Burlington weekly free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1866-1928, 1901-10-24
CHAPTER VIII.

NiAf ! Els VIII.
THE PORTRAIT.
Sprague was seated before his easel
arranging his palette for the morn
)ng's work. The unfinished portrait of
Agnes Murdoch looked down upon him
with eyes of living beauty. Occasional
jy the artist would bestow Il deft
Touch upon the glowing canvas and
would retire to a distance to note with
, critical eye the new effect. Then he
would consult his watch in nel0 Gus i'm
patience; and, going to the window
ne would glance anXiousiy up and
Gown the street. Once or twice the
rumble of wheels caused him to look
mp in glad expectancy, which gradual
~ gave way TO gloomy discomfort as
Ihe noise died away in the distance.
At length hope seemed to depart al
together from the young mans breast.
lie threw down his brushes, gave up all
pretense of work and drifted oil into a
brown study. His eyes, fixed upon
those of the portrait, had n troubled
look in thcm-so troubled that it was
rlearly out of all proportion to the
professional isappointmen ola paint
Pr kept waiting for fair subject.
So absorbed did he become in his
gloomy meditations, that. when t last
Il 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 sprany TO his
feet as if lie had received an electric
shock.
Perhaps he had; for il was followed
by a rapid current of delicious thrills
tingling Through every nerve and eff
feeling in his whole being a sudden
and marvellous transformation. At
once the furrowcd 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 checks, when SpraPue 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-stirrng eyes, to
listen TO the ripping Of her silvery
voice?
81 fear am little late, Mr.. Sprague;
] am sorry to have kept you waiting.
But you see this is how il was"
What mattered il 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. HTer words beat upon his ear
like rapturous melody; he drank them
in, hardly conscious of their meaning.
Agnes Murdock, followed by her
maid, proceeded at once TO he dress
mg-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 drapcrics and adjusted the
shades and screens.
The maid had remained in the dress
ingroom.
And so these are positively the last
final touches, are they, Mr. Sprague?"
asked the young girl. mischevously,
nfter 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.
ayes, Miss Murdocls," he answered,
Eravely. 81 shall not have to trouble
you to pose again
Miss Murdocks attention was at
Iracted by the melancholy note in his
voice. She observed him from the cor
ncr of her eyes in kindly curiosity.
The artist fell into a moody silence.
For awhile he worked with feverish ac-
iyity at the portrait; and then, grad
nally falling into fit of melancholy
distraction, 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 it; but, W0maniille, 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 n sharp consciousness of
his rudencss, lie replied to the young
girls question in a low, changed voice,
and then relapsed into gloomy silence.
After an awkward interval he asked,
suddenly:
"Are You so very glad, Miss Murdoch,
that our sittings are almost over?"
'Why. no, Mr.. Sprague,' replied Ag-
mes; II did not mean that. OF course
! shall be glad when the portrait is
finished, because / wish to have it home
and to let my friends see it, But |
should be indeed ungrateful if ! be-
grudPed my poor little time and trou-
Bile when yours have been so laYishly
and 50 ungrudgingly SPENT