The Seattle post-intelligencer. [volume] (Seattle, Wash. Terr. [Wash.]) 1888-1914, 1900-01-21


slippery with ice. Fawcetrs I'M
petusity made a setting obvious
enough for the verdict OF accidental death.
Life concerned itself with the latest muir
der; earth received Fawcett. and men Tor
got him.
But his death had built a stronger bar
rier between his wife and Mark than the
one his life had raised. Rizpah could not
forget that Fawcett had forbidden her
friendship with Mark. She feared disloy-
atty when, In these first days OF widow
hood, her heart turned instinctively TO hcr
old friend. She longed for his presence
and the longing kept her from seeking H.
He knew of Fawsett's death and he would
come to her.
But Mark was busy In his studio. put
ting screen of work between hfmelf ana
the thought of Rizpah The oak chest,
with It's carving of Rizpah keeping the
vultures from her dead was hidden In the
window seat. He would have nothing to
remind him OF the love Fawcett's de-
ceit had stolen from him. She was free
now: yet he worked carly and late striv-
Ing to forget her But he could forget her
as little as the picture that haunted him.
1t was always before him-his sudden
wrestle with Fawcett. the slippery steps.
the changing face under the street lamp
the silence.
That silence had surged round him then
like q triumphant strain: now II struck
night had waved banners over the dead
man; now 1t threw a pail across Marks
days Under the pail was Fawcett's face,
horror intolerabe.
He could not go to comfort Rizpah; the
thing was too ironical. He heard how
hardly the three months wife took the
blow; how she fretted and dropped; but II
he had known she was grieving for his abb
sencc. and not for Fawcett, he would still
have remained away.
He was very busy. His great picture
was almost finished, and II was another
Irony that It's subject dashed his memory
into the remembrance he was striving to
forget. II am the Resurrection and the
Life" the title was written at the foot OF
tho canvas. Above II the white splendor
of the angel shone out a marvellous pre-
sentiment of life. 1t was a great picture,
and Mark knew il. 1t needed only the
finishing touches before he could send 1t
out to make his name and fame.
He was still working at it. dissatisfied
that he had not reached the ideal with
which he had started, and while he work.
ed TO express the triumph of life over
death, F'awcett held his hand. and the
dead triumphed over the living.
To escape from the face that was al
ways with him, Mark only worked more
feverishly. He painted out the motto. but
still II am the Resurrection" gave point
to the sheer on Fawcett's face. Some
times the grim humor of the thing would
seize Mark, and he would throw down
palette and brush and laugh uncontrolla-
bly,. When the mood was over he would
paint with a fury of madness to get away
from the madness he feared. But work as
he might, he could not forget the man he
had hustled out of his way and out of the
world.
Meanwhile the picture came no nearer
completion. The later work was only blot
ting out meaning from the conception.
The longer he worked the further from
him was the ideal; the nearer to him came
the hooking face he could not escape.
Stacey, the r. A, frowned when he saw
the picture again. He walked about the
room. ard, head on one side, looked at it
from every point of view.
Your first idea was the .best-undoubt-
eddy better than this. In my opinion
you've ruined the thing"
what is wrong with it?" said Mark,
roughly, biting his mustache Stacey
pursed up his lips. There's no poetry,
no suggestiveness in it as it now stands.
And why in the world did you take poor
Fawcett as your model? Such face as
his strikes a false note"
Mark interrupted him by sudden step
forward.
There's no suggestion OF Fawcett any,
where he cried, sharply. 9
my dear fellow, the likeness is only
too striking or course 1t is Fawcett! And
Fawcett. poor devil as the Angel of Life!
oDn. IL LOO IlulCuIOuS.
The two men looked cat each other and
staceys easy smile died away as he saw
Marks face
"Hullo, old chap, you are ill, or some
thing!'
Mark shook his head and pulled him
self together. The blood lit it's fire among
the ashes on his face. His eyes, like two
flames. swept the canvas searching for
the likeness Stacey had seen. As the hat
ed features sprang to his gaze he gave
short laugh, snatche up knife, and
slashed it across the angels face. blotting
out life and death at a stroke
"Are you mad?" Stacey shouted Selling
his arm.
But II was too late Laughing again.
Mark flung the knife from him. 1t sped
across the room and pierced the figure Of
Rizpah on the carved chest
You have done it nowi" Stacey said,
angrily. You have ruined yourself. That
picture meant fame. Youth not paint an
other good
Mark did not answer. He was going
round the studio, peering with his short
sighted eyes at every canvas He came
back to the easel with face to which the
life had returned. Some horrible fear had
been removed by his inspection of the PIC
lures. His laugh was awkward as he met
the other mans eyes
Pooh! the thing was no good" he said.
'I always felt that 1t was sentimental and
clap-trap. I'm glad l had the courage to
put an end to it,"
you've put an end to more than the
picture" said Stacey. looking at him Curl
ously. Il advise you to go into the coun-
try for rest. You're bit run down. you
know"
Mark rubbed his hands nervously.
Never was better in my life," he laugh
ed.
Stacey grunted.
Your best friends wouldn't know van
for the man you were a year ago And
would any sane man have destroyed his
work? You are working too hard Take
my advice and give yourself a rest"
After Stacey had left him Mark sat STAR
ing az the ruined picture. horror crept
over him. Would he never get AWAY fror,
Fawcett again?