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

All tne IGHuTEcCtUut FdWCett y NOiCe
drummed In his ears.
III.
They went to new world. where only
Rixpah's presence reminded Mark OF Faw-
cett. In the Alps health came back. and
power to escape from the oppression OF his
thoughta Sky and snow and mountain
peak built up a screen between himself
and memory.
Love diverted his morbid thoughts and
as the weeks passed. he became again the
Mark that the girl Rizpah had known. His
eyes flashed with the old brightness. his
smile was ready TO meet hers. his feet
kept pace with her springing tread. They
lived as though the shadow OF Fawcett
had never been thrown across their lives
Rizpah was radiant In the love that had
found Its earthly close. and had cast out
the demon that had possessed Mark. Life
burgeoned with gladness
They spent the winter In flight from city
TO city. Mark pursued by memory and
growing distrust OF Rizpah. she flying
from the terrors that every day gained
upon her.
Since their marriage he had not touched
brush, and Rizpah had been glad to take
him away from his work. But now she
saw that idleness was not good for him.
The ceaseless moving kept life in fer
ment there was no rest for mind or body.
"Let US go home" she coaxed. 81 long
to see London again. am tired OF being
a bird Of passage"
I'VE will go home tomorrow. Mark I
can't imagine how could be happy Sc
long away from England And you will
begin your work at once All! you must
paint your great picture again. I shall
not be satisfied till my husband Is famous
have married genius. and l want the
world to know IT,"
He laughed. and there was bitter note
In his laughter.
$50 you married me for ambition? This
explains It then: why you risked the dan
geographically pu, your head in the Same
moose as mine"
He stopped incoherently. The light faded
from Rizpah's face. At his strange words
fear set Its fangs in her heart: but the
love remained In her eyes, and she smiled
braveiy.
/ want TO be remembered as the wife Of a
great painted"
Mark turned his face from her. and
looked through the window at the flaming
crimson bars Of the sunset. He could not
meet Rizpah's smile.
~.
When the studio door set a barrier be-
tween himself and Rizpah. Mark became
had forbidden her to come into the room;
her presence would interfere with his
work. With wistful eyes she watched the
door close upon him. She could not bear
to be an outsider. having no share In his
real life: but she conquered regret with
hope. Hts strange moods. the battling
glance. the sudden passions. would yield
to the interest OF his art. She could afford
10 miss his working hours IL those he spen.
with her were free from dread
From her place In the background Riz-
pah watched the signs Of overstrain, not
ing each one only 70 relieve 1t by some
unobtrusive housewifely art. Occasional
ly her gentleness lured Mark into a SOM
Der recognition of her presence in the
house. and he would spend an hour in the
drawing room listening to her music. At
such times no one could have guessed that
the man lettering over his pipe was flying
from a pursuing remorse; that the woman
filling the room with melody was listen
ing to the crash of discords In her life. In
Marks appearance Rizpah saw enough to
alarm her; but she knew nothing of the
horror behind the studio door. He had no
idle hours there: he painted as II the
Furies were with him. His work had never
been so swift or so sure. Every stroke
told. The inspiration of madness was on
him. All that he touched was stamped
with genius 1t was in each line he traced.
But when the picture was complete he
could see nothing but grotesque horror
that perched there. Careful as he might
be-desperately as he might avoid It, SOON
er or later the hateful thing grew under
his brush. Then suddenly 1t would dart
out at him, and hold his gaze; and. with
the shrief of beast in the jaws of a
strong enemy. Mark would hurl the can
vas from him and fall to the ground
writhng and impotent.
One day the horror, whirling swiftly on
Its pivot, seemed to stand still. He could
look at the thing and see its outline. He
got up from his chair and roamed about
the studio. The floor was strewed with
canvases-a desert covered by the bones
of the dead In the window they were
piled like a cairn on the oak chest He
picked up one after another. examining
them. He was so possessed by the dread
that filled mis- brain that when it met him
from the outside he could not recognize 1t.
Pooh! it is a delusion. The thing can't
exist" he reasoned himself. ut Is the
madness of overwork. see shapes that