Year: 1863

ner; have no time to spare noW.'


The lips of the artist, Henry Winner.
wreathed into scornful smile, as the proud
and naughty woman retired from his studio.
, Long after the green baize door had hidden
the naughty face of Maud Ashton from the
artists view, he stood gazing in the direction
she had taken. seeming spell-bouud. Sud-
denly he started, and, with look of despair,
gazed around his studio.


No one. to have beheld him then, would
have known the smiling artist of an hour
previous. The enchantrees had vanished,
and the stern reality of his position forced
itself upon his mind.


Maude Ashton was the daughter Of mil
lioDaire, an heiress in her own right, and
Harry Winner was young aspirant to fame
striving with brush and canvass, to win
the goddess, Fortune.


Spite of the vast difference in their posi-
tion the b cart of the artist lad allowed itself
to become entsnged in wild hopes, at times
glowing and beautiful, anon sorrowful and
Respondent. No wonder Harry was en-
| tranced by the heiress; it was impossible to
gaze on the face of Maude Ashton and not
bow before its strange thrilling beauty
Beautiful it was: eyes, whose dazzling
brigh tness caused the heart to leap even at
a single glance; complexion. rich in beauty
as the first tints of Aurora as she gilds the
l<0aSIeTn OUT upOu ludL ldCo VI
was seated look Of bitter coldnes, freezing
even at the same period it awoke the heart
to glow.


For nearly two weeks the proud beauty
had been sitting for her portrait to the artist,
and during that period Harry Winner bad
lived life of unheard happiness and miser-
able dispair Slowly the artist reseated
| himself at his canvass and the beautiful face
before him.


Does she love me- unused he; "alas! l
fear not. At times 1 fancy the glances OF
those lustrous eyes have a tenderness, as
they are bent Oh me, but as l address her
| those lips utter words that chill my heart.
Does she love me? am but poor artist,
and she-I cannot bear to gaze on the vast
| gulf between us. And yet love will creep
into the heart Of tn rich m alden, as well as
into the heart of the poor artist. But tn at
| chilling, freezing, voice. n Of he cried cas-
ting aside parlette and brush, and started to
his feet, she reads my very heart and scorns
me, the humble artist-I am fool to allow
myself to be carried away by these feelings
Upon the morrow, spite of his resolution
to the contrary, Harry auxiously watched
the b ours pass, and when the stately and
we'll known tread of Maude was heard upon
the stairs, his cheek flush with wild pleas
ure, and ere the hour was passed he found
himself thousand times confident of her
love.


And did not the heart of Mauje Ashton
feel an answering thrill? The handsome
painter had found resting place in the cart
of the heiress, a heart which never before
had allowed itself to give way to such feel
iugs.


The picture was finished, and it no longer
became necessary for Maude to visit the
studio of the artist. In vain Harry strove
to rouse himself from the lethsrgy which
had fallen upon him, his pictures lay around
unfinished, and his brush was but seldom
used, with the preseHce of his enchautress
his ambition had departed. Thus weeks
passed, and the wild love still remained,
but it was gradually becoming hopeless.


One bright suCshiny afternoon Harry
Winner happened to stroll into the picture
gallery of widely known artist. To his
surprise, but nevertheless pleasure, he en-
countered Maude. She greeted the artist
with a bow, cold and formal. yet in a few
moments the pair were deeply engrossed In
conversation.


1t was only when M4ude found herself an
object of astunishm ent, by addressing her
conversation to an humble artist, that she
recalled herself Harry Winner saw it all,
saw her sudden coldness, and his sensitive
heart comprehended all. She had given
him an invitatisn to visit her at home, but
he now scorned her offer, for he full we'll
knew her proud spirit. In his lonely room
he thoroughly examined his bleeding heart
and resolved forever to cast forth the wealthy
NJ aude.


How firm he was in his resolution we may
Judge By finding him the next afternoon oy
the side of NJ aude Ashton, in her sumptu-
Gus and luxurious bume.


Miss Ashton there is one question which
I would like answered. Will you answer
truly?


with pleasure, Mr.. Winner


is your hand reserved, or is it entirely
free2'


Truly a strange question, and yet on that
I can freely answer. The man is not living
who has claim to the hand Of Maude Ash
ton.'


The artist moved still nearer, and in low
voice contisued:


Miss Ashtou-Maude-for weeks have
lived life of agony. Until your beau utiful
presence crested me, l have not known
aught Of love. With you came a new life.
Only in your presence was / happy, away
| from you was miserable. I have endeav-
ored to conquer this wild. may say, hope
| less love, but in vain. l love you Maude,
with my whole heart. Is that love returLed?'


The form of the heiress trembled, and she
endeavored to give utterancs to words wildly
at variance with her feelings.
Speak! tell me is my love returned? You
tremble. Can it be possible that my dreams
are reaized?'


The artists arm epcirclsd the form of the
trembling beauty, and the naughty head
Slowly sank upon his shoulder. It was a
moment of bliss to Harry, and he drew her
| form still nearer aud i'm pressed one kiss of
i fervent love on her brow.