Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1897-10-15

which borders on tenderness and which
she could never refuse to a man that
loved her. let the folly of his love and
Of the extravagances into which it drove
him be as great as it would. Turning
toward Giraldo, she saw him fretting
his puckered brow with his hand and
vainly seeking to compel his disordered
brain to understand M. de Merosailles'
letter. So she was very sorry for him,
and, knowing the sudden, hot temper
to which the careless king was subject,
she glided swiftly across to the painter
and whispered: ESCAPE and hide.
Hide for a few days. He will be furi-
Gus now, but he will soon forget. Don't
wait now, but escape, signor. Some
harm will happen to you here" And in
her eager pleading with him she laid
her hand on his arm and looked up in
his face with imploring eyes. But he
looked at her with dazed, vacant stare,
muttering, II cannot read the letter. "
Then a wistful smile came on his face,
and he thrust the letter toward her,
saying, Madame, will you read it for
me?" And at that moment they heard
had seen the mad picture of his sister.
''No, no, not now," whispered Osra,
beseeching GirGldo, mot now, signor
Listen; the king is angry. Escape now,
and we will read the letter afterward. "
And she was as earnest as though she
had loved him and were praying him to
save himself for the sake of her love.
And he looked into her softened eyes,
and suddenly, giving a little cry, as il
a great joy bad come to him unexpect-
eddy and contrary to all likelihood, he
dropped NJ. de Merosailles' letter and
sprang to where his brushes lay on the
floor, and seizing them and his palette
he gave another swift glance at the
princess and then, turning to the pic
ture, began to paint with marvellous
dexterity and dizziness and with the
swift confidence of man inspired to
the work. As he worked his brow grew
smoother, the tension of his strained
face relaxed, happiness dawned in his
eyes, and u smile broke on his lips, and
Osra watched him with tender, sor-
rowful gaze. Still he painted, and he
was painting when the king burst in
from the other room in a great rage and
carrying his sword drawn in his hand,
for he had sworn by Our Lady and st.
Peter to kill the rogue who had done
the princess such a wrong and so SLAM
dered her beauty. And his gentlemen
came i'll with him all very ready to see
GiTaldo killed, but each eager that the
king should leave the task to him. Yet
when they entered and saw Giraldo
painting as though he were wrapt by
some ecstasy and had forgotten all that
had passed-nay, even their very pres
ence-they paused in unwilling and
constrained hesitation, and Osra raised
her hand to bid them stay still where
they were and not interfere with Giral-
dos painting, for now she desired above
all things on earth that he should be
left to finish his task, for he thought
that he had read more than pity and
more than tenderness in Osra's eyes.
He had seemed to see love there, and
thus he had cried out in joy, and thus
he was now painting as never had even
he, for all his skill, painted before. His
unerring hand, moving lightly to and
lusive vision to the canvas, so that the
eyes of the portrait glowed with Won
derful and beautiful love and gentleness.
Presently Giraldo began to sing very
softly to himself a sweet, happy old
song that peasants sang to peasant girls
in the fields outside his native Verona
on summer evenings. His head was
thrown back in triumph and exulta-
ton as he sang and worked, tasting the
luxury of love and glorying in the trib-
ute that his genius paid to her whom he
loved. Thus came moment of great
joy to the soul of Giyaldo the painter,
for mans love and a mans work are,
when they seem to prosper, of all things
the sweetest, and their union i'll one
his life's contamination.
1t was done. He laid down the brush
and drew back a step, looking on what
he had done. The princess came softly
and slowly, as though attracted against
her will, and stood by him, for she saw
that this picture was now, beyond all
compare, the most perfect and beautiful
of all that he or any other man had
painted of her, and she loved him for
thus clarifying her. But before many
moments had gone by sudden start
and shiver ran through Giraldo's body.
The spell of his entranced ecstasy broke.
His eyes fell from the masterpiece that
| he had made and wandered to those
| who stood about him-to the gentlemen
who did not know whether to wonder
or to laugh, to the angry face of the
king and the naked sword in his hand,
at last to Osra, whose eyes were still
ON the picture. And his exultation van
ished, and with it went, as it seemed
to them, his madness. Reason dawned
for a moment in his eyes, but was
quenched in an instant by shame and
despair, for he knew that all had seen
that other picture, and they knew
what he had done, and suddenly with a
stifed cry he flung himself full length
on the floor at Osra's feet
"Let us wait, said she gently. 'He
will be himself again soon. :"
But the king was too angry to listen.
''He has made us fools before half
Europe" he said angrily, land he
shall not live to talk of it. And you
have you seen the picture yonder?'
Eyes, have seen it," said she.
"But he does not now think that pic
ture like me, but this one" And she
turned to the gentlemen and desired
them to raise Giraldo and lay him ON a
| pOupb and thov Obovad ThaY, oha Enalt