TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, 22 April 1887, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

]NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] THE STOBST OF A SCULPTOR. BY THE LATE HUGH CONWAY. Author of * Called Back,’ ‘ Dark Days,' &c. CHAPTER 111. The next day, while driving with her niece, Mrs Cathcart was seized by a sudden thought. ‘ My dear,’ she said, ‘ let us go and see about that hust. Where did you say the sculptor man was to be found? i>elsou Studios, King’s-road. What number ?’ • No. 10,’ said Eugenia, wondering if her aunt’s sudden resolve would be productive of good or evil. The carriage went to Nelson Studios ; the ladies dismounted, and Mrs Cathcart tapped at the door of No. 10, a Btudio which, being a sculptor’s, was on the ground floor. ' x The door was opened by a handsome youngman, whose outside garb was a ragged old blouse, and whose hands were white with half-dried clay -one of those hands, moreover, held a short pipe. Indeed, Gerald Leigh was in as unpresentable trim aa when years ago he first met Miss Herbert. He did not at once see the girl. She wa3 behind Mrs Cathcart, and that lady’s majestic presence absorbed all his attention. Mrs Cathcart put up her eye-glass. • la your master in ?’ she asked. «Gerald laughed. ‘ I am my own master,’ he said. ~ _ •Tnis is Mr Leigh, aunt,’ said Eugenia, coming forward. * Oh !’ said Mr 3 Cathcart, and the palpable meaning of that exclamatory monosyllable sent the blood to Eugenia’s cheek. Gerald started as he heard the girl’s voice and recognised her in the shadow. He stretched out his clay-covered hand, then withdrew it and laughed. Mrs Cathcart, who saw the action put on a look of supreme astonishment —then she recovered herself. ~ „ . ‘Oh, I forgot,’she said to Eugenia. ‘Of course, you have seen Mr Leigh before. May we come in, Mr Leigh. He moved aside, and the ladies entered the studio. He placed his two chairs at their disposal. Be wondered the while what had brought Eugenia to him. He gave her a questioning glance, but her eyes avoided his. Then Mrs .Cathcart began. She spoke in that manner which certain persons assume towards those whom they are pleased to think their inferiors. ‘I believe, some time ago, you made a bust of my late brother-in-law, Mr Herbert, of Coombe-Acton.’ Gerald bowed. «I wish to have a copy of it. Can you make one ?’ * Certainly. In marble ?’ • In marble, of course. How much will it cost ?’ It was a pain'u' experience to Eugenia to hear her future husband talked to by Mrs Catheirt, much as that lady talked to the obliging young men and women at the various emporiums which enjoyed her patronage. . ‘Mr Herbert was my best friend, said Gerald. ‘ My services are at your disposal.’ I ‘You do not understand me,’ said Mra I Cathcvrt, coldly. ‘ I asked you what it ! would cost!’ Gerald colored and glanced at Eugenia. He was utterly puzzled. It could only have been through the agency of the girl he loved that this new patroness sought him. * Mr Leigh was my father’s friend, aunt,’ said Eugenia. . ‘My dear! Mr Leigh is not my friend. I want to know his terms for a marble bust.' ‘Eighty pounds, madam,’ said Gerald, rather shortly. ‘ Oh, much too much. Eugenia, do you not think such a price extortionate?’ Eugenia was silent, but her cheeks burned. Gerald’s lip quivered with anger. Oddly, Mrs Cathcart was calm. ‘ I will pay you forty pounds,’ she said, ‘hut then it must be approved by a competent judge.’ ‘ You have heard my terms, madam,’ said Leigh, curtly. 1 • Absurd ! I will even say fifty pounds. If you like to take that you may call upon me. Good morning. Come, Eugenia !’ She swept out of the studio. Eugenia followed her. She looked back aud saw

Gerald’s face wearing an expression of actual pain. For a moment her impulse was to run back, throw her arms round his. neck and defy everyone. However, she did not yield to it, but followed her aunt into the carriage. ' * I call that young man a most common, ill-bred person,’ said Mrs Cathcart. Eugenia flushed. *He is not,’ she said, hotly. ‘ Your manner towards him .must have been most mortifying.’ ‘My dear child !’ exclaimed Mrs Cathcart, in innocent surprise, ' and I was trying to befriend the young man. He presumes on his acquaintance with your father. I always told your poor father it was a mistake becoming intimate with persons of that Eugenia said no more. If she had thought of so doing, it was not the moment to open her heart to Mrs Cathcart. She went to her ro:m intending to write to Gerald, hut no letter was written that day. How could she ask him to call at her aunt’s after what had occurred ? ‘I love him,’ she said to but lam not brave enough to give up all for him. Oh, why did we ever meet !’ The next morning she received a letter from Gerald. It contained no reproach—only an entreaty that she would name a time when he might see her. Mrs Cathcart was true to her duty, Before James Herbert was out of bed she had sent him word that a letter had come for Eugenia. _He went at ■once to his sister. His greeting was quite friendly. ‘Eugenia,’ he said, presently. Of course, by now yon have put all that nonsense about that sculptor fellow out of your pretty head ?’ ‘ It is no nonsense.’ * Well, if you mean to be obstinate I must interfere. Have you seen him since ?’ ‘ Aunt went to his studio. I was with her.’ * She ought to have known better. If she encourages you, we shall quarrel. Ho you correspond ? Tell me the truth. * X always tell the truth. I had a letter thiß morning. Yon may read it.’ She offered him Gerald’s letter. He waved it aside as a thing beneath his notice. ‘Have you answered it.’ he’hßked. * Not yet. lam just going to. Her brother still remained calm and polite, with that contemptuous, incredulous smile playing round his lips. ‘lf you will make a fool of yourself I can’t stop you. If you, with your beauty and position, choose to go and live in a garret, yon must do so. Still, as your brother, I have certain responsibilities which would still be mine were your lover the highest in the land. I must make inquiries as to his character and moral worth—these fellows are generally a loose lot.’ * Yon may make what inquiries yon choose.’ * Thank you. Now one favor—a command, the last I shall ask or.give. You will not answer this letter—you will not see the man—until I have satisfied myself on these points. It is not too much to ask, Eugenia.’ She f ostice of his remarks—could it be that she was weak enough to be glad of a little delay and breathing space ? But Gerald’s face, as last. she saw it, rose before her. * You must name a time/ she said. *So impatient for true love aud social extinction,’ sneered Herbert. ‘ Surely you fan restrain yourself until this day week. It was longer than she had meant. But her brother’s bitter sneers settled it. ‘So be it,’ she said, ‘until this day week.’ The promise given, James Herbert dismissed the matter, but he filled up the next half hour with the very cream of society gossip, which was undoubtedly as palatable to Eugenia’ as it would have been to any other woman. James Herbert lived within the inner circle, and as to-day, for purposes of his own, he spoke to Eugenia as if she were one of the initiated, his conversation was not withont charm. He was clever enough to know when to tmat. He had not the slightest fear that Eugenia would break her promise. So he cautioned Mrs Cathcart to keep the little fool well within sight, and thus avoid the danger of a chance meeting—to order the servants to refuse the sculptor admission if he ventured to call—and, above all, to be sure that- Norgate had every opportunity of pressing his suit. After this he waited calmly, and did nothing more in the matter for six whole days. Days during which; Gerald Leigh chafed and fretted. He refused to doubt, but his heart grew heavy within him. He felt sure that Mrs Cathcart’s visit boded no good. At last he could hear the suspense no longer. He called a/nd asked for Eugenia. She was out. He called again—the same result. He went hack to his studio and tried to conquer his growing uneasiness by hard work. One morning a gentleman called and introduced himself as James Herbert. Gerald received him courteously. Herbert was suave, smiling, and bland. He spoke of the interest he felt in the young sculptor for his father, Mr Herbert’s sake. He admired some embryo designs, and wished and prophesied all success. Then, as Gerald began to hope that Eugenia’s brother might someday be his friend, he turned upon him and tore him to pieces. ‘But, after all, Mr Leigh, my great object in calling concerns my sister.’ Gerald grew very pale. « She is a good girl, but weak. She has confessed to me that some sort of romantic nonsense has passed between you.’ ‘ She has vowed to be my wife —no more, no less.’ His impetuosity seemed to amuse Herbert. * I am afraid such a thing is an impossibility, he said serenely, * I shall not insult you by’, telling you she is all but penniless— Geniuses, I know, never think of money—but I fear I must pain you by saying she repents of her hasty words.’ * That,’ said Gerald slowly, yet fiercely, ‘is a lie.’ ‘My good sir. I cannot allow you to nse such words. My temper ia fair, but it has its limits.’ 1 1 apologise,’ said Gerald, sullenly. * I should have said you were coercing her.’ ‘ I never coerced anyone in my life ; much less my sister. Naturally, I shall object to her marriage with you ; but that makes no difference/

