Year: 1873

home of the fine arts, / frequently
sought and found relaxation from the
strain of work-a-day months in London.


One January night found me seated
cold, travel-stained and weary-in the
train at Hamburg, en- route for my old
resort. Experience had taught me that
in Germany, a fellow traveller implies
an instantaneous deprivation of the
quantum of fresh air necessary to keep
the lungs in play. So, calling the guard,
| requested that might be secure from
intrusion. Touching his cap with a
loconic gut" he pocketed a douceur
and locked me in. The train started.
For few moments we stop at wayside
station. l consulted my watch. How
cold it grows as the day draws his last
shivering breath. Strange at this hour
the springs of being are at their lowest
in all that lives, whilst, in mystic SYM
pathy with the dying day, the life is
split out of those in whose emp are only
its lees. 1 wrap nv cloak around me.


Once more we were on the point Of
starting, when the door 1 imagined
securely locked, was gently and easily
opened. A lady entered and seated
herself opposite me. Below my breath
l confounded the guard for a false
Deutcher, and reflected how extraordi-
nary it was that the intruder should be
a woman; for abroad the fair sex have
special travelling compartments, where
no man dare put in an appearance and
vice versa. In the confusion of starting
she had doubtless mistaken her carriage,
and now, perhaps, felt uncomfortable.


As the cold each moment increased,
addressing few conventional words to
her on the topic of the weather. "Thank
you," she said, in quiet and perfectly
self-possessed voice, ''but indeed l do
not feel the cold you speak Of" A
story is often told in the tone of voice
and the tone of this one was peculiar.
Enthusiastically English, and well bred
| but there was no ring in it, only a GER
tain hopelessness sufficiently pathetic
She had evidently noticed some of my
smaller professional belongings in the
netting above me, for, as l silently pom
dered what manner of woman she was,
she thus addressed me:


"You are an artist"


81 am"


"Could you paint a portrait from
memory?"


"Most certainly"


She removed the thick veil that con-
cealed her face, and laid aside her
bonnet. The light from the lamp fell
full on her. She had lovely face, hut
it was cold and white and still as chiseled
marble. She encountered the bold,
steady gaze of masculine eyes, yet no
tinge of color fickered on her cheek.
A mass of ruddy-brown hair was coiled
around her shapely head large brown
eyes, full of the dumb, questioning
pain have seen in the eyes of hunted
deer at bay, looked out from between
dark lashes.


Marring the stainless white of the left
cheek, livid mark ran from the temple
into the neck--it almost looked as if a
stinging riding had been drawn
swift and sharp across the face, burning
its brand into the delicate flesh. Her
dress was of black velvet, and around
the throat and wrists were ruffies of
costly lace. yours" l said, sis not
face to be forgotten. l could any day
paint your portrait from memory"


"Will you do 500"


Certainly, if you desire it.


81 do especially desire it."


took ont my note book and entered
a memorandum. promised to paint
the portrait of lady from memory,
this, 20th night of January, 1S-." She
watched me make this entry, and resum-
ing her bonnet and veil, she fell into
silence.


As 1 sat opposite this beautiful, statu-
esque woman, a strange sensation stole
over me. Underneath that concealing
veil there was still, white face, with
stricken eyes that haunted me and sent
chill to my heart. God help her, l
thought, for life has been cruel to her.
Then 1 unused on the singular promise
1 had come under-to paint her portrait
from memory.


Would she come and claim the picture?
Was l to send it to her? And where?
/ must come to some understanding
before we part. Meantime, in the first
gray dawn, the train stopped at Berlin,
where we changed carriages. For
moment / turned to gather together my
small impediments when l resumed
my position / was the sole occupant of
the compartment. Hoping to encounter
my sometime companion in the crowded
station, made haste to get out. My
efforts were in vain, l was locked in.
Presently the guard came with his key
and let me out. "There is trickery here
1 said, in some heat. "a lady turned
the handle of your locked door easily
enough, and has been my travelling COM
panion since midnight"


"Impossible p and the guard
shrugged his shoulders incredulously.
The key had been in his pocket all the
time. shook my head, but there was
no time for parley, and without another
glimpse of the fair incognita, | resumed
my journey.


Once more in Dresden, and amidst
the realism of the old familiar life, the
midnight episode of my Journey began
to fade into a trick of fevered and
over-wearied brain. And as glanced
at the entry in my notebook, L reflected
how completely disordered lmaglna-
tion may fool man. At the same
time, / resolved some leisure day to
trace out my dream on canvass: but
absorbed in immediate study, l then
postponed my intention. Weeks rolled
on, and L went to Berlin to look up a
college chum, who was temporarily loca-
ted in that city. When l got to his
quarters, Under den Linden, 1 found
that some weeks previously he had been
hastily recalled to England, and another
Englishman reigned in his stead. As |
turned from the door, slightly chagrined
1 encountered the tenant of Locksley's
rooms, evidently returning from a
stroll.


A fine old man of the genuine type of
courtly English gentlemen, now rarely
to be met. He politely accosted me,
and in few words told him of my dis
appointment. "Do confer a kindness
on me-" he said, "and stop and dine.
1 am quite alone, and it is pleasant to
hear ones mother tongue in this land
of strangers.


We exchanged cards, and accepted
his invitation as cordially as it was
Eli -