Year: 1863

81 will come again, tomorrow, Mr..
Winner; l 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 Maude
Ashton from the artists view he stood gaz-
ing into the direction she had taken, SEEM
ing spell-bound. Suddenly 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 enchantress had vanished,
and the stern reality of his position forced
itself upon his mind


Maude Ashton was the daughter of a
millionaire, and heiress in her own right,
and Harry Winner was a young aspirant
to win the goddess, Fortune.


Spite of the vast difference in their posi-
ton the heart Of the artist had allowed
| itself to become eni angled with wild hopes,
at times glowing and beautiful, anon sor-
rowtul and respondent. No wonder Har-
ry was entranced 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 brightness caused the heart
to leap even at single glance, complex
ion, rich in beauty as the first tints OF Au
rora as she glides the eastern sky; but
upon that face of beauty was seated lool,
of bitter GOODNESS, freezing even at the
same period it woke the heart to glow.


For nearly two weeks the proud beauty
had been sitting for her portrait to the ar
tist, and during that period Harry Winner
had lived a life of unheard of happiness
and miserable despair Slowly the artist
reseated himself at his canvass and the
beautiful face before him.


"Does she love me-" unused he; alas!
| fear not At times fancy the glances
Of those lustrous eyes have tenderness
as they are bent on me, but as 1 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 the
rich maiden, as we'll as into the heart Of
the poor artit But that chilling, freezing
voice. MOI" he cried, casting aside pa
lette and brush, and starting to his feet,
"she ready my very heart, and scorns me,
the humble artist am q fool to allow
myself to be carried away by these feel
ings.''


Upon the morrow, spite Of his resolu-
tions to the contrary, Harry anxiously
watched the hours pass, and, when the
stately and well-known tread of Maude
was heard upon the stairs, his cheek
flushed with wild pleasure, and ere the
hour was past be found himself a thousand
times confident of her love.


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


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
lethargy which had fallen upon him; his
pictures lay around unfinished; with the
presence of his enchantress his ambition
had departed Thus weeks passed, and
the wild love still remained, but it was
gradually becoming hopeless.


One bright sunshiny afternoon Harry
Winner happened to stroll into the gallery
of widely known artist. To his surprise,
but nevertheless pleasure, he encountered
Maude. She greeted the artist with bow
cold and formal, yet in few moments the
pair were deeply engrossed in converse
ton.


1t was only when Maude found herself
an object of astonishment 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 il all. She
had given him an invitation to visit her at
home, but he now scorned her offer, for
he full well knew her proud spirit In his
lonely room he thoroughly examined his
bleeding heart, and resolved forever to
cast forth the wealthy Maude.


How firm he was in his resolution we
may Judge by finding him the next after
noon by the side of Maude, in her sumptu-
GUS and luxurious home.


"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
free r" ..siv.


Truly, strange question, and yet on
that can freely answer. The man is not
living who has claim on the hand of
| Maude Ashton" 5ls ao


The artist moved still nearer, and, in a
low voice, continued: -
"Miss Ashton-Maude-fo weeks I
have lived life of agony. Until your
beautiful presence greeted, l have not
known aught of love. With you came