‘Tell me what you have to tell/ 3aicl Gerald, nervously. He hated and feared this smooth, smiling man. ‘ln a few words, then. My sister is unhappy and unsettled. For several days she has been trying to answer a letter you sent her. At last she confided all to me. 1 am sure I am not going too far when I say she would be glad to think that all boy.and girl promises between you were forgotten. * She sent you to tell me this ?’ asked Gerald, hoarsely, ‘ No. She knew I was coming. I am putting her thoughts in my own words.’ ‘I don’t expect you to understand what my love for your sister means—you could not,’ said Gerald. ‘ But you know she has vowed to be my wife.’ ‘ Yes, —and will keep her promise if you . insist upon it.’ Tho emphasis Herbert laid on ‘ insist’ made Gerald’s heart sick. He said nothing, but with a strange smile on his white face went to a table and wrote a few words. He handed the paper to his visitor. ‘ Read/ he said, ‘ you say you are her messenger, now you can be mine.’ The words were. ‘ Eugenia,—lf this is unanswered, I shall believe yon wish to recall everything that has passed between ns.’ * Thank you ’ said Herbert. * This is all I could expect.’ With trembling hands the sculptor placed the paper in an envelope and once more tendered it to Herbert. ‘ No, thank you,’ said Herbert. * People have been tempted to suppress letters before now. Post it in the ordinary way.’ Gerald left the room. He returned in a few moments, and Herbert knew that the letter had been posted. He had nothing further to do with Gerald, so held out his hand affably. ‘ No/ said Gerald, ‘ I would rather not.’ His eyes were gleaming strangely. ‘As you will,’said Herbert with indifference. ‘ I will change my mind/ said Gerald in a low voice, and taking tho other’s hand. ‘Condemned people always shake hands with the hangmaD, I think.’ He spoke with a ghastly attempt at mirth. Herbert left the studio without another word, but as he drove to Mrs Cathcart’s said to himself, ‘ The sooner that beggar shoots or hangs himself, the better.’ He went straight to his sister. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and, with a look she had never yet seen on his face, said in a cold, contemptuous manner, * Eugenia, I have been taking some trouble on your behalf. To-day two things are going to happen which will settle your future. Norgate will be here presently and ask you to be his wife. By the next post you will get a letter from that stone-cutter. Before you answer it, shut yourself up and think until you are in a proper frame of mind Women are fools, bat surely you can t be the biggest amongst them.’ ‘ You have seen him ?’ asked Eugenia, faintly. * Yes. An extrem ly nice young man—in his place/ ‘ Was he well ?’ * Very well and very comfortable. My dear girl, he quite won my respect—a thoroughly practical young man with lots of common sense. Now good-bye. Don't make any mistake.’ Did she hear aright ? Her brother found Gerald a thoroughly practical young man ! The lie was so gigantic that it seemed impossible it coaid be all a lie. She was revolving it in her mind even when Sir Ralph Norgate was announced. As for the practical young man he had locked his door, and thrown himself on the ground, James Herbert’s words had impressed him, and perhaps his faith in Eugenia’s faith was not so great as he fancied. To-morrow he would know the verdict. He felt sure, that if his letter remained unanswered for twenty four hours, James Herbert had spoken the truth. Miss Herbert found her brother a true prophet. Sir Ralph Norgate offered his hand, and when the offer was refused, told her he did not mean to accept her answer as final. She did not, on her part, say anything about l er love being given elsewhere. Then Gerald’s letter came, and following her brother’s advice, she did think everything over : she sat for hours trying to nerve herself to answer the letter as love and faith demanded. Sne loved him. Had he been present her indecision would soon have vanished ; but, as it was, she could reflect fplly on what an answer to his letter must mean alienation of all her friends an end of social ambition—many years, if not a life, of poverty. Eugenia shuddered as she thought of . the consequences, and wished that she apd Gerald had never met. She wished, moreover, that the temptations of rank and wealth held out by her other suitor were less. What would Gerald do if his letter were not answered ? If she could but persuads herself that her brother’s estimate of his character was the right one! Possibly it might be—James knew mankind well. If she could but think so—could believe that Gerald would forget—she might then find it easier to be wise, and, by taking him at his word, save herself, and perhaps him from what must ensure unhappiness. She was no herione of romance. She was not one who could lightly defy the world or despise what the world values. Gerald’s fervent impetuosity had won her love, but she had always blamed him for winning it. Now, if she could bring herself to tread it, an easy, simple road to freedom was open. So she reasoned—so she excused her half meditated treason—so she persuaded herself it would eventually be better for both if they parted. Yet all the while she knew she loved Gerald Leigh as she could love no other man. In this mental conflict the day passed and night found the letter unanswered. The first step—the step which cost—had been taken. Another and another day passed and the letter was still unanswered. Then James Herbert came to her. ‘Eugenia, have . you replied to that letter ?’ She shook her head. ‘ Give it to me,’ he said. She did so. It was a relief to get rid of it. He tore it into fragments. ‘ There/ he said. ‘ I knew I could trust your good sense. There is an end of-the affair. It is a secret between you and me, and I shall never again allude to it.’

