The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1926-11-12

up his morning paper. On the front
page he read the news of st. Glars
death. The old man had had stroke
of apoplexy the evening before.
Rennie let the paper fall from his
hands and tears of modification
streamed down his face. His last
hope gone! st. Clair dead. on whom
all had depended!
1t was three days before he recov-
cred sufficiently to go for his picture.
But to his amazement he was refused
admission. The butler referred him
to st. Clair's lawyer, who listened to
his story with quiet smile.
You must realize, Mr.. Rennie, that
unless you can bring some proof that
tie picture is yours :. s. have you
any proof? You did not sign it, you
say?"
But it was not finished" cried Rem
ME-
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders.
"All Mr.. st. Clair's paintings are to be
sold," he said. you will have to take
legal action in the matter. And,
frankly, young man, no jury will be-
lieve you unless you have some evil
dence to bring forward. More than
that, you will run the risk of a prose
cution for perjury"
Rennie went out in a daze. He saw
the truth of the lawyers words. There
was nothing that he could do.
A week later the auction came. Crit
les were enthusiastic over the large
number of paintings that was to be
put on the market. But of them all
none excited greater enthusiasm than
the unfinished work to which the crit
les gave the name THE Wild Horses"
Rennie attended the auction. The
bidding quickly passed the average Of
five thousand dollars, at which the
other pictures had gone. A dealer
from the West offered seven thousand.
Finally, after spirited competition
between him and Rennie's own dealer,
che picture fell to the latter for twelve
thousand
And MacDrew had paid Rennie an
average of fifteen dollars apiece.
Rennie went out of the auction room
and wrote a letter to one of the pa
pers. The newspaper refused to print
1t. 1t had no doubt that Rennie was
an impostor, and, anyway, the editor
felt that such a case should be aired
in the law courts.
PnnniA 10
he sat down and wrote long letter to
Muriel. 1t was the hopeless letter Of
man who has been bowled over by
the Bullets of fate. He told her the
facts aof his struggle. eliminating in
the loss of his painting, and released
her from their engagement.
But before he had risen from the
table there came knock at the door,
Rennie opened it, to find an elderly
woman, attired in black, standing be-
fore him.
II am Mrs. st. Clair" she said.
Mr.. Rennie, a terrible injustice has
been done you, and it would have
slipped from my mind had not our
lawyer told me about your claim. He
thought you were an impostor, but as
soon as he told me, l remembered.
'Mr. Rennie, my husband was the
best and justest man in the world. On
the night he died-the stroke came
very suddenly, you know-he was try
ing to speak to me. He was paralyZed
and he could only humble, but / man
aged to make out what he was trying
to say. He said that picture in his
studio had been painted BY couldn't
catch the name, but it was yours-and
that, in case he died, he didn't want
it to be sold as his, especially since
you had left no address, and he had
given you no receipt for 1t.
II have written a letter to the news
papers, and meanwhile the money for
the painting must go to you"
Rennie did not know how he replied.
He remembered taking her hands IN
his and thanking her thousand times.
And when she left it was with the I'M
Outstanding that Rennie was to con-
slider her his friend-always, she said.
Hardly had she gone before the post
man brought letter-from Muriel this
time. Opening it, Rennie read that
she loved him, he must never think
otherwise, and she would wait dozen
more years if necessary.
'Only | hope to see you, dear, al
most as soon as you get this letter."
she said, because my uncle has left
me five hundred dollars, and 1 am
taking the morning train to New York,
and l want you to meet me at seven
o'clock in the evening at the station.
And, dearest, remember that five hum
dred dollars will go far, and what is
mine is yours"
Rennie had never been so happy as
when he was wildly sprinting to meet
the seven o'clock train. And he knew
in his heart that Muriel would never
return, alone, to Freeport.