THE NEW SAMARITAN

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1680, 11 May 1904, Page 13

THE NEW SAMARITAN

(By Jessie E. Livesay.)

It was Dodo who found him, and, having found, barked her loudest, and tinkled all the silver bells with which her collar was hung, until her mistress went to investigate the nature of the find. He was lying on a seat in an Unfrequented side walk, of the Kensington Gardens; and apparently he was sound asleep, so soundly, that even the noisy efforts of Dodo, the little King Charles spaniel, had failed to arose him. Miss Trevor stopped dead short in front of him; her ' face at that moment was expressive, for it was an unusual spectacle which presented itself to her astonished gaze. She had often observed tramps in a like comatose condition, at twelve o’clock in the morning, but this man seemed far removed from the vagrant class, even though his threadbare clothes denoted poverty; his features were clear and refined, but his cheeks were sunken, either from famine or recent sickness. The position of the sleeper’s somewhat gaunt, long limbs was cramped and uneasy; and yet his eyelids were sealed in a lethargy which, to Miss Trevor’s closer observation, appeared scarcely natural. A slight disgust obtruded itself upon her enlighteed imagination as the mystery of his present condition, even the cause of his apparent destitution, was made manifest to her. She noted that his hands were long and lean, with sensitive, tapering finger-tips and filbert nails, and she recognised them to be the hands of an artist. A man of talent, possibly a genius, was here brought low by the indulgence of the vice which is the bane of the most civilised' nations.

Miss Trevor picked up Dodo, and, with daintily lifted skirts and tilted head, she walked a few paces away from the unworthy object of her former sympathy; and then, moved by an impulse totally at variance with her judgment, she retraced her steps hurriedly, and tearing a page from her note-book, she scribbeld a few pencilled linear this she placed in her little grey purse, which contained also a five pound note and ten shillings in silver, and she thrust all into the breast-pocket of the man's shabby coat with the haste becoming such an illconsidered action.

Dodo set up a shrill barking, and Miss Trevor, with deplorable loss of dignity, literally took flight. Two second later, before the shade of the trees had covered her retreat, the sleeper opened his eyes, and first beheld the tall, fleeting figure of the woman, with the miniature black-and-tan spaniel at her heels; his second impression was one of astonishment at finding himself in the open air, with a steady sun shining full upon his face. Then memory returned to smite him.

In the meantime, at a more sober j>ace, Alice Trevor retraced her way through the gardens, that were gay in their green liveries of spring, to the house in Queen’s Gate, where she was staying at present with Lady Horner, who was an old friend of her mother. Lady Horner was the widow of a wealthy alderman, but she possessed none of the offensive attributes generally imputed to the "nouveaux riches.” She was the soul of hospitality, keeping open hous'e, and Miss Trevor found on her return that several guests has dropped in unexpectedly to luncheon. She had for companion Captain Chevenix, who had attached himself to her with a persistency which, in any other than a younger son, having debts in excess of his yearly allowance, might have been mistaken for devotion.

After the fantasy of the morning, Miss Trevor returned his effusive greeting with an additional shade of warmth in her own, for his fair, commonplace features suggested things real and prosaic to her disorganised mind. She was anxious to blot out the memory of that gaunt, slumbering form, with the blue shadow of black lashes upon his emaciated and slightly protruding cheek bones; she derived some consolation from the knowledge that he would find upon awakening, the price of at least a week’s board and lodging in the little grey purse which she had, placed in his pocket. She began to trifle with the pigeon in aspic upon her plate; it seemed hard that some should fare so sumptuously, and wear fine raiment, while others were left to hover on the brink of despair.

Her feelings in regard to the captain had a sudden revulsion, and his ruddy, healthful face and immaculate, wellgroomed appearance made her suddenly angry in the cause of justice when she compared his state of well-being with the condition of the hapless stranger of the gardens. That gentleman was not sufficiently astute to perceive that he was being subjected to a severe and unfavourable criticism by his neighbour, and he made his usual ponderous efforts to ingratiate himself with her. for, apart from the fact of her being an heiress, he entertained a genuine affeciion for her. She resembled a Dresdm china figure, fair and dainty, with large, grey-blue eyes, and the pearly {kin of a young child. * A week later Miss Trmor found herself near the spot where had found the stranger lying that morning, ostensibly to gather a sprig of Mac from a bush in the Gardens which had been the scene of her former adventure. She paused again in the vicinity of that side path that was glowing with purple blossoms. Her mind and sympathies were occupied retrospectively, and on her delicate face was reflected one of youth’s sad moments.

Dodo ran to and fro with the untiring vivacity of the canine race, that finds

cause for excitement in the sc.rt

a leaf 6r the song of a bird, v/i her silver bells jangled and her

bark became, incessant.