Fortgood or ill, the die was cast. She h*d freed herself. But she left the room with swimming eyes, and went to Mrs Cathcart. * Aunt/ she cried, ‘ will yon take me abroad—for a long time?’ It was hard for Mrs Cathcart to be called upon to give up the rest of tho London season. But then Mr Herbert's recent death prevented her going out much, and it was parapount that Eugenia’s future should be satisfactorily disposed of. So the excellent woman sacrificed herself at once. ‘ I will take you abroad, Eugenia, if you will promise to be Sir Ralph’s wife.” Eugenia had chosen her own path, and knew where :lt would lead; yet for very shame she would not show ht-r thoughts to others. 1 1 can promise nothing,’ she said. * Take me away.’ Three days afterward, Gerald Leigh learned that Eugenia had gone abroad with her aunt. He knew that all hope went with her. He was like a man distracted. He even called upon James Herbert, and had the satisfaction of hearing from that gentleman’s own lips that his sister, and Gerald’s love, was as good as betrothed to Sir Ralph Norgate. This news did not seem to affect him much ; perhaps he anticipated something of the kind. Although in his studio all day long, the sculptor did no work for weeks, at last he aroused himself, engaged a model, and set to work with feverish energy. From morn to night he thumbed and pushed the ductile clay. He laughed in a sort of bitter triumph. His hands had not lost their cunning. The work grew and grew apace untii the clay was done with, and a fair white block of marble stood in the centre of tho studio, waiting to be hewn into the statue which was to be Gerald Le gh’s first high bid for fame. CHAPTER IV. It was early in May. The Academy had been open about a week—lo g enough for the newspaper critics to tell the public what it ought to admire. Strange to say this year the critics were unanimous in bestowing their highest praises on a piece pf statuary ; and a great future for the sculptor was predicted. As the bulk of the good people who pay their shillings at the turnstile care little about statues, one which attracts general attention must be either a very great one or a very tricky one —as a rule the latter. Yet, No. 1460 in the catalogue appealed to no one by cheap sentiment or sensational treatment. It was but the lightly draped figure of a beautiful girl, one just in the first flush of womanhood. She was in the act of stepping hastily forward. Her arms were extended as if to welcome, perhaps embrace, some one who was coming towards her. Her face bore a smile of eager delight. The grace, the lightness, the life of the figure arrested each passer-by. The fail of the drapery, the position of each well rounded limb, conveyed the idea of rapid motion. It was indeed hard to believe that she was doomed to remain for ever in one fixed attitude. The stock remark of the spectators was that in a minute they expected to see her at the other side of the room. This statue bore no distinguishing title, but those persons who turned to their cata logues found, under the number and the artist’s name, a few words of poetry. ‘ Her hands outstretched To greet the new love ; whilst her feet Tread, scornful, on the old love’s gifts.’ After leading this one turned, of course, to her feet, and found that one of them was treading on flowers —loses and large starshaped blossoms. Several people, whilst admiring the statue, fancied they had somew v ere seen the original of that beautiful face : but, save the sculptor, only one, James Herbert, knew the truth. He cursed Leigh’s impertinence, but was too wise to take any notice of it. Yet, he determined to keep Eugenia from the Academy, if possible. She was in town, and in a week’s time was to be married to Sir Ralph. Two months after Mrs Cathcart had taken her niece abroad, the baronet joined them, and renewed his proposals,; this time with success. The girl stipulated that the marriage should not take place until the spring The truth is she wanted some months’ delay in order to get rid of the memories of Gerald Leigh ; and by the time she returned to England flattered herself she had successfully completed the operation. She had in the last few days heard some talk about the statue, hut had steadfastly kept her eyes from the art criticisms, fearing to see Gerald’s name. Nevertheless, she wished to visit the Academy, and was surprised when Jame 3 Herbert, now amiability itself refused to take her there. ‘ You mustn’t go this year, he said ; * that fellow’s statue is creating quite a furore.’ « Well; ‘ what of that ?’ asked Eugenia, coldly. - He has had bad taste enough to represent you. The likeness is unmistakeable. It’s a maudlin thing—a girl deserting her old love, or some such nonsense. Still, you d better not go.’ Eugenia said no more ; but all day long she was thinking of her brother’s words, and longing to see what Gerald had wrought. That evening she dined out. At. the table were several persons who worshipped art, and Eugenia’s cheek burned as she heard the praise bestowed on the ne\y sculptor and the great future prophesied for him. Had she, after all, been wrong ? Would it not have been better to have followed the mandates of her heart ? Had she not been weak and mercenary ? No matter ;it was too late now to repent. Poor Gerald I She must see this wonderful image of herself. Early the next morning, quietly dressed and veiled, she went alone to Burlington House. Like many others, she stood transfixed by the beauty and grace of her prototype ; but, unlike others, she knew the meaning of the statue, knew the mute reproach it conveyed, knew why the marble foot trod upon those particular flowers. She had never told him the fate of his boyish gift, but Gerald had often and often recalled his first meeting with her. Eugenia’s heart swelled as'she remembered his brave words and confidence in himself —how sure , he felt of success. He had, indeed, succeeded, but the first great work from his hands* was a memento of his love for a faithless woman—herself.

