The record-union., 1896-10-25

rjfice, and her woman's part in the
glorious agony cf the artists life. And
when jamie heard that she tossed back
her head to keep the tears from falling
and made her soft little mouth look nrm
and resolute. This gave Brownrigg
kind of confused idea that 1t was ne
who had been resolute, he who had been
making sacrifices, and he went back TO
town feeling greater and nObler than
ever.
A state Of peculiar mental exaltation
is often the prologue to the great
psychical tragedies Of life, and though
Rrownrigg knew nothing about II such
tragedy was even now being pre-
pared for him. His connection WIN
the "Piccadilly Review" meant more 70
him than literary success; 1t brought
also some social advancement. GIBSON
combined good -humored contempt for
BrOwnrigg's character with subdueu
admiration of his talents, and ne nao
drawn him into his own set, among
whom the callow youth posed in an en-
gaging manner as the spoiled child OF
literature. He appealed irresistibly 70
the soft side of society; he was as sensi-
tive and impressionable as a woman,
and had charming way or plushlhs
at little compliments like young girl.
When people were not laughing at hlm,
they were. always soothing and making
much of him. And all the time he hao
an uneasy consciousness that his sue
cess was entirely owing to Gibson
patronage, thought which sadly en-
bittered mis- enjoyment, although ms
egotism had led him to exaggerate the
Ia. nfin
the great editor was an unconscious tool
in the hands Of fate when, in an evil
moment, he introduced Brownrigg 10
Miss LeonOra Campbell.
Often, too often, Brownrigg tried to
recall the sensations of that hour; they
lent themselves to no language, and
were not to be grasped by thought. He
knew now that hitherto he had but been
sitting before the curtain, waiting for
the play to begin; he had heard Whls-
pers from the stage; he had seen
shadow move across the curtain, the
shadow of jamie, obtruding her little
insignificant person between him and
Never mind! The curtain had risen at
last, life had begun suddenly with
great light and music, and he found
himself no longer a spectator, but an
actor in superb play called "Leonora.
She herself, what was she? He did
not know. He had begun by trying to
fathom her, and floundered helplessly
from deep to deep. Then he found
out that she was divine intelligence
clothed in mortal form; which meant
that Brownrigg had gone through life
| trading on peoples sympathy, and
whereas other women gave him sympa-
| thy in abundance, this woman did more
she actually understood him.
When man meets his incarnate ideal,
what is he to do? Brownrigg did moth
| ing; he had no head for problems; he
simply collapsed under the hand of fate.
He was supremely happy. drinking
deep of the poetry of existence, and liv-
| ing in divine delrium, unshackled by
ordinary conditions Of space and time. 1t
| seemed to him ages since the days when
| to go for a walk with jamie was a new
| joy, when to play lawn-tennis with her
| was a wild delight, while to sit together
| under the elms and read "A Souls Epic"
| aloud was a transcendent intellectual
| rapture. The rolling nights and days
seized him and hurried him along dim
and perilous way. He was everywhere
where Miss Campbell was-in the thea
| ter, the concert hall, the ballroom; fol-
| lowing her with reckless persistency,
1 and doing all sorts of mean things in
order to get introductions to people
| whom she knew. He succeeded in most
| cases, for by this time his eccentricity
| had become so marked that for one sea-
| son he was all the fashion. People ac-
quired a taste for Brownrigg as for some
| curious foreign thing. He might have
| formed q new school of poetry il they
had only given him time, for under this
| new stimulus his lyric nature had reas-
| serted itself; his works became the
| property of a select coterie, and he en-
| joyed a certain mystic and eSoteric
! fame.
| Meanwhile his ideal went on her way,
| serenely unconscious Of the drama that
| was being acted in Brownriggs soul.
| Not that he made any secret of his state
| of mind: the artists impulse towards
| self-revelation was too strong in him for
| that All his finest feelings centered
round the new imperious passion, and
| what on earth is the use of having fine
| feelings if you are not to display them!
| With his peculiar lack of humorous dis
| cernment, it was to Horace Gibson that
he turned at this crisis Of his fate. In
spite of his growing dislike and Jealousy
of the editor, he still grudgingly re-
spected and blindly trusted him. 1t
| was the homage which the aspirant IN
stinctively pays to all assured great
ness and next to Miss Campbell, Gibson
was the audience for whom Brownrigg
reserved his most effective parts.
Midnight, when the days platitudes
| are over, is the proper time for revela-
| tions; and at midnight Brownrigg
| sought out his benefactor in his rooms,
and poured forth his extraordinary con-
fidences in an eddying flood. Gibson lay
back in his armchair enjoying cigar
| cite, while he gaZed at BroWnr1gg
through the curling wreaths of smoke.
| The boy interested him, and when he
ceased to be interesting he was always
| amusing Some pity mingled with his
intense amusement now, as BrOwnrigg,
in evening dress, ramped about the
| room, thrusting his feverish fingers
through his hair (Which had grown from
faxen stubble to a long hay-colored af-
| termath), while his cravat slowly
worked its way round under his left ear.
! Brownrigg had told his tale before he
| realized that some explanation was
due. Then he brought himself up sud
denly before the fireplace, and assumed
as calm an expression as his disheveled
appearance allowed.
Its not" he declared solemnly, be
cause she's beautiful, and has COM
plexion like a tuberoSe-
"Good!" murmured Gibson in a paren-
thesis. "a less hackneyed comparison
than any other sort of rose.
II don't even know whether her hair s
red, or brown, or golden