The Opelousas courier., 1898-12-31

mare, who was nearly as old as him
self, into being a runaway.
l rushed toward this artist with en-
thusiasm. 1 took off MY hat to him. l
said:
"Sir, I rejoice that one Of your glori-
GUS profession has at last visited us.
You love the minute, l see. Have you
noticed the spiderwebs on the black
berry bushes at the turn Of the lane,
the dew sparkling on the silvery film,
the delicious fruit glowing beneath
have you seen that, sir?'
The pre-Raphaelite artist scratched
his had with his brush, and said:
"Well, no, l amt"
"Will you come and see it, sir" l
said. "Will you make it immortal on
your canvass?
The pre-Raphaelite artis- repl. I'd:
We'll, l wouldn't mind"
l did not care what he said, so -tl@@
he came. My object IA not art, /
was the white umbrella. | desired to
have him seated where the eyes OF
handsome Arnold's gestive Prince
would fail upon him as he turned the
corner Of the garden walk, and to that
very spot l beguiled my artist and
there stationed him, and when he had
settled with Chinese precision to his
spiucrwebs and blackberrieS, hid my
self behind a tree to enjoy the
comic scene l fully expected would fol-
low.
l heard handsome Arnold bid adieu
to the ladies. l heard the patter OF
his horses feet upon the road, and IN
a moment more l saw him come gayly
on, a smile upon his handsome face,
a rich color on his cheek-youth,
health, strength and happiness ex-
pressed in every curve and outline OF
his statuesque form. The next instant
Prince had seen the white artist n
the white umbrella. And then-then,
heaven forgive me, not the amusing
spectacle of handsome Arnold's dis
comtiture that l had hoped to see.
lie kept his seat, while Prince, rear
ing and plunging, dashed wildly away
with him toward a p~reclpltols pain
along the cliff side, and vanished like
a mad thing, with his rider still upon
his back, going straight toward a GER
tain awful precipice which overhung
the rocky river shore below.
l cannot go on. They picked him up
Just alive, no more, at the foot Of the
precipice; and they carried him, a
H. 1o~~~ o,l I1on,J
ing flesh, back to the great hotel. Late
at night l crept softly upstairs on my
way to bed, and passing Belle Bur
tons door, heard those slow, heavy
sobs that tell of a breaking heart issu-
ing thence.
He cannot live" the messenger,
had said, and 1 was, perhaps, doubly a
murderer. / thought seriously of add
ing to my crime by committing suicide
that awful night.
But poor Arnold did live. He had a
wonderful constitution, unbroken, as
all the men who knew him knew, by
dissipation of any kind, and it is hard
to kill such q a He lived. ard
strength returned to him at last; but
no one-WOuid ever call him handsome
Arnold any more. He had fallen on
his face on the horrible jagged rocks, |
and during his illness all his bonny
brown hair had turned gray. No one
would know him, they told me; and
so powerfully had his beauty and his
sweetness affected even men of coarse
natures that they uttered these words
for the most part with tears in their
eyes. AS for myself, l would far rath.
err have seen a ghost.
Yet the sight was forced on me-. One
day | received a note from him, asking
to come to the hotel, and it was
signed-Henry Arnold.
l had no choice. l could not refuse.
I went to him.
AS 1 saw him seated in a great asfn-
chair in the room to which the waiter
showed meas he rose and advanced
toward me, and l saw that he limped
heavily wonder that l did not die.
l felt the blood leaving my face, and l
the hot flush rise to his, as he no.
ticed the shock he gave me.
But he only said:
"Sit down. 1t is kind of you to
| staggered to a chair and l saw
nothing for a while; yet through it all,
l wondered what he thought of my
strange conduct, and hated myself for
my weakness.
At last he spoke:
Il see how I-how my appearance
affects you," he said, very sadly. at
is a horrible thing that l am trying to
grow used to. I wish l had broken nv
OF course, any man would, I'M
der the circumstances. But l did not
ask you to come that l might say that
to you. I want you to take a note
from me to a lady at your aunt's
house, if you will be so kind. l choose
you because you are, as it were, one
Of the family, and you will be very
and-kind, I know. 1t is Miss
Burton. 1 hoped to marry her
one day. Of course all that is over
now. No one would-no woman could
overlook my hideous appearance"
His voice broke a little, but he went
on bravely:
S l have written to her. I do not
her to see me, and l shall 20
abroad in a week or so, and-you'll tell
her you-you've seen me, you know. 1
loved her very much. I always
shall; and this Is terribly hard"
He broke down entirely there, and