The Maryville times. (Maryville, Tenn.) 1884-1944, 1915-04-08


hts leadership.
Then his eyes fell on the unfinished
portrait of Adrienne. The face gazed
at him with it's grave sweetness; its
fragrant subtlety and its fine grained
delicacy. Her pictured lips were ST.
lently arguing for the life he had
found among strangers. and her vic
tory would have been an easy one, but
for the fact that just now his con-
science seemed to be on the other
side. Samson's civilization was two
! years old-a thin veneer over a CEN
fury of feudalism-and now the cen
| fury was laundering its call of blood
bondage. But, as the man struggled
over the dilemma, the pendulum
swung back. The hundred years had
left, also. a heritage of quickness and
bitterness to resent injury and injus-
tice. His own people had cast him
out They had branded him as the
deserter; they felt no need of him or
his counsel Very well, let them have
1t so. His problem had been settled
for him. His Gordian knot was cut
Sally and his uncle alone had his
address. This letter, casting him out,
must have been authorized by them,
Brother Spencer acting merely as
amanuensis. They, too, Lad repudi-
ated him-and, if that were true, ex-
cept for the graves of his parents, the
hills had no tie to hold him.
Sally, Sally!" he groaned dropping
his face on his crossed arms, while
his shoulders heaved in an agony Of
heartbreak, and his words came in the
old, crude syllables: Il lowed you'd
believe in me eff hell froze!" He rose
after that, and made fierce gesture
with his clenched fists. "All right,
he said, bitterly, I'm shet of the lot
of We. I'm done!"
But 1t was easier to say the words
of reputation than to cut the ties
that were knotted about his heart.
With ranking soul, the mountain
eer left New York He wrote Sally
brief note, telling her that he was 60
ing to cross the ocean, but his hurt
pride forbade his pleading for her con.
fidence, or adding, 81 love you" He
plunged into the art life of the "other
side Of the Seine" and worked vora-
ciously. He was trying to learn
much-and to forget much.
One sunny afternoon when Samson
had been in the Quarter Latin for
eight or nine months the concierge OF
his lodgings handed him, as he passed
through the cour, an envelope adj
dressed in the hand of Adrienne Les.
colt AS he read it he felt glow Of
pleasurable surprise, and, wheeling, he
retraced his steps briskly to his lodg-
ings, where he began to pack. Adri-
enne had written that she and her
mother and Wilfred Horton were sail.
ing for Naples, and commanded him,
unless he were too busy, to meet their
steamer. Within two hours he was
bound for Lucerne to cross the Italian
frontier by the slate-blue waters OF
Lake Maggiore.
A few weeks later Samson and Ad
rienne were standing together by
moonlight in the ruins of the Coli
scum. The junketing about Italy had
been charming, and now in that circle
of sepia softness and broken columns
he looked at her and suddenly asked
himself:
Just what does she mean to your
If he had never asked himself that
question before he knew now that II
must some day be answered. Friend
ship had been a good and seemingly
a sufficient definition. Now he was not
so sure that it could remain so.
Then his thoughts went back to a
cabin in the hills and a girl in calico
He heard voice like the voice of a
song bird saying through tears:
Il couldn't live without We, Samson
/ jest couldn't do HIT"
For moment he was sick of his life
1t seemed that there stood before him
in that place of historic wraiths and
memories, girl, her eyes sad, but
loyal, and without reproof.
You look, said Adrienne, studying
his countenance in the pallor OF the
moonlight, "as though you were see
ing ghosts"
Il am" said Samson. Lets 60"
Adrienne had not yet seen her por'
trait Samson had needed a few hours
of finishing when he left New York
though it was work which could be
done away from the model So it was
natural that when the party reached
Paris Adrienne should soon insist on
crossing the Pont d'Alexandre III to
his studio near the "Boule Mich for an
inspection of her commissioned canvas
For a while she wandered about the
businesslike place, Uttered with the
gear of the painters craft. 1t was in
way, form of mindreading, for
Samson's brush was the tongue of his
soul
The girls eyes grew thoughtful az
she saw that he still drew the leering
saturnine face of Jim Asberry. He
had not outgrown hate, then? But
she said nothing until he brought out
and set on an easel her own portrait,
For moment she gasped with sheer
delight for the colorful mastery of the