The Middleburgh post. [volume] (Middleburgh, Snyder Co., Pa.) 1883-1916, 1893-11-02

"5till she never offered 20 show IL
20 me. and I would not presume to ask
] kept away for several days. thinking
she was best undisturbed. All artists
have gone through that phsse of ex.
pericnce which she was undergoing.
II is scarcely possible to avoid IL, II.
indeed. one has auy appreciation for
or love of art in ones nature.
AT last one day i walked down to
the studio. / knocked ut the door.
There was no answer. I turned the
handle and entered. In The full light Of
the sunset rs it stresmed through the
window. stood the easel, covered no
longer, and. facing me, as paused on
the threshold, was the picture. stood
there too amazed to speak or move.
1t was magnificent. III had not known
that only womsn's hand had con-
verted that canvas into n living.
breathing history | could not have be-
lieved it. There was nothing crude,
or weak or feminine about it, The
power and force OF genius spoke out
like living voice, and seemed TO lie.
mand the homage it so grandly chsl-
lenged. Suddenly I became aware of
= sound in the stiffness the low, sti.
fled sobbing OF woman. saw her
then. thrown face downward on the
couch at the furthest end of the room,
her face buried in the cushions, her
whole frame trembling and convulsed
with passion of grief 'Oh. Msu-
rice : she sohbed, and then again only
that name - Maurice Maurice Mau-
rice /
81 closed the door softly and went
away. There seemed 20 be something
sacred in this grief II could not
intrude ou IL. She was 80 near TO
Fame. She held 80 great gift, and
yet sue lay weeping her heart out yon-
der, like the weakest and most foolish
of her sex. for-well. what could |
think, but that it was for some mana
sake"
He paused, his voice seemed little
less steady, little less cold.
"On the morrow" he said abruptly,
''she WAS gone, leaving a note of fare
well, and-snd thanks for me. felt
n momentary disappointment. I should
like to have said farewell to her, and
it was strange, too, how much missed
her and Denis. The loneliness and
quiet of my life grew more than lonely
as the days went On, and ! at last
made up my mind TO go to London.
Whether 10y chance or purpose found
myself there on the day the Academy
Nrh In 81 ,atu
what that day means for them. i
well. was artist enough to feel the
interest of art triumphs, and the sor-
row OF its failures. went where half
London was ihronging. and mingled
with the crowd, artistic, critical and
curious, who were gathered in the
Academy galleries. l passed into the
first room. / noticed how the crowds
surged and pushed aud thronged
around one picture there, and heard
murmurs of praise and wonder from
scores of lips as |, too, tried TO get
sight of what seemed to them so
marvellous and attractive. At last
break in the throng favored me.
looked over the heads of some dozen
people in front Of the picture, and l
ssw-the picture 1 had gazed at in
such wonder aud delight in the studio
of Musette Delaporte! Deservedly
honored, it hung there on the line.
and already its praises were sounding,
and the severest critics as well as the
most eager enthusiasts were giving it
fame
II turned away at last. NV steps
were, however, arrested on the out
skirts OF the crowd by sight ola woman
whose figure seemed strangely famil-
lar. Her face was veiled and some
what syerted. but knew well enough
that pose OF the beautiful head. that
coil OF gold brown hair, Just lifted
from the white neck. She-she did
not see me as for n moment l fingered
there. Then | noticed she was not
alone. Leaning On her arm was a
man, his face pale and worn, ss il by
long suffering, his frame bent and
crippled. Az his eyes caught the pic.
ture saw the sudden light and won
der that lesped into his face. saw,
too, the glory of love and tenderness
in hers drew nearer the man was
speaking How could you do it?' he
said; how could you?' oh, Murice,
forgive me, said that low, remembered
voice, Dearest; are We not one in
heart and soul and name? only fin
ished what you had So we'll begun.
You were so ill and helpless, and when
you went into the hospital, oh, the
days were SO long and 30 empty, L
meant to tell you, but when it WAS tin!
ished | had not the courage; so l just
sent it, signed, as usual, NJ. Delaporte.
IL never dared to hope it would be
accepted. After all, what did | do?
The plan, the thought, the detail all
were yours; only my poor weak hand
worked when yours was helpless
II was so close l heard every word,
80 close that saw him bend aud kiss
with reverence the hand that she had
called poor and weak, SO close that [
heard the low-breathed murmur from
/ l.. 4