The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-01-21

Marks request that she should come to
the studio at o clock struck a CLEAN of
surprise across the darkness on Rizpahs
face. 1t was almost the first word he had
spoken to her for days. This invitation to
the studio meant that he had only excluded
her while he worked. Now that his picture
was finished he would take her back into
his life. The blood swung in her veins.
The winter was over and gone. The time
of the singing of the birds had come.
Mark was too absorbed to notice her face.
He was not even conscious that she left
him after lunch while she put holiday
dress.
'It is feast day." she said to herself.
smiling. 81 must take off my sackcloth. 1t
is the day of the Angel of Life"
Wistfully joyous, on her marriage
morning, she searched for frock that
would suit the springtime. But all her
gowns were sombre. She had not cared to
trick herself out under the shadow resting
on their lives. There was nothing to match
her mood but the gown she had worn when
she married Mark. Blushing and breath
less she hurried into it and went from her
room. The shine of the satin made soft
light around her as she climbed the studio
steps. Mark would be waiting for her in
side.
The door stood partly open, she pushed 1T
wide and entered, but she saw no one. With
a gentle happiness she looked around her,
seeking for the picture of the Angel of
Life. Then the blood sureed to her face.
Her breath made strange singing noise in
her throat. She put out her hands as if
to push something from her. All, no! No!
1t was too horrible! Fawcetts eyes met
her from every part of the room. The place
was full of Fawcett-and Fawcett-and
Fawcett She could not get away from
the hooking eyes of the dead man. He
Knocked her Dress her bridal with Mark,
Marks absence. 1t was useless to hide
her face in the folds of her gown; the
pictures pressed upon her, shutting her in
alone with them, suffocating her. She
gasped for breath and tottered forward.
but the long train clinging to her feet
hindered her. To her excited fancy it
seemed like symbol of her marriage with
Mark. Then came the stab of keen-edged
thought. She had forced herself on Mark;
she had confessed the gladness with which
she ndO reSdlneQ ner freedom, ana THIS was
the way he had chosen to bring her sin
home to her. She wrung her hands. Yes,
she had been heartless; but If she told
Mark how Fawcett had deceived her, would
he not forgive her?
She lifted her eyes, and they shrank back
from the face she saw. No, she could not
arraign the dead. Fawcett had been her
husband; she must protect his name; but
she could not bear this dreadful place.
Trembling, she sprang to the door. Before
she reached it she stumbled Marks arms
caught her as she fell. His face was as
white as hers.
Where are you going? What have you
SEEM" His voice was strange and hoarse.
She chung to him. 1T is Fawcett!' she
sobbed. ''You should not have done it.
Oh, Mark! oh, Mark
His fingers crushed her arm. "Fawcett?
Where?"
Here on the walls-the canvases-every-
where. Oh, how could you be so cruel?"
Mark led her to the door, and put her
gently outside. 81 have nothing to do with
Fawcett. You must not come in to disturb
me again." he said quietly.