Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1907-04-25
CHATTER xxx.


Right Honorable the Earl OIL Arrow.
dale, Cyril Burne sat at work upon
the beach at Lorient.
Brittany was anything but a beastly
place, as Jack Wesley had declared,
and the prospect of golden sands,
deep blue sea and sky, and rugged
rocks ought to have flied CyriPs artis-
tic soul with rapture.
But the expression on his face was
anything but rapturous, and he worked
at his picture with the stolid, doggcd
countenance of a convict pursuing his
allotted task.
Every now and then he stopped
painting and stared at the canvas as
II he were looking through 1t, and at
such times his head sank upon mis-
breast, and what little light had been
In his eyes died out, and a hopeless,
sick-and-sorry look crept over his
handsome face; look which was not
good to see on the countenance OF q
man, young. clever, and with all the
world before him.
1t is scarcely necessary to say that
at these times he was thinking of No
rah- 1t would be rather difficult tc,
say when he was not thinking NJ her;
and just as her thoughts of him were
full of problems and unanswerable
enigmas, so were his of her
When a man falls in love with a
girl, he fiatters himself that at least
he knows and understands her nature.
For instance: II any one had asked
Cyril to describe Norah, he would
have summed her up somewhat in this
fashion
Beautiful, truthful, loving, honest
as the day to all the world. and faith
full to me unto DEATH"
And this girl, this pearl among
women, had quietly and coolly Tilted
him; and had either grown tired OF
him in few days, or thrown him
over at the behest of her father.
The more he thought OF her and he.
desertion of him, the more bitter he
became, the more puzzled and Tho
more miserable. For. notwithstapd-
ing her treatment of him, he knew
that he loved her still-that IL she
chose to turn to him and whistle him
to Ter side he must fly to her, and
kneel at her feet Just as much her
worshiper and slave as he had ever
been.
In the words of the Persian poet
sadi, he had given his heart to her.
ana could not take 1t back.
Behind him, perched on the cliffs,
was the house which Lord Newall had
built for himself, but HIS lordship had
gone away and left Cyril sole master
In fact, his lordship had found the
young artist SO gloomy and morose a
companion that he could not stand
him for longer than a week, and hal
probably go mad.
Cyril would have flown too; quite a
hundred times day he had been as
sailed by an intense longing to kick
his unfinished picture into the se1
and start off somewhere, or anywhere;
but he had learned something else
beside the knack of painting and that
no remedy half so efficacious as hard
work He could manage to forget
Norah--say. for a quarter of an hou
at .ime-- while he was painting, and
he felt that II he threw up his work
and wandered off with nothing to do
but brood over his trouble. he should
probaly go mad,
So, he worked on silently and moodi-
~. The good people OF Lorient. who
are sociable enough II you rub them
the right way, could make nothing of
tho young painter who was staying at
"mIlord's" house. The men got notn.
ing in answer to their genial Bon
jour, monsieur" but n growl, and the
girls-most of whom are terrible
pretty-might MS we'll have cast their
smiles at the rocks and stones as be-
stow them upon the handsome young
foreigner who did nothing but paint
paint, paint, or tramp tramp, tramp
mp aud down the searshore
They called him The Silent Eng.
Usher"
On this particular Afternoon he want
on painting and thinking till the fal
ing light warned him that 1t was time
go leave OF paintlng and take I,
thinking only. and he was just about
TO rise and put his things together
when he heard step on the beacl
behind him.
He did not turn his head becaus'
when he did so. the peasants. who hat
occasionally strayee from the field:
across the beach. would persist II
trying to talk 20 him. and he kept hil
eyes fixed sallenly before him unit
the footsteps came close behind him
and voice said:
''Good-evening, sir"
Jack"
How doth the busy bees Well
lad. how goes the picture,'
why. man, where did you com,
from" he demanded. what on earti
brings you here?"
Il viii be merciful and not reply n,
-.