Wheeling register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1878-1935, 1901-07-20

duce her friend to the young sculptor.
She raised the knocker a second time.
well, the doors always open,' she
went on, pushing it ajar. Visitors
come and 90 so much that Mr.. Upton
never locks it. The old concierge is al
ways about somewhere. Now just wan
der around, Alice, and enjoy every
thing you see, and I'll be back in not
over half an hour"
Miss Acton entered the large, dim,
artistic apartment, and was soon ao-
sorbed in eager and admiring scrutiny.
II was unquestionably true that the
sculptured faces and ngures she was
examining showed a technically perfect
skill. That might or might not oe'
the girl was not a trained critic and
could not have told. But they pos
sessed an extraordinary charm. One
and all, they bore the imprint of power
and intense feeling. Each separate
work had meaning and interest, and
showed a something within and beyond
the white, cold marble and the dim
clay.
And yet, as she gazed and examined,
Miss Acton became vaguely conscious
of something repellent in the works be-
fore her. The feeling was hardly de-
Unable; but they conveyed an impress
sion as of something false, something
shifty, something, she knew not what,
that gave her a shadowy feeling OF dis
like and distrust. Nevertheless, their
real charm was SO great that she was
onIy sub-conscious of this under feel
ing of repellence, and she passed from
figure to figure and group to group In a
fresh and vivid artistic enjoyment OF
their undoubted spell.
In her tour Of the apartment, she had
come to a heavy, narrow portiere. Sup
posing that it merely hid some choice
figure In a recess, she innocently
pushed it aside. 1t proved to be the en-
trance to the sculptor's inner workshop.
There was no one within, but the girl
was abashed at her involuntary intru-
sion, and was about to drop the por-
there precipitately, when
What was this before her? Her own
face, chiseied in the marble? She
paused in a shock Of utter astonish-
ment. There could be no possible mis-
take. The bust before her, in this
sculptor's workshop in Rome, was her
self. The same power that had already
impressed her was stamped yet
forcibly on this creation, and the face
seemed alive. the lips almost to move.
Even the details of arrangement Of hair
she recognized, after a moment, as her
very own of three or four years before.
The blood surged to the girls face as
all this was borne in upon her. She
sank into a chair and gazed in fascina-
ton. 1t was herself, beyond question.
And in this bust, as she discerned with
a curious relief, there was an entire
lack of the subtle repellent character
istics which had moved her disagree
abby in her study Of the figures in the
main studio. Here, on this face at
least, the sculptor's hand had wrought
true; it had shaken off it's stiffness,
and had realized In a high endeavor
the truth and sincerity of the girls
deep-lying character. She dimly knew
that she was not maligned.
Forgetful of place, time and all else,
the bewildered visitor sat gazing at
the face before her, and trying to puzzle
out the mystery. She did not hear the
outer door of the studio open; and so
deep was her panied abstraction that
not until the newcomers masculine
footsteps were almost at her side and
the portiere was lifted, did she turn
with a start