The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1903-09-02
CHAPTER II.



But this, which was ordinarily sim.
ple matter for him, had become all at
once most difficult task. He delayed
and asked himself questions, feeling
the mystery Of the situation almost to
the point of oppression. Who was this
young girl? Who was Andrea Mon
telh? Who was even this old crone?
What was the disease which had taken
The life Of this beautiful creature with
out leaving a trace of its devastating
power upon cheek or brow, or even on
the dimpled hands that just vaguely
showed themselves amid the folds OF
the drapery that covered her? Had
she perished naturally? The thought
would come. Was her portrait wished
by father and friends? Or was it re-
quired only by disinterested officials,
and for purposes her beauty made him
shrink from contemplating? The pres
ence of this old woman seemed to point
to the former supposition as the true
one, and yet might it not be the best
proof in the world that it was simply
hard, stern justice which demanded
the reproduction Of these features,
since it was an easy matter to under
stand how such person might be in
the pay Of the police, but net nearly
so easy to be comprehended how she
could either be in pay or the confidence
of any friends of so dainty and beauti-
dul a creature as she who lay before
him?
The contrast between the two was
vivid, as were all the accessories of the
picture he was expected to draw, to
the remaining appointments in the
room. Near her and surrounding her
were fabrics Of softest wool and purest
silk, edged with the richest embroider-
fes and covered with costliest BIOS
SONS. Beyond her and outside of the
charmed circle created by the prodigal
wax tapers were worn and dingy stuffs
and dilapidated furniture.
Not an article from window to door,
saving those which were associated
with the dead girl, expressed aught but
discomfort and poverty, while with
her and about her were luxury, wealth
and beauty.
It was strange, and, as he considered
the matter further, he became more
and more convinced that the police had
nothing to do with this display of
splendor. No; if they had wished her
picture they would have sent for the
photographer, and there would have
been no draperies nor candles nor
flowers. Some relative, some friend,
or, stay-could it be some mere art
dover had wished to preserve on i'm
perishable canvas the extraordinary
aoveliness which he saw about to van
Ssh forever, and so he had been called
I'm with pencil and paper, and paid for
his work beforehand that he might not
retreat from the task when be found
that it involved mystery? IasSjssssz.A,a,s: 8
i But why should it involve mystery?
Why should there be no one in the
house from whom he could obtain in
telligible replies to his queries? Was
this merely accident or was it design?
The one person he had encountered
whose face bespoke intelligence and
desire for communication had sur
prised him so much by the coincidence
between her presence and the picture
ne had painted that he had been made
for the moment powerless, and so lost
the one opportunity offered him to
make himself acquainted with the true
meaning Of the adventure which had
befallen him. Was this fortunate or
was it not? Was this wealthy lady of
high position and Incompatible taste
the friend or art-lover who had
drawn him there? What could be
more probable? And yet how greatly
was the mystery enhanced if this were
the case.
He was gazing steadily at the i'm
movable countenance before him when
this idea came, and, fascinated as he
was by what he saw, there seemed to
rise film between him and it, out Of
which there slowly grew on his gaze
the face Of the unknown visitor. Not
the face he had put upon canvas and
which was at this moment illuminat-
ing the dim recesses Of his studio, but
of herself as she stood there looking at
him with most human expression Of
pleasure and appeal, startliEgly in con-
trast with the sumptuousness Of he"
apparel and the dignity OF her bearing.
A true face, good face, with feat
ures perfect enough for art, and q
smile tender enough to satisfy the
most exacting nature. Why did he not
thrill before it? Why did not the feel
ing Of contentmert which swept over
him at it's remembrance fill up the void
In his heart and make this second rec
-ognit!on of her charms one Of promise
and unalloyed delight? Because he
had ceen something more winsome; pe-
cause she was the Dream, while before
him lay the Reality; because his taste
and judgment alone awarded to her the
palm Of beauty, while his heart
throbbed to what was expressed in
this other face, this other form, which,
If dead, had touched chord in his na-
ture never sounded before, and, as he
began to think, would never be sound
ed again.
The Reaity-yes, he had found It.
Az this belief seized him he grasped his
pnncil with avidity. He no longer felt
himself held back by doubts. He
would draw the picture before him,