The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1892-03-12
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IN her own home. IT d1u not surprise
him that Seward had fallen ia love
with this girls face, for the face had 'L' 9
soul shining through it, and Seward
was not the man to linger over lamp
without fame Nor did it surprise
him that the painter should frankly ask
Cor his help in the matter He was ac-
custorned, rs we know, to give counsel
to the pcr1;!exed, and aid to those WHO
could &c, assistance from 70 other
nuarter. Moreover. he knew that q
mans fancy" whether bred
ia the hear. CT IL tho ;:ead"
may develop into Que of those daeP
loves which are tie blessing or the
the curse Of life.
Every love aff:.ir is a mystery, ana
THE who bring two persons together
do not know whether they strike tie
first note CT dirge or a lie Deum
CHAPTER XIV
TT IS LUCY"
1t was red-letter day with cave
when Mr.. Sidney took her to the pant
er's studio.
She had been 10 the exhibition OF the
Royal academy with Uncle Wake. ano
he had pointed out all the works OF great
artists. She had stood sp,llbound be-
fore picture of Seward Aylstones
and had tried afterwards to describe IL
to Michael But Michael never had
patience enough to listen to descrlp-
TONS He always grudg7a every mo-
ment that was not spent in talking
about himself.
Two visitors were already in the
studio when they went in. Miss VII
liers was there, charm;ngly dressed,
and she came forward and held out her
hand to Olive. In the background was
a tall, weary young man, whose race
was like an ivory cameo, perfectly cut
and colorless. And the girl remem bered
afterwards that his proud, unhappy
look had chilled her for d moment.
But she was little agitated on her en-
trance. and answered the first words
addressed to her with bright blush.
which reminded Aylstone of the day
when he saw her under the larches at
Kew.
Her nervousness vanished when She
turned to the pictures. Here were
poets. soldiers, statesmen, whose names
were we'll known in the history OF our
own times. Here were women, fair
and stately, whose beauty had won
them transitory fame; and children
who smiled fresh and rosy from the
canvas. And there were other pictures,
full of mystic meaning; angels watch
ing on the SUBMITS of the everlasting
hills; a man standing on the bank of
dark river and looking across to the
other side, where woman walked in
solemn light
While she gazed the painter talked to
her, explaining this nnd that well
pleased when she gained confidence
enough to ask questions. Mr. Sidney
stood a little apart and chatted with
Adeline, while Gland Villiers, standing
near his cousin, hardly spoke at all.
Seaward had led his visitor to the far
end of the studio. and Adeline, near the
fire, was still talking to the chaplain,
when faint cry from Olive startled
them all.
cit is Lucy" they heard her say.
''You could not have painted this if you
had not known her. 1t is Lucy
Cromer!''
With one impulse they moved to the
spot where she was standing, and the
chaplain saw that her gaze was fixed
on that study of a head which Seaward
had shown hin two Or three days ago
Her face had grown pale with intense
feeling; her clear eyes were slowly. fill
ing with tears.
''It is like, oh, so liker' she said. sit
has brought her back to me, and she
was my dearest friend. Only while she
lived her face was sadder than this.
She did not look perfectly happy till
she was dead"
"Dead!'' the word came from Claud
Villiers.
They all turned and looked at him.
He stood grasping the back of chair
and gazing at Olive with an expression
that almost terrified her, it was SO full
of hopeless misery.
''Where did she die?" he asked. bring
ing out his words in strange, hoarse
voice. "How long ago?"
cat Eastmeon, little village in
Hampshire, just after harvest last
year."
This was Olives answer, spoken in
5remulous tone. Her eyes seemed to
be questioning Claud; an instinct told
her that he had been the cause of that
mysterious grief which had shortened
Lucy's life.
AS IN a vision she saw once more the
little room, filled with the glow of an
autumn sunset, and the jessamine flow
ers. Once more she beheld the light on
Lucy's face, and heard the dying voice
speaking of forgiveness.
Forgive, if you would find peace" it
said. 'Forgive if you would have your
wounds healed, and feel the soft touch
of Christ's finger on your sore heart"
And then, as if that voice were
prompting her, she spoke quite calmly,
with her steadfast gaze still fixed ON
Claud Villiers.
''Lucy had suffered great wrongs.
She did not tell me what they were;
but at the last she forgave them all.