The Lambertville record. [volume] (Lambertville, N.J.) 1872-1968, 1910-09-06
His Masterpiece
By GENEVIEVE MARIE BOICE


| ing the first days the loneliness would
have become unbearable, and think
would have been tempted to throw
1t UP and go back to the old life and
(here the page turned and Margue.
rites eyes frightened expectantly) all
my friends in the land of the Stars
and Stripes"
Marguerite quietly tossed the letter
on the blazing logs with scornful
toss Of her head. Not word about
her own sacrifice in sending him away
from her to make something of his
life, but only words of praise for the
girl who had SO lately come into their
world.
Spring found the Chantrys in Eu-
rope. They fingered longest in fair
Italy. the land of azure skies and
golden sunlight, and the home of the
old masters. Their ancient paintings
had peculiar fascination for Mar
guerite, and she often found herself
thinking of Paul Worthington with
wistful tenderness. and wondering if
his name would ever be classed
among the famous painters of pic
lures.
Upon their arrival in Rome they
found the city ringing with the
praises of an unknown artist named
Clyde, whose picture was on exhibit
ton in the art gallery Even the
critics were silent before it; there
was not flaw in the exquisite paint.
ing.
At the first opportunity Marguerite
Chantry visited the gallery and wait
ed patiently until the crowd permitted
her to stand in the line that viewed
the famous painting. There were
other pictures by the same artist
hanging in the room, but 1t was before
this one that the crowds fingered
This Is his masterpiece" they said
softly, almost reverently.
Gradually the crowd melted away
and Marguerite stood before the won
derful picture. Like "a dream sea
stretched the field of snowy daisies
with flaming hearts Of gold, as if the
dazzling whiteness Of their petals had
lured the golden sun from Its home In
the high heavens and imprisoned 1t
In their hearts, and from this starry
carpet, like spirit of the mist. rose
a slender gray-eyed girl in hlmy
white; her arms were filed with the
pale, pure blossoms. and half sadly,
half tenderly, she gazed on their
snowy loneliness. A butterfly ex-
quisitely tinted and flecked with gold.
poised on one velvet petal as If ready
to take fight, and yet loved to linger
amid such beauty. White wind-tossed
clouds were overhead, and the glor-
ious light of morning tinged the en-.
tire painting with an ethereal glow.
Marguerite felt as If the ground
were slowly slipping from beneath
her feet, for the girl on the canvas
was herself. Bewildered she sought
her catalogue Opposite the number
of the picture she read, "Marguerites.
By Paul Clyde Worthington."
A mist swan before her eyes and
she swayed slightly. Suddenly the
crowd parted and tall commanding
figure stood before the picture. Mar
guerite felt her icy fingers caught In
a strong warm clasp and voice VI
brant with tenderness whispered.
Marguerite"
In silent wonder they both exam
ined the product of his brush and
brain; truly 1t was his masterpiece.
Slowly the truth dawned on Margue-
rite. It was she alone who had been
his model-she alone for whom he
had done this thing-and while her
fingers trembled in his like fright
ened bird, he drew her gently through
the crowd to her waiting carriage.