Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1905-05-25


follow her. But 1t was too late. Ere
he had reached the threshold he heard
the front door shut, and in an instant
after the carriage drive away. Strange
adventure! For though he did not
know her name he knew her face, had
seen 1t once in large crowd, and
charmed by it's perfect lineaments had
brooded upon its memory till he had
idealized it into the picture which we
have already described as the CHER Or
nament Of his studio.
"Am I dreaming?' he asked himself.
and he cast sudden look about him
for the old crone who had ushered him
into the room in the hopes of learning
| from her the name of the lady who
| had lust left them, but by this move
ment bringing himself nearer to the
pulseless figure on the couch, he found
himself so enthralled by the exquisite
loveliness of the marble-like counte-
nance he now, for the first time, had
an opportunity of seeing, that he for
cot the impulse that had moved him,
and stood petrIfied In astonishment and
delight.
For if what he saw before him
formed the picture he was expected to
paint, how beautiful it was! Never in
! his fancy prolific as it was with lovely
forms and faces, had he beheld a
| countcnance like this! 1t was angelic
in its purity and yet human in its quiet
look of grief and resignation 1t had
| lines as exquisite as those we see in
| the ideal heads of the most famous
masters. and yet one scarcely saw
those lines or the delicate curves OF
! cheek and chin for the expression
which STEPPED the whole in heavcnlicst
| sweetness. If dead then no living
woman was fair, for she seemed to
hold all beauty within the scope of her
persisted personality and to compress
! into the narrow space Shonc upon by
those two rows Of candles all the love
Illness and the mystery which had
| hitherto enshrin"d the world of Wom-
| ankind in his eyes. Her head rcp0Scd
! upon white silken pillow, across
| which strcamcd Il mass of midnight
| hair in Il tanGlc of great lustrouS curlS
| One lay in motionless beauty on her
breast, and so unlike death was the
whole vision that he found himself
watching this curl in eager antIcipa-
| ton of seeing II move with the rising
and falling OF her breath.
But it lay quiesccnt, as did the wax
en- lids above the closely shut eyes,
and at this discovery, which proved
of a surety that she was dead, he felt
such a pang of despair that he knew
| that whereas he had hitherto looked
at n woman with his eyes he was sur
yeying this one with his heart that 4
| feeling akin to love had awakened III
his breast. and that this feeling was
for a dead imagc--a soullcSs, pulsol@Ss
morsel of clay.
The consciousness Of his folly made
him blush, and drawing back he again
looked about him for the old cronc.
She was not far away. Seated at one
end of the apartment III low chair,
| with her figure bent forward and her
head buried in her hands she was
rocking slowly to and fro in what
seemed like silent anguish But when
| he approached her and she looked mp
there were no tears in her eyes nor
signs of trouble about her sordid and
almost sinister mouth.
"Whcrc is Signor Montclli|' asked
the artist. "Is he not present? | al
iuds TO the gentleman who wrote me Il
note this morning requesting me to
come here and draw him picture
But she made no rcply--that is, no
intqllgible reply She murmurcd some
words, but they We're in Il language he
did not recognize, and the mystery
seemed to be dctTpnel rather than
cleared by her presence.
"Can you not speak Engiish?" he In
Qured.
She smiled, but evidently did not un-
dcrstand what he said.
Nor French?"
She smiled again and muttorcd Few
more of her foreign words, this time
with dcprccatin@ air and an cntHcat'
ing gesture.
He knew 4 smattcring of Spanish
and tried her with that, but with no
better result. Discouraged, he repeat.
ed the one word they both knew.
"Montelli? Montclli:" he cried, and
looked about him with peerng eyes.
This time she had the appearance OF
understanding his meaning She made
Il gesture toward the street then point
cd to herself and courtesicd. Finally
she laid finger on the portfolio nn0e!
his arm, smiled ana led him up TO the
young girl.
There was 10 misunderstanding this
pantomimc; he was to draw a picture
of the dead. Satisfied and yet vaguely
! uneasy hc bowed and opened his port
folio. The old cronc brought forward
chair, then n small table. and cour-
tcsying again disappeared once more
in the background E2 took the chair,
opened his portfolio and began to con
template tho picture before him.
1t was perfect, even from an artistic
standpoint. Had he arranged the
couch, the drapcry, the flowers and the
lights he Could not have made a moro
harmonious whole. He could not even
find an excuse for readjustng the
locks Of the loosely curling hair; Ill
was as it should be, and ne hal only to
put pencil to paper
TO he continued.
| Form, Married and Buried at Sea.
The body Of Captain Richard Mars
| den, who was for nineteen years Har.