Sir Ralph Norgate, hor impending marriage, her brother’s disdain, and the world’s sneers were forgotten, as she gazed on that reproaching figure wrought by the man she loved, but did not love enough. Tears were in her eyes. She might have stood for an hour heedless of all save her sad thoughts, had not the mention of Gerald Leigh’s name brought her back to the fact that she was surrounded by people. Two gentlemen were at her side. They were talking of the work and the sculptor. One of them she knew. He was a lord, famous for his love of art and encouragement of rising artists. ‘ I tried to buy it,’ he said, ‘ but found it was not for sale.’ ‘Commercially speaking,’ said his companion, ‘it is as well you cannot buy it.’ ‘ Why ? The man must go to ths top of his profession ?’ ‘ I think not. Indeed, my belief is he will do little more. I have inquired about) him. He does not live the life a genius must live, in these days, if he wants to succeed.’ ‘ I am sorry to hear it/ said Lord , moving away. Miss Herbert left the Academy with an echo of Gerald’s extravagant statement that life or death hung upon her love sounding in her ears. The conversation she had heard distressed her greatly. The thought that her treachery had ruined a life full of promise would not be dismissed. She spent a most miserable day, and its misery was not diminished by the truth, which she could no longer conceal from herself, that she still loved Gerald. She loved him more than ever. Too late ! Too late I And Eugenia Herbert wept, as many others have wept, that the past could not be undone. Sir Ralph Norgate and Jameß Herbert dined that evening at Mrs Cathcart's. Their society was little comfort to Eugenia. She felt now that she hated her lover—hated his polite, hollow society ways and expressions —hated that blase look which so often settled on his face. She had never cared for him. Their love-making had been of a frigid kind—not, he it said, by Sir . Ralph’s wish. He was proud of, and perhaps really fond of, the beautiful girl he had bought; so it was scarcely fair that Eugenia should compare his polite wooing with that of the impassioned boy’s, which recked no obstacles—heeded no consequences. Oh, if Gerald were a baronet and rich ? Miss Herbert at that moment hated her brother. Bitterly as she had blamed herself, she felt that something he had said, done, or designed, had induced her to refrain from answering Gerald’s letter. If only she had to decide again ! Her bitter thoughts made it impossible for her to sit out the dinner. Very soon she pleaded headache and went to her room to resume her self-revilings. She made no further attempt to banish Gerald from her thoughts. She lived again every moment she had spent in his company—heard again every word of wild love—felt his hand close on hers—his lips press her own—and shuddered as the dismal words, * Life or death,’ seemed echoing through her ears. If she could but undo the past ! Why not! The thought rushed through her. What hindered her save the false gods to whom she had bent ? She was still legally free. Gerald was in the same town. Why should she heed her friends? Why trouble as to what people would think or say ? By one bold step she could right everything. If to-morrow —nay, this very hour —she went t > Gerald and bade him take her and hold her against all, she knew he would do so. He would forgive. To him,' her action would not seem bold or unmaidenly. In his eyes, she would rank as high as ever ; and what mattered the rest? To-morrow, they might be miles away, and the bliss of being Gerald's wife might well compensate for what people would say about her conduct. She herself could forget, all, save that she wa3 now bound for ever to the man she loved ! She would do it. With feverish impatience she threw off her rich dress and wrapped herself in a plain cloak. She put on the quietest hat she could find, stole down t tairs, and was out of the house before second thoughts had time to bring irresolu tion. Her heart beat wildly. She hailed a cab that was driven to Nelson Studios. On the way, she remembered it was an unlikely hour to find an artfst in his studio, but nevertheless, now she had set out, she resolved to complete her journey. She walked quickly to Gerald’s door. She knocked softly, but met with no response. She dared not wait longer butside. The pictured;consequences of her rash act were assuming rash proportions in her brain. Another minute’s delay and she must leave tho spot never to return. She turned the handle of the door and entered the room. Now, Miss Herbert’s half-formed plan of action, when she found herself face to face with her ill-treated lover, had been something like this— 3he would walk up to him and simplv say ‘Gerald, I am come/ The rest must be left to him, but she believed, in spite of her weakness and treachery, he would freely forgive her all. Gerald was not in the studio. The gas was half-turned down, and the clay casts on the wall looked grim and spectral. But, if Gerald was not in the room it was still inhabited. On a low couch—a couch covered