Alice Trevor began to move on slowly; her eyes were downcast, as sho did not perceive at first the figure of a man who

approached her through the green vista of trees beyond; when he was within a few paces of her she lifted her eyes, and recognition followed that swift glance. Dodo knew him also, but hc-rs was the greeting given' to an old friend, exuberant in its animal joy. The stranger bent down and patted the little dog’s head; but when his eyes met the grey-blue eyes of Dodo s mistress, a dark flush burnt through his olive skin, and he turned liig face awav.

Alice called to her dog. at the same time perceptibly hastening her footsteps; her cheeks were burning also, and yet she assured herself that she must be unknown to the man. Afterwards it gratified her to remember that ' his condition had shown a decided improvement, and the hollows of his face were- less apparent than on the first occasion when she had seen him and had been moved to compassion towards him. The stranger stood still, looking after her tall, buoyant figure until she was hidden from him by a bend of the trees. Then he drew a long breath; a passionate sense of gratitude and admiration stirred him. his fine, mobile features were quivering under the strong emotion which possessed hint. “Ah! so that is she,” he exclaimed. On her return to the house, Alice received a telegram from her mother, who was given to the sudden vagaries of an imaginary invalid; it summoned her home, and she knew that it would be some time before she would be likely to find berself again in London, so her h&* T fc was heavy within her.

The Royal Academy once mort, -stad opened its wide portals to admit the public and to receive the deadly criticism of inartistic sightseers, whose habit A was to condemn wholesale, venting their tired spleen upon the pictures, which, had cost so many hours of labour, and had invoked so many dreams of fame. Like bees around a honey pot, a crowd wag always gathered in the usual circle about one picture by a hitherto unknown artist. The picture was called “The New Samaritan/*

"My dear, you must see that picture by Phil Abbot; all London is mad over it. What a very tiresome and obtrusive crowd, to be sure! It is always the same at the Academy, one can see people, but no pictures. Gome, Alice there is a gap now, and we may be able to squeeze through.” Alice Trevor followed Lady Horner with uncomplaining meekness. The picture was hung on the line, but at present she could obtain only a glimpse of overspreading green foliage and the top of the plain gilt frame; then several persons moved away, and, to her surprise Alice saw that the eyes of some were filled with tears. Sb this wonderful picture by Phil Abbot commanded the moribund sympathies of the respectable middle classes. Alice felt an inclination to smile; but the next moment she was in front of the picture, and her eyes were riveted to the life-like canvas. The back-

ground was of green f oliageTMTiVb'sf' obT souring blue and cloudless skies; a seat in the foreground was occupied by the half reclining figure of a man, shabbily clad, his face ashen hue with eyes closed in a lethargy of despair, at once realisti© and convincing. The beautiful young Samaritan was bending over him with a little grey purse in her hand, that she was in the act of slipping into the sleeper’s pocket. A shrinking timidity was in her attitude, but her face showed only a divine compassion for the misfortunes of one who had fallen by the way. “Well, my dear, what do you think of it ?” Lady Horner’s voice now broke in. “Isn’t it simply perfect? The beauty, the tender grace of it, makes me feel inclined to weep. Phil Abbot is a genius. Chevenix tells me that he knows him, and has promised to bring him to my next At Home.”

Alice Trevor’s eyes were shining, her face was transfigured, and for a moment she could not reply. She felt certain of the identity of the 1 artist; and later, when Chevenix had fulfilled his promise to Lady Horner, she found she was not mistaken.

Lady Horner had baited her invitations to her At Home with Phil Abbot’s name, and London responded with its usual eagerness when a lion i§ on exhibition. He was pronounced interesting, an oliveskinned man, with dark, impassioned eyes—must always be that—but otherwise not diverting.

Captain Chevenix declared him to be ‘‘an awfully, good chap,” but Alice Trevor knew him best, for she had gauged the depths as well as the heights within him.

To others he. was distant, from a native pride; with her only diffident, and this touched her inexpressibly. His marvellous talent had placed him in an envied position; Royalty beckoned to him and bid him welcome; but he had eyes only for one soft pair of dove-grey eyes, whoso approval he sought. London began to whisper of the marvellous likeness the woman in his picture bore to Miss Trevor, and it was all arranged for them long before he spoke. He told her first of the temptation which had assailed him, his sense of failure, the gradual misusing of the vital forces within him. He told her of a fancy that had ruined him, and of his consequent downfall. And she listened to him with tears in her beautiful eyes. But when he told her of his love, humbly, expecting, nothing in return, she could only look her answer, but it satisfied him. —"M.A.P.”