Twice-a-week plain dealer. (Cresco, Howard County, Iowa) 1895-1913, 1900-08-31
CHAPTER VIII.
THE PORTRAIT.

Sprague was seated before his easel
arranging his palette for the morn
ing's work.. The unfinished portrait Of
Agnes Murdoch looked down upon him
With eyes OF living beauty. Occasional
~ the artist would bestow deft
touch upon the glowing canvas and
would retire TO distance to note with
critical eye the new effect. Then he
would consult his watch In nervous i'm.
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
~ gave way to gloomy discomfort as
the noise died away in the distance.
AT length hope seemed to depart al
together from the young mans brehst.
He threw down his brushes, gave up all
pretense of work and drifted off into
brown study. His eyes, fixed upon
those OF the portrait, had troubled
look In them-so troubled that 1t was
clearly out Of all proportion to the
professional disappointment of paint
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30 absorbed did he become in his
gloomy meditationa. thar, when at last
Q carriage stopped before the house,
the artist did not hear 1t. But when,
presently, gentle tap sounded upon
the door of the studio, he sprang to his
feet as II 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
footing in his whole being a sudden
and marvellous transformation. At
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 at last. There she
stood, with laughing brown eyes and
glowing cheeks, when Sprague threw
open the door. Alas, us usual, she was
accompanied by her maid. Never mind;
was 1t 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?
"1fear lam little late. Mr.. Sprague;
I am sorry to have kept you waiting.
But you see this is how it was"
What mattered 1t 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-
cling fact. Her words beat upon his ear
like rap'urous melody; he drank them
in. hardly conscious Of their meaning.
Agnes Murdoch, 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 I'M
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, Mr. Sprngue?"
asked the young girl, mischievously,
after few minutes. you artistsse
to be quite as uncertain about your
farewell appearances as any famous &c
tress OF singer"
The artist looked up quickly as the
girl spoke. An expression Of pain
crossed his features.
ayes, Miss MURDOCH" he answered,
gravely. II shall not have to trouble
you to pose again."
Miss Murdocks 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 o moody silence.
For awhile he worked with feverish 40
tivity at the portrait; and then, grad
ually falling into q 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 at his fair subject. Ag-
mes felt his burning glance and was en-
barrassed by 1t; 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