The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1898-01-07
AN IDOL OF STONE.

artist Lorenzo offered up almost fanatr
zeal worship to the idol he had fashioned
by the cunning of his hands. The idol Of
marble was set up in Lorenzo Thompscn's
studio, and almost jealousy he issued in
vitations for a private view before its dis
patch to the academy.
OF one thing Lorenzo was feverishly de-
termined, upon one point Thompson was
sternly set-Siby1 must pledge her word to
come into his life when the idol passed out
from it and into the world.
The small Chelsea studio was thronged
with an unusually enthusiastic gathering.
The idol looked dreanily down upon
them ALL upon the man who had done ev-
erything but breathe the breath of life
upon the girl whose image it bore and
who, living and moving, yet rivaled it in
GOODNESS and lack of feeling, upon the po
lite congratulatory crowd, upon the pain
full little scene enacted at its very feet
For there, close to his handiworlz, when
twilight had fallen and the room was prac.
ticalIy empty, Lorenzo Thompson laid the
heart God had given him and the fame
Sibyl had helped him to win as offerings
meet for the girls acceptance.
But she smiled, frOwned and held up heI
hand to silence him. Then, with petu-
liant movement she turned away.
Lorenzo caught her hand and with fierce
persistence forced her to face him, his long
pent up love carrying away all barriers OF
reserve. Whether for good or i'll, for veal
or woe, he must speak now, and he an
swered.
SibyI pouted becomingly and found the
interview tiresome. Thank goodness, this
statue at least was safely inishedi This
explanation and the subsequent deluge
could do No harm now.
You were like a brother to me, - she
assured him aFtlessly. did not often
tell you so? never cared for you, except,
of course, with an entirely sisterly affeo-
ton, but Mr.. Baxter is in candles, you
know. Trade is everything nowadays, is
1t not, and he says he will give you your
own price for the marble We are to be
married before the end of the summer
Lorenzo glared at her with ugly, venge-
full eyes, then up at the idol above them.
Pray accept my cOngratulatiOns!' said
Thompson smoothly, as he stood away
from her. with low bow to let a stout
dowager pass and inspect his work. My
thanks to Mr.. Baxter, but you-she is not
for sale.''
Good God, how some devil came and
whispered to Lorenzo to take her by her
soft white throat and hold her till the fair
face and lying tongue lost all power to
smile and trick loving soul to worse
than death! Something seemed to follow
him, ever pressing closely to his side, urg-
ing, ing-kill-kill-kill!
The familiar studio became very hell
to Lorenzo's maddened fancy as he bat
tied with his tempter and looked with
burning eyes upon his idol-the idol that
they would wish to buy from him with
their accursed gold. Would it, too, be
lost, torn from him against his all too i'm
potent will?
Thompson courteously babe his friends
goodby, standing on the threshold of his
studio and holding aside the quaint old
tapestry hangings.
a light parting word-careless smile-a
glance, half defiant, half pleading, from
soft gray eyes-the fragrance of the vio-
lets at her breast to mock him with the re-
membrance of last springtide, when his
love had awakened with all the other
sweet gifts of the young year-then the
ordeal was ended.
He closed the door, dropped the curtains
into their place and was at last alone
alone but for the idol who looked down
upon him with unfathomable eyes.
He crossed the room and stood staring
down from the window into the dreary
Chelsea street.
son saw-there was no studio to shut him
in from the outer world, no London to
hem him about by her black river and
miles of busy thoroughfares
He was watching a girl who leaned in
a studied attitude of grace against an old
sea wall, her gray eyes gazing far away
to where the dim sky line came softly
down in mist to meet the sea. He thrilled
at the tender encouragement of her voice,
made doubly musical by the rhythmical
lap, lap of the bay waves. Far out from
the land white winged gu1ls fioated and
dipped amid dark and green belt of shore
bound seaweed- A wee fishing boat went
dancing brsvely away up the crimson
glory cast by the setting sun over the
sparkling waters. Golden boat and little
Quivering golden sails that caught and
held the last radiance of the dying day
silver tear drops that glistened in the long
white track stretching far behind.
This present vision was all Lorenzo be-
1ieved in. 1t at least was real All the
rest was some triekery of his overwrought
brain.
Thompson turned back into the room
with a quick sigh, realizing that the past
with all its sweetness was dead
And then at last Lorenzo awakened.
With a harsh, theatrical laugh he stopped
and picked up his chisel and malIet from
where, with Bohemian carelessness, he had
left them at his idols feet He looked up
into the eyes that could not see or pity,
the eyes that only spoke to him now of
heart that could not feel.
His idol The very personifcation of
his ideal! His angel who had existed solely
in his Imagination
The lovely, graceful figure that was to
win him name, fame and fortunel The
beloved creation of his hand, brain and
heart, of his very life's Lowell
It was Lorenzo who vowed, with an evil
little oath, that he would not pander to a
selfish woman's heartless vanity, Loren
COS ruthless hand that savagely demoI-
ished his idol of art and love, Lorenzo's
unbridled passion that swept aside all
chance of immediate fame for the base,
momentary delight of wholly petty SOUTH
ern revenge.
Chisel and malIeti A strong arm with
temporary madness to aid it, and Lorenzo
had laid his own heart and Sibyl's pride
In the dust.
Thompson flung away the tools and