by a rich Oriental rug—lay a woman, fast asleep. In after years, Eugenia, speaking to herself of that moment, could only describe her feelings by the old image of a sword passing through, the heart. She turned to fly the place, but as she turned she seized by au overwhelming impulse. At all risks she must see the sleeper. The truth is, she was now a prey to a second passion, which some say is stronger than that of love. She crept across the room, and gazed on the sleeper. Even by the dim gaslight she knew that she gazed on beauty before which her own must pale. The woman might havebeen some five years older than herself, and those wonderful charms were at their zenith. The rich clear warm color on the cheek, the long black lashes, the arched and perfect eyebrows, told of southern lands. The full voluptuous figure, the shapely, rounded arms, the red lips, the soft creamy neck—before these the heart of man would melt like wax before a fire. Eugenia, seeking her lover found this woman in her stead !' A bitter, scornful smile played on Miss Herbert’s lips as she gazed at the sleeper. Somehow that oval, sunny face seemed, familiar to her. Well might it be. In London, Paris, everywhere she had seen it in the shop windows. There were few people in France or England who had not heard the name of Mdlle. Carlotta, singer, dancer, darling of opera-bouffe, whose adventures and amours were notorious, who had ruined more men than she could count on ther fingers of her fair hands. Eugenia recognised her, and her smile of' scorn deepened. The sight of a halfemptied champagne bottle close to thesleeper—a half-smoked cigarette lying on the floor just as it had fallen from her fingers, added nothing to the contempt Miss Herbert’s smile expressed. Gathering her skirts together to avoid any chance of contamination by touch, she was preparing to leave the studio as noiselessly as she had entered it, when, suddenly, the sleeper awoke. Awoke without any warning. Simply opened her splendid dark eyes, stared for half a second, then with wonderful lightness and agility sprang to her feet. ‘ Que faites vous la ? Why are yon here V she cried. Without a word Eugina moved towards the door. Mdlle. Carlotta was before her. She turned the key and placed her back against the door. * Doueement ! doucement ! ma belle,’ she said. * Permit me to know who honors me with a visit ?’ ‘ I wished to see Mr Leigh. I suppose he is out. Be good enough to let me pass.’ 4 Are you a model, then ? But no, models look not as you look.’ ‘ I am uot a model.’ ‘ Not ! fi done 1 You are, perhaps, one of those young misses who write Geraldo letters of love. Ala bonne heure ! I wish to see one of them—moi.’ With a saucy smile, Carlotta pocketed the key, turned up the gas, and commenced a cool scrutiny of her prisoner. Eugenia blushed crimson. ‘ Oui, vous btes belle, ma chere—belle, tnais blonde, and Geraldo, he loves not the blonde.’ ‘ Let me pass ! ’ said Eugenia, stamping her foot. Her tormentor laughed but not ill-tem-perediy. ‘ He will soon be here she said mockingly. Surely Mademoiselle will wait. He will be enchanted to see one of the young misses.’ Mdlle. Carlotta when not injured was not vindictive or unkindly ; but she was as mischievous as a monkey. No doubt, having teased the girl to her satisfaction, she would have soon released her, but it happened that Eugenia turned her head and for the first time the light shone full upon her face. Her gaoler started. She sprang towards her, seized her arm, and dragged her across the room. Still holding her captive, she tore down a sheet and revealed the clay model of the statue which had made Gerald famous. She looked from the lifeless to the living face, then burst iuto a peal of derisive langhter. Eugenia’s secret was discovered. ‘ Ha ! ha ! ha ! The young miss that Geraldo loved. The one who threw him away for a rich lover ! Yet, she wishes to see him again—so at night she comes. Ah,, mademoiselle, you have w r-r recked him, c-r-r-rushed him, r r-ruined him, still would see him. Good. Good ; it is now his turn. My Gerald shall have revenge—revenge ! ’ Eugenia, thoroughly aroused, commanded her to let her go. Carlotta laughed in her face, was even ill-bred enough to snap her fingers and poke out her tongue at her prisoner. Eugenia humbled herself and implored her by their common womanhood. Carlotta laughed the louder. Eugenia appealed to her venality, and tried to bribe her. Carlotta lowered her black eye-brows and scowled, but laughed louder than ever. ‘ He will come very soon/ was all she said; * He will uot stop long a ;vay from me —Carlotta.’ Miss Herbert was at her wit’s end. Yet* even through the shame of the situation, tho anguish of her heart made itself felt. After having wrought herself up to make such a sacrifice, such an atonement, it was pitiableto find Gerald no better than the rest of his sex ! She sank upon a chair longing for re-

