Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1901-12-04
X THE DEFENSE ~

By w. B. BARRETT.
Copyright, 1901, by Authors Syndicate.

/ face, and it's eyes held her trembling
in their cold, unwavering stare.
She drew her hands from her face
and looked fixedly at the dim study
upon the easel above her as she
crouched upon the rug. In the faint
light it seemed the fantastic home OF
elusive shadows. Yet a S her gaze grew
firmer the penciled lines started from
the background and revealed them
selves with clearness.
Repentance" a title read below. A
woman in an October wood, half
cleared. She was looking to the west,
where falling sun had nearly crept
beyond her straining gaze. Her hair
had fallen in wind-driven glory be-
hind her, her arms were stretched in
pathetic gesture of recall and invita-
ton, and across her face fell somber
look of heart-wringing longing and re-
greet. And yet-such is the divine touch
| of genius-one who with clear eye
could read, might have seen in some
Elusive, intangible line the birth of a
| golden hope that repentance had not
come too late: that the swift.falling
sun would rise once more.
There was a dignity, a poise and
grace, an inexpressible pathos in this
lone figure of the wood which stirred
| the heart and moved the very soul
to cry out that the mute prayer
must find an answer; that within
! the ashes of it's crushed past there
must lurk a spark which should rise
to living flame.
One could not but know, as they
faced each other, in that light of
shadows, that these two women
were in truth but one. She who sat
disheveled upon the rug surely was
none other than the sun-imploring
creature of the autumn wood. It
was not that the likeness of Inca
ment was striking, but in the Bit
ter abandonment of pose, in the wild
craving of their speaking silence, in
the tender wooing of the arms which
voicelessly called out their woe, they
were the same, and indivisible, one
the insensate shadow of living
cry, one the sensate bodiment of a
life-wearing sorrow.
Eleanor sat long, and still. What
tempests tossed her heart in that
deep communion cannot be told. It
was herself, her soul, she had imned
upon her canvased Repentance"
and in the revelations of the night it
seemed all too plain to her that she
had painted on a signboard the Sc
Of loo ~ To- !,
ran to read.
The December sun shone in her
window when she rose from her
strange vigil by the living dead
There was newborn resolution in
her look. She laved her face care
fully to hide it's stains of tears.
Then she brushed her glorious crown
of hair and put on her coat.
"A walk will do me good" she said
to herself. 'The morning is splen-
did. AS soon as I can after noon
I will withdraw my picture from the
gallery. It has told too much al
ready. He, at least, shall never
know"
She put on her jaunty fur hat. A
long look in her mirror told her the
traces of the night of watching had
vanished beneath the impulses of the
morning. She was still beautiful, no
doubt, despite her score and five of
years; despite the tragedy of her
heart.
She tore the study of Repentance"
from it's easel and thrust it upon the
blazing asbestos log. Then she slow
ly and thoughtfully drew on her
gloves.
The studio bell uttered a long, i'm
perative summons. Eleanor started
sharply. What impossible call was
that? At sunrise? Who could it
be abroad so early, or so late? Well,
let them ring. She was not at home.
Again the bell called her, as if in
imperative demand. Its tone was
masculine, demanding. Who could it
be? Well
She flung wide the door.
Upon the threshold stood figure.
tall, manly, strong, with barred head
as if before shrine. Out of the
! dark eyes set in pallid frame a glance
burned in upon her.. devoured her,
snatched up her spirit unresisting
into its wild caress, and then her
lover came upon her with wide
stretched arms. ..~
"Harold!" she cried. ooh! Har-
old! Have you come at last"
And they set, their faces to the east,
where the risen sun spread q new
glory across the snowy world.
I