The Wichita daily eagle. [volume] (Wichita, Kan.) 1890-1906, 1895-02-28
DEVOTION,

Among the pictures which cofna6A10eu
the greatest attention at the Worlds falf
was one which will be remembered by its
solitary title, Devotion The picture
was that of q young woman lying fuli
length On the floor of a bare rooms
slim, extended figure, lifeless, with pallid
face and one barred arm, from which
small stream OF blood was trtckl1ng
Above her head was the angelic face OF
child, painted on the canvas like an art
lists proof, and the close observer could
not fail to see that the two faces were
those Of mother and child. An old stove,
bed and a couple of chairs completed the
picture.
"Estelle. I have called you twice. I
am dying of thirst.
Eyes, Harlow, L am coming. IL was
thinking But, my dear one, there is
nothing for YOU to drink The lemons are
gone aud the wine And the money
there is none. not penny left We have
nothing now that we can sell for food. +"
There, that viii do If you have moth
ING better to tell me, do not speak. So
everything is gone, and we will come
upon tic town at last?'
..No. Harlow, not that The lady that
is so i'll, that proposed to give you an or
der for little picture, may be better and
be able to see me. I am going there this
moment and will soon be back. If l get
the money, you will have everything to
cat and drink and canvas and brushes for
picture.
What were You doing to make your
ewes so red, Estellef'
She did not answer him. He caught
her roughly and jerked her round. She
looked at him with divine, girlish smile
that held the hint of breaking heart.
Il was thinking of little Earle"
Always of him, but never OF me. I
am tired Of being neglected for a baby.
Besides he does not need you.
No she said pitifully, looking at a
face sketched on the rough boards of the
wail-a child's face, angelic in its express
sioH-'.that makes it so much the harder,
dear"
Crying again, always crying. Whs
not go, If you must, and see how much
longer we have to live? Curse this fever,
which chains me to chair like a bedrid-
den woman My mouth is parched with
thirst / am starving for draft of wine. J"
Estelle had put on her slender figure a
i2eager shawl and cheap hat, but these
her beauty A frown drew her husband
dark brows together as he looked at her
unQraciously.
''You Will not go near studio?"
'Have ever deceived you, Harlow"
II don't know L would kill you if you
did You know what / mean-before
you should be a model for any of those
fellows
He was an artist and had married his
model. His jealousy was as cruel as the
grave, but Estelle lived only TO please
him. Yet ne tortured himself with specu-
lations if she was out of his sight mo-
ment and compelled her to give n literal
account Of everything she did or said
She was gone long time. His thirst
consumed him, and the demon of i'll tenn
per tortured him with jealousy. What
was keeping her? Estelle had never left
him as long as this Perhaps some dread
ful accident had happened to her, and
since they had no friends there would be
none To run and tell him the unwelcome
news. His heart softened to her, his girl
wife, the mother of his dead child, and so
beautiful in her meager, scrimped life
that he commanded her to veil her face
when she went out alone.
The evening passed into midnight. The
fever burned in the sick mans veins, and
the thirst consumed him, but he dragged
himself from the window to the chair,
from the chair to the window, and when
it was the chill white light Of morning
she came, walking in softly like spirit,
whittier herself than the petals of lily.
Something WAS clinched in her right
hand. She staggered feebly as she walked
and extended her closed hand tC her hus-
band He struck it savageiy with i1npo-
tent force Us he saw it held in the tightly
closed fingers great roll OF money. Then
she fell at his feet, limp and inert, her
eyes, humid with pain and love, fixed on
his angry face
she was model, they saldwhen they
found her lying dead at his feet and the
picture painted by the mad artist On the
same wall where he had sketohed that d.
vine head of the child. The dullest of the
gaping crowd saw that it was a great
work of art and an exact reproduction OF
the scene before them. He was mad, and
before he was taken away he was permit
ted TO copy the picture on canvas.
She was my model" he said, and with
the faulty Of madness he named the pic
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