The record-union. [volume] (Sacramento, Calif.) 1891-1903, 1893-02-10


little, and shading his eyes with his
hand, its simply and solely the in
carnate spirit OF the nineteenth century;
the nineteenth century i'll its higher and
purer avatar; deep questioning, mystic,
uncertain, rudderless. Faith gone;
humanity left; heaven lost; earth realized
as mans true home and sole hope for the
lnaldens gaze forth straight upon the in
hnlte. Those bronZed faces of your
mailed knights have confronted strange
doubts and closed hard with nanleless
terrors. There's pathos in it ALA
what shall call it?-a something mex
pressIble; pessimism, meliorism, an
obstinate questioning OF invisible things,
possibly have compassed. Who, save
you, could have put so much intense
spirituality into the broidery of a robe,
could have touched with such sacred and
indefinable sadness the frayed fringe of a
knightly doublet?"
As 'he spoke, Ernest gaZed at his own
work, in love with it. The criticism
charmed him. 1t was Just the very thing
he'd have said of it himself if it had been
somebody else's; only he couldn't have
put 1t in such glowing language. It's de-
Hghtful TO hear your work so justly
appraised by sympathetic soul; it makes
modest man think great deal better
than he could ever otherwise think Of his
own poor little performances. But most
modest men, alas have no Bernard
Hume at hand to applaud their efforts.
The Bernard Humes Of this world are all
busily engaged in booming the noisy,
successful self-advertisers.
The model looked up with a dissatisfied
air. Il don't like it," she said grum bling
internally. st makes me look as if l
wanted blae-pill. 1t amt 'arf as pretty
as 'Papa's Return and it's my belief it
amt 'arf so sellin' either"
Pretty" Bernard Hume responded
with profound contempt. 'Well, the sole
object OF art is not, L should say, to be
merely pretty. And as for selling-well,
no, l daresay it won't sell. But what
does that matter? It's beautiful work,
and it does full justice to Mr.. Grey's
imaginative faculty. There's not another
man in England to-day who could posi-
bly, paint it,
The model said nothing, but she
thought the more. She thought, among
other things, that to her it did matter; for,
IN the tIrst place, a painter who doesn't
sell isn't likely to be able to pay his
models; and, in the second place, no self
respecting girl cares to sit very long for
unstable pictures. 1t interferes, of
course, with her market value. Who's
going to employ an unsuccessful mans
model?
For week Ernest toiled on almost
without stopping, but it was easy toll
compared to the stocking trade. The
study grew apace under his eager fingers;
the model declared confidentially to her
family he was running her prospects.
II M as yellow as guinea" she said;
and as for expression, why, you'd think
| was goin' to die in about three weeks in
a gallopin' consumption" Not such the
elder sister in "Papa's Return
that rosy-cheeked, round-faced English
middle-class girl whom Ernest had elab-
GRATED by his Protean art out of the feat
ures and form of the self-same model.
At the end of the week he was working
hard IN his studio one evening to save the
last ray Of departing sunlight, when
Bertha burst in suddenly with very
scared face. "Oh, Ernestr' she cried,
do come up and look at Joan., She seems
so i'll. | can't think what's the matter
with her.''
Ernest flung down his brush, and for
got in moment, as a father will, all
about the Elusive. 1t eluded him in
stantly. He followed Bertha to the little
room at the top of the house that served
as nursery. C''Keep your child always"
he used to say, 'as near as you can to
heavenly Little Joan, just three years old
at that time, lay listless and glassy-eyed
in the nurses arms. Ernest looked at
her with vague foreboding of evil. He
saw at once she was very i'll. "rhis is
serious" he said in low voice. Il must
go for the doctor"
When the doctor came, discreetly I'M
certain, he shook his head and looked
wise, and declined to commit himself.
lie was rather of opinion, though, 1t
might perhaps turn out to be scarlet
fever.
Scarlet fever! Bertha's heart stood
still in her bosom, and so did Ernest's.
For the next ten days the model had hol-
lday; the Elusive was permitted to elude
unchased; the studio was forsaken day
and night for the nursery. 1t was very
bad case, and they fought it all along the
line, inch by inch, untlinchingly. Poor
little Joan was very i'll indeed. 1t made
Ernests heart bleed to see her chubby
face grow so thin, and yet so fiery. Night
after night they sat up and watched.
W hat did Ernest care now for art or the
ideal? That one little atomy of solid
round flesh was more to him than all the
greatest pictures in Christendom. "Rafael
did this, Andrea painted thatw All, God
what did it matter. with little Joan's life
hanging poised in the balance between
life and death, and little Joan's unseeing
eyes turned upward, white between the
eyelids. toward the great blank ceiling?
If Joan were to die, what would be art or
shine on as before, but the sun in Ernest
and Bertha's life would have faded out
utterly.
AT last the crisis came. ''If she gets
through to-night" the doctor said in his
calm way, as though he were talking of
somebody else's baby, tine dangers
practically over. All my patients IN the
present epidemic who've passed this
stage have recovered without ditiiculty.p
They watched and waited through that
Evelong hight in breathless suspense and
terror and agony.
You who are parents know we'll what
1t means. Why try to tell others? They
could never understand; and, if thew
could, why, heaven forbid we should
harrow them as we ourselves have been
narrowed.
AT last towards morning, little Joan
dropped asleep. A sweet, deep sleep.
Her breathing was regular. Father and
mother fell mute into one another's arms
Their tears mingled. They dared not
utter one word, but they cried long and
From that moment, as the doctor had
predicted, little Joan grew rapidly
stronger and better. In a week she was
able to go out for DRIVEN hanson,
of course-no carriages for the struggling
EXchequer, much depleted by expenses
OF illness, felt even that hanson a dis
tinct strain upon it.
Next morning Ernest had heart enough
to begin work again. He sent word
round accordingly to the model.
In the course of the day. Bernard Hume
dropped in. lie was anxious to see how
the Ideal and the Elusive got on after the
crisis. He surprised Ernest at his easel.
"HulloW he cried with a little start
his long spine, what does
all this mean, Grey? You don't mean to
say you're back at 'Papa's Return? Have
you yielded once more TO Gath and
Askelon?'
NO." Ernest answered firmly, looking
him back in the face, eve yielded to