Waterbury Democrat., 1900-11-24
, THE STURGIS WAGER < ; A DETECTIVE STORY. < G - J
 By EDGAR NOR BITE. E < Copyright. 1899. by Frederick A. Stokes Co. y S@0&ew@~9@
CHAPTER VIII.

 arranging his palette for the morn ing's work. The unfinished portrait of Agnes Murdock looked down upon him with eyes of living beauty. Occasional ly the artist would bestow delft touch upon the glowing canvas and would retire to distance to note with a critical eye the new effect Then he would consult his watch in nervous inn patience; and, going to the window, he would glance anXiously up and down the street. Once or twice the rumble of wheels caused him to look up in glad expectancy, which gradual ly gave way to gloomy discontent as the noise died away in the distance.
 At length hope seemed to depart al- together from the young mans breast. He threw down his brushes, gave up all pretense of work and drifted off into a brown study. His eyes, fixed upon those of the portrait, had a troubled look in them-so troubled that it was clearly out of all proportion to the professiona al ldisappointmento of a paint CT kept waiting for a fair subject.
 So absorbed did he become in his gloomy meditations, that, when at last a carriage stopped before the house, the artist did not hear it. But when, presently, a gentle tap sounded upon the door of the studio. he sprang to his feet as if he had received an electric shock.
 Perhaps he had; for it was followed by rapid current of delicious thrills tingling through every nerve and eff fecting in his whole being sudden fro oti Al once the furrowed brow was smooth; the dropping lips were wreathed in smiles: the troubled look gave way to one of glad welcome.
 For she had come a last. There she stood, with laughing brown eyes and glowing cheeks, when Sprague threw open the door. Alas, as usual, she was accompanied by her maid. Never mind; was it not enough to have her there at all, to bask in the sunshine of her smile, to look into the dangerous depths of those soul-stirring eyes, to listen to the ripping Of her silvery voice?
 "Ifear am little late, MT. Sprague; I am sorry to have kept you waiting. But you see this is how it was"
 What mattered it to him now how it was? Was she not there? An eternity of suspense and misery would have been wiped out by that single entran- cing fact. Her words beat upon his ear like rapt urous melody; he drank them in, hardly conscious of their meaning.
 Agnes Murdock, followed by her maid, proceeded at once to the dress ing-room set apart for the use of the artists models. When she returned, dressed for the sitting, she assumed un- der Sprague's directions the pose of the portrait. while the artist critically ar ranged Der draperies and adjusted the shades and screens.
 The maid had remained in the dress ing-room.
 And so these are positively the last final touches, are they, MT. Sprague?" asked the young girl, mischievously, after few minutes. 'You artists seem to be quite as uncertain about your farewell appearances as any famous ac- tress or singer"
 The artist looked up quickly as the girl spoke. An expression of pain crossed his features
 .!~ Mss Muruock,' he answered, gravely. T shall not have to trouble you to pose again."
 Miss Murdock's attention was at tracted by the melancholy note in his voice. She observed him from the cor ner of her eyes in kindly curiosity.
 The artist fell into a moody silence. For awhile he worked with feverish ac- tivity at the portrait; and then, grad ually falling into a fit of melancholy abstraction, he sat, with poised brush, gazing intently at the beautiful girl before him. His task forgotten, he was apparently unconscious that he was taking advantage of his privileged position to stare al his fair subject. Ag- nes felt his burning glance and was em- barrassed by it; but, womanlike, she retained control of herself, outwardly, at all events, as she uttered some com monplace remark, which broke the spell and brought the artist to his senses with sharp consciousness of his rudeness. He replied to the young girls question in a low, changed voice, and then relapsed into glEomy silence. After an awkward interval he asked, suddenly:
 Are you so very glad, Miss Murdock, that our sittings are almost over?"
 Why. no, MT, Sprague,' replied Ag- nes; q did not mean that. Of course I shall be glad when the portrait is finished, because I wish to have it home and to let my friends see it. But I should be indeed ungrateful if I be- grudged my poor little time and trou- ble, when yours have been so lavishly and so Ungrudgingly spent
 ''These sittings have been a source of so much pleasure to me- continued Sprague, thoughtfully, that I have selfshly overlooked the fact that they could oEly be an annoyance and bore to you. I fear I have needlessly pro- longed them.''
 But, indeed. MT. Sprague, I assure you it has been anything but bore to me to pose. I am sure I shall miss the pleasant morning hours have spent here" t" -
 "They have been the happiest hours of my life," said Sprague, earnestly, in low voice, land now they are nearly gone-forever.''
 Agnes started slightly, blushed and