The Telegraph-courier. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1888-1946, 1891-06-11
CHAPTER XII.

But shall not understand
Shall not see the face of my love
Shall not know her for whom strOve-
Till she reach me forth her hand,
Saying, Nv no but have the rightP
And out of the troubled night
Shall draw me safe to the land.
The WidoWer
''Maisie, come to bed"
ats so hot ] can't sleep. Don't worry"
Maisie put her elbows on the window sill
and looked at the moonlight on the straight,
poplar-fianked road Summer had come
upon Vitry-sur-Marne and parched it to the
bone. The grass was dry-burnt in the
meadows, the clay by the bank Of the river
was caked to brick, the roadside flowers
were long since dead, and the roses in the
garden hung withered on their stalks The
heat in the little low bedroom. under the
caves was almost intolerable.} The very
moonlight on the wall of Kami's studio
across the road seemed to make the night
hotter, and the shadow of the big bell
handle by the closed gate cast a bar of inky
black that caught Maisie's eye and an
noyed her.
''Horrid thing! 1t should be all white"
she murmured. "And the gate isn't in the
middle of the wall, either. / never noticed
that before" ----ssaz.aa1saeEEss-~'~
Maisie was hard to please at that hour.
First. the heat of the past few weeks had
worn her down; secondly, her work; and
particularly the study of female head in
tended to represent the Melancolia, and not
finished in time for the Salon, was unsatis-
factory; thirdly Kami had said as much
two days before; fourthly that it was hard
ly worth thinking about, Dick, her property,
had pot written to her for more than six
EA f7zafR .
weeks. She was angry with the heat, with
kami and with her work, but she was ex7
ceedingly angry with Dick. !. --~c-~---~
She had written to him three times, each
time proposing fresh treatment of her
Melancolia. Dick had taken no notice OF
these communications. She had resolved
to write no more. When she returned to
England in the autumn-for her pride's sake
she could not return earlier-she would
speak to him. She missed the Sunday
afternoon conferences more than she cared
to admit. All that Kami said was soon
tifl2tez, n1dden0iSelIe, cOntinHez tOujOUrS, " ana
he had been repeating his wearlsome
counsel through the hot summer, exactly
like cicala-an old gray cicala in black
alpaca coat white trousers, and huge felt
hat. But Dick had tramped masterfully up
and down her little studio north of the cool
green London Park and had said things ten
times worse than "COntiqluez," before he
snatched the brush out of her hand and
showed her where her error lay. His last
letter, Maisie remembered, contained some
trivial advice about her not sketching in the
sun or drinking water at wayside farm
houses and he had said that not once, but
three times, as if he did not know that
Maisie could take care of herself.
But what was he doing that he could not
trouble to write? A murmur of voices in
the road made her lean from the window.
A cavalryman of the little garrison in the
town was talking to Kami's cook. The
moonlight glittered on the scabbard of his
sabre, which he was holding in his hand
lest it should clank inopportunely. The
cooks clp cast deep shadows on her face
which was close to the conscript's. He slid
his arm around her waist, and there follow
ed the sound of a kiss.
"Faugh ~ said Maisie stepping back.
'sWhat's that!" said the red-haired girl,
who was tossing uneasily outside her bed
'sOnly conscrlpt kissing the cook" said
Maisie. They're gone away now" She
leaned out of the window again, and put on
shawl to guard against chills. There was
very slight night breeze abroad and a sun
baked rose below nodded its head as one
who knew unutterable secrets. Was it
possible that Dick should turn his thoughts
from her work and his own and descend to
the degradation of Suzanne and the con
script! He could not! The rose mol
ded it's head and one leaf herewith It
looked like naughty little devil scratching
its ear. Dick could not, because, thought
Maisie, she is mine-nine mine. He said
he was. I'm sure don't care what he does.
It will only spoil his work if he does and it
will spoil mine too"
The rose continued to nod in the futile
way peculiar to flowers. There was no