River Falls journal. [volume] (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1872-2019, 1902-06-12

moment.
George" he said, 1.-THE doctors tell
me you are sinking. Would you like,
while you have yet the strength, to
take one last look at your pictures?"
"Ah, if 1 could" gasped the dying
man.
you can. I have bought them all.
All, that is, excepting three-the
three which you would destroy if you
could as not being worthy of your
gift. They are in New York"
"How-how can thank you?" muir
INJURED Verney, the hot tears rolling
down his cheeks.
do not thank me. Summon up all
your strength for this afternoon, and
we will have you carried on couch
into the gallery" and Henry Bellamy
went from the room smiling. 1t was
an ugly smile to see if any one had
seen it.
That afternoon the dying man was
carried carefully into the long pic
ture gallery, and Toasted his eyes
upon the Iifework which would soon
be all that would be left to little
Oracle of her father. Again he turned
to Bellamy to thank him. 1t was a
wondrous thing, this gift of forgive
ness, the sick man thought.
In taking Grace Bellamy from her
fathers house, as he had done,
George Verney felt that he had
caused the rich man bitter sorrow,
and knew that he had done him
grievous wrong, for father and daugh-
ter had never met again. Sir" be
said, chow can [ thank" But the
last word faltered on his lips as ha
saw the old mans face, for he had
never seen so diabolical look be-
fore.
"Thank?" answered the million
aire, with bitter emphasis. "Do you
think the milk of human kindness
urged me to buy your pictures from
you, to take you into my house AMI
pamper you when you were i'll? Re-
member the words you spoke to me
before [ turned you from my door.
Before you enticed my daughter
from her fathers house, you told
that father, proudly, and with head
erect, that there was one thing his
money could not buy.-your name'
Well, L have bought it. Read that.
And Verney read a telegram from
New York with the words: Accept
Hoskins."
81 do not understand" he said.
81 will explain. Here, as you see, I
have all your pictures. They are
good I know that. But you have
painted three of which you are
ashamed. Those three I have just
bought from Hoskins, paying mere
for them than the best here cost me.
Why, do you think? For my re-
venge."
Revenge?
''Yes. On the day you die every one
of these Dcanvases of which you are
so proud will be cut from it's frame
and burned, even that last one. They
shall perish as you taught my daugh-
ter's love for me to perish. Few peo-
pie, or comparatively few, know of
your work except by hearsay. After
your death the world shall judge of
it-by those three daubs which L
have bought from Hoskins at ten
times their value"
The dying man, white to the lips,
looked up at his tormentor in speech
less agony. Was this to be the end?
After his years of toll, after the
hopes, which he had formed that his
little Oracle should go into the
world armed not only with her moth
er's, or rather grandfather's, mill
ole rx,1,i nh,
he, her father, would bequeath to her,
was that name to be laughing stock
to the artistic world? The thing was
too diabolically cruel. He could not
believe it. And yet he slowly realized
that Henry Bellamy, in acting thus,
was taking a revenge which was an
almost just one. He, George Verney.
had taken the daughter from the ia
Their. The grandfather would take
the daughter from her father, too.
''Good night" said the old man.
turning on his heel. 81 will send the
servants up to carry you down to bed
again"
Just then patter of toddling foot
steps came down the long gallery,
and little Oracle, blue-eyed and gold
en-haired as her mother had been,
toddled towards them on her un-
steady feet.
kiss Oracle" she demanded, i'm
periously, holding up her rosy mouth
to the stern old man. ''Now kiss ia
ther," she added. Bellamy drew a
step away from the couch, and the
lines round his mouth frightened
mo, dear, men never kiss" he said.
"But, gran'pa, G'acie will be
naughty if you DON'T" the child in
sisted.
"What do you mean?" my child?"
Before mamma went away to the
garden"-it was thus that George
Verney had described his wife's
burial to her little daughter-'she
took me into her arms in bed, and
said that | was to make you kiss
papa for her sake, when we came to
see you. Papa didn't want to prom
Use, but she made him, too, and II
| forgot it till this afternoon, when
Nursie said it would be too late
soon" And though she did not I'M
derstand what she was saying the
blue eyes filled with tears.
| Henry Bellamy answered no word.
He placed the child down beside her
father and gazed at them and at his
daughters portrait overhead.
is she not like-her, sir?" said
Verney, brokenly.
The stern old man burst into I'M
comfortable sobbing, and clasped the
/ wasted hand conyulSiyelv