l was dead, you know-Iegally so, at
least. A letter from Denbigh followed
| close upon the paper. here is an extract
The pictures went off like wildtire.
Each brought fabulous price. Every
thing is sold. and Colonel Shinstone
| bought your 'Jephthas Daughter because
it resembles his daughter, l suppose. At
any rate, he has it. lie was at the sale,
looking grlmmer and sterner than ever.
| have heard that - is III. No one seems
to see much of her, and her friends say
some spiteful things about her and the
| dead man, poor girl"
was a wretch; but there, it was too late
now to undo what had been done, 80 went
about my work with a will, and in that way
sought to lessen any regret that might arise
at the loss OF so close friend as that poor
beggar of painter. Maybe, alter all,
| there was deeper regret for someone else,
but if there was, l never acknowledged it,
even to myself. Yet, as the months wore
on, and the anniversary of the day upon
| which | had last seen Elizabeth drew nigh,
l became restless and unhappy, and finally
did very silly thing. took from their
hiding place little cluster of dried violets,
about which a faint perfume still fingered,
and am not ashamed to say that at first
| could not see them very clearly for the
tears that rushed to my eyes. One of these
l detached, and folding it carefully in a
sheet of blank paper, Addressed it in dis
guised hand to the woman who was dearer
to me than the life of my heart.
And that was the only bit of sentiment
which | permitted to creep into the dreary
| black years of my el-imposed banish-
ment, although there were times when |
| fplf c If I nnGt mod npuffnrnh la
was the sense of loneliness and desolation
that would overcome me.
Yet, Dc spite all this, despite the dread of
what might happen, | deliberately and de-
terminately turned my face away and
walked in the path l had chosen.
| And at the end of five years l was rich
man. | could scarcely realize it. That
poor beggar, Vancourt! Here was lesson
| for him, to be sure. A clear case of energy,
industry, and simple business tact against
genius and fancy and a painters palette
and the painter palette was distanced.
Well, no matter; l had money and | was
going home. Through all these years a
vague, shadowy phantom had walked by
my side, mocking, consoling, Turing me
ever; but that spirit was exercised now,
and in its place came ecstatic visions of
sweet girl woman, Elizabeth! / was going
to her, and in the blue sea of her laughing,
loving eyes | would drown every care and
regret.
Five years! And five times, upon each
anniversary Of our last meeting, | had sent
her faded violet--only that, & faded vlo-
let! But the poor little flower had gone to
her freighted with such a wreath of hope
and fate that surely in some dumb way ii
must have told its story. Five years. And
Denbigh had given me but scant informa-
ton concerning Elizabeth in all that time.
True, | had never made any inquiries
about her, nor had | seen my old friend
since we parted SO long ago, yet he might
have known how | yearned for word-a
single word that would tell me ever so
little of her. 1t was a day in midwinter
when | reached New York. The cold was
biting and the air was whitened with the
falling snow. Yet for me it might have
been day in midsummer, so light was
my heart, so warm and glowing all my
dreams.
Twas Denbigh whom first sought out.
My old friend was in his studio, hard al
work. He met and welcomed me warmly
enough, but great heaven, how the fellow
had changed! No longer frank, free and
jovial, he had become reserved and quiet,
even taciturn. | confess that the alteration
shocked me ineXpressibly.
And Elizabeth?' l had questioned, as
our hands met.
She is well, he returned, briefly. sand
not married yet" he added, answering the
eager inquiry in my eyes.
Well, Il shall see her presently; but
first We will dine together, my boy, you
and l."
For moment Denbigh was silent, then
he suddenly exclaimed:
"Juliln. we can never break bread to-
gether again. / have been false to my
trust. God help me, I love Elizabeth
Shnstone."
"lou love Elizabeth Slinstone?" 1 re-
peated. "You1"
"Could | help it? Was I TO blame? Am
l more than man? And the wrong doing
was yours-yours alone! An angel stood
in your path, and, blind fool that you
i We're, you turned aside from it. An angel,
| say! Oh, Vancourt, old friend, kill me
if You will, but don't look at me like that.
Before Heaven | swear that l have fought
against this thing, but"
"And she-Ellzabeth?" interrupted.
81 have never breathed syllable to her
that you might not have heard. You see,
there are still greater depths of treachery
that have not reached. No, l have not
told II to hel"
"Thcn you must tell it to her!'
Denbigh's haggard eyes met mine ques-
tioninglv
60 to her." continued. "Tell her and
hear her answer"
"Are you serious?"
As if I stood unon the threshold OF