lease, yet dreading to hear the step which would herald it. , Half-an-hour passed. Mdlle. Carlotta whiled it away by emptying a glass of champagne, smoking a cigarette, and making comments on Gerald's prolonged absence. Presently sbe cried, ‘Ah,- mademoiselle, this is dull for you— see, I will dance to you, and therewith she raised herself on her toes and went pirouetting .round her captive, humming the while an air of Offenbach s. Her dress was long, but she managed it with marvellous skill, and Eugenia, whilst loathing could not help watching her with a sort of fascination. She was as agile as a panther—every attitude was full of grace, every gesture alluring. Suddenly she stopped short. Her great eyes sparkled even more brightly. She glanced at her victim. ‘ Hist,’ she said. I hear him. I know his step. He comes !’ A moment afterwards the door was tried. Eugenia covered her face with her hands. She knew not what the woman meant to do or to say, but she felt that her crowning shame was at hand. Yet her heart beat at the thought of seeing Gerald once more, anu a wild idea of forgiveness on either side passed through her. Mdlle. Carlotta turned down the gas, unlocked the door, and, as it opened, threw herßelf into the arms of the new comer. Eugenia heard the sound of kisses given and returned and her heart grew like stone. ‘ Geraldo, mon ami,’ she heard the dancer say in passionate tones, * dis moi, que tn m’aimes —que tu m’aimes toujours.’ * Je l’adore ma belle —tu es ravissante ! ‘Tell me in your own dear barbarous tongue. Swear it t» me in English. ‘ I swear it, my beautiful gipsy. I love you.’ ‘ Me only ?’ ‘You only,’ and Eugenia heard him kiss her again and again. ‘Dis done, my Geraldo. You love me more than the pale-faced miss who scorned yon?’ He laughed a wild unpleasant sounding laugh. * Why not ? You can love or say yon can love. She was the changeable white moon—you are the glorious southern suu, She was ice—you are fire. Better be burnt to death than to die of cold and starvation. Men have worshipped you—men have Jdied for you. I love you.’ They came into the room. His arm was round her. Her radiant face rested on his shoulder. Again and again he kissed those beautiful lips. His eyes were only for her and saw not Eugenia. Mias Herbert rose. Her face was as white as her marble prototype’s. She might have passed out unobserved by Gerald, but Mdlle. Carlotta was on the watch. She pointed to her, and Gerald turned and saw Eugenia. He had but little time to realise it was no vision—then she was gone. With a wild cry he tamed to follow her, but the' woman twined her arms around him and restrained him. She waa strong and for some moments detained him. Her resistance maddened him. With a fierce oath he grasped her round arms and tore them from his neck, throwing her away with such force that she fell npon the floor. Then he rushed after Eugenia. She was walking swiftly along the road. He soon reached her side ; _ but, although aware of his presence she neither spoke nor looked at him. ‘What brought you here?’ he said, hoarsely. ~ . .. She made no reply—only walked the faster. , , ~ . T ‘Tell me why you come? he said. I will never leave you until yon answer me.’ She turned and looked at him. Fresh from that scene in the studio—with those words still ringing in her ears—even the .great change she saw in his face did not move her to pity. * I came,’ she said, ‘ on the eve of my •marriage to ask forgiveness of a man whom I fancied I had wronged. I am glad I came. I found him happy, and in society after his own heart. Her voice was cold and contemptuous. He quivered beneath her scorn. At that moment a cab passed. Eugenia called it. ‘ Leave me,’ she said to Gerald. * Leave me. Our paths in life shall cross no more.’ He grasped her wrist. ‘ Do you dare to reproach me? You! Eugenia, I told you it was life or death.’ ‘Life or death,’ she repeated. ‘Death, at any rate, seems made very sweet to you.’ Still holding her wrist, he looked into her eyes in a strango hopeless way. He saw nothing in them to help him. He leaned down ■to her ear.’ ‘ Yes, death,’ he said in a solemn wnis!ix>ri ‘bat the moral and spiritual death oomes first.’ His hand left her wrist. He turned, and without a word strode away. Whither ? Even as Tanhauser returned t? the Venusberg, so Gerald Leigh returned to his studio and Carlotta. Eugenia wept all the way home. Wept for herself and Gerald. Wept for the shame she had endured. Wept for the uselessness of the contemplated atonement. Wept for the life before her, and for a man’s future and career wrecked by her .weakness. The next week she married Sir Ralph Norgate. The ceremony was surrounded by befitting splendour. Yet, even at the altar, GeraLd Leigh’s pale passionate face rose before her, and she knew it would never leave her thoughts. She loved him still J , - i On her morn she receiver! many letters. She had no time to read them, so took them with her and perused them as she went north with her husband. Among jtbem was one in a strange handwriting ; it jean thus : , , , ‘ For your sake he struck Die, Carlotta . Rut he came back to me and es mine again. . Him I forgive, not you. We go abroad to- ; gether to warm, sunny lands. Some day we ; shall quarrel and part. Then I shall remember you and take my revenge. How ? That husband, for whom you deserted Gerald, I shall take from you.’ Eugenia’s lip curled. She tore the letter and threw the pieces out ol the carriage window. Two years afterwards, Lady Norgate was listlessly turning over the leaves of a society journal. Although she wap a great and

fashionable lady she was often listless, and found life rather a dreary proceeding. She read to-day, among the theatrical notes, that Mdlle. Carlotta, the divine Opera Boufle actress, was engaged to appear next month at the ‘ Frivolity.’ Although the woman a absurd threat was unheeded, if not forgotten, her name recalled too vividly the most painful episode in Lady Norgate s She turned to another part of the paper and road that the gentleman who committed suicide under such distressing circumstances at Monaco had now been identified. He was Mr Gerald Leigh, the sculptor, whose first important work attracted so much attention two years ago. It was hinted that his passion for a well-known actress was the cause oi the rash deed. , Lady Norgate dropped the paper and covered her face with her hands. He had spoken truly. Her love had meant life or she believed or troubled about the concluding paragraph of the notice, had she ventured to tell herself it was true that Gerald had forgotten her, and Carlotta was responsible for his death, her mind would soon have been set at rest. Like a courteous foe who gives fair warning Mdlle. Carlotta wrote once more—‘He is dead. He died for your sake, not mine. Your name, not mine, was on his lips. Look to yourself. lam coming to London.’ No doubt Carlotta meant this letter as a first blow towards revenge. Sbe would hardly Have written it, had sh§ known that Lady Norgate would cherish those words for ever. Poor comfort as it was, they told her that Gerald had loved her to the last. , ... . And Mdlle. Carlotta, more beautiful, more enticing, more audacious than ever, came to London. . , , , , . , . For some months it had been whispered m society that Sir Ralph Norgate was not so perfect a husband as such a wife as Eugenia might rightly expect. After Carlotta’s reappearance the whispers grew louder, the statements more circumstantial. Eugenia cau»ht an echo of them and smiled disdainfully. Then the name of Carlotta’s new victim became town talk. Yet Eugenia made no Sl *Not even when she met her husband, in broad daylight, seated side by side with the syren. The man had the grace to turn his head away, but Carlotta shot a glance of malieious triumph at the pale lady who passed without a quiver of the lip. James Herbert was with his sister, and found this encounter too much even for his cynicism. He was bound to speak. ‘ The blaokgua rd 1* he said. * But, Eugenia" I don’t think I would have a divorce or a separation. It makes such a scandal.’ ‘lt is a matter of perfect indifference to me,’ shesaid, coldly. She spoke the truth. Carlotta’s romantic vengeance was an utter Lady Norgate and her husband were, in truth, no farther apart than they had for many months. Eugenia was indifferent. And, as time goes on, grows more and more so. Indifferent to wealth, indifferent to rank, to pleasure, even to pfim. She cherishes nothing, cares for nothing, save the remembrance that she was once loved by Gerald Leigh—that he bade her give him life or death—and although she gave him death, he died with her name on his lips. _ The End.