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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Mystery of Evelin Delorme + A Hypnotic Story + +Author: Albert Bigelow Paine + +Release Date: September 27, 2010 [EBook #33814] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF EVELIN DELORME *** + + + + +Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from +scanned images of public domain material from the Internet +Archive. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>The Mystery of</h1> + +<h1>Evelin Delorme</h1> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h3>A Hypnotic Story</h3> + +<h2>By Albert Bigelow Paine</h2> + +<hr style='width: 25%;' /> + +<h4>Side Pocket Series</h4> + +<h4>Arena Publishing Co.</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h1>THE MYSTERY</h1> + +<h1>OF</h1> + +<h1>EVELIN DELORME</h1> + +<h3>A HYPNOTIC STORY</h3> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ALBERT BIGELOW PAINE</h2> + +<h4>BOSTON</h4> + +<h4>ARENA PUBLISHING CO.</h4> + +<h4>COPLEY SQUARE</h4> + +<h4>1894</h4> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">Copyright, 1894</p> + +<p class="center">by</p> + +<p class="center">A. B. PAINE</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center">To HENRY J. FLETCHER.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>INTRODUCTION.</h2> + +<p>While engaged in writing the story of Evelin Delorme it was my good +fortune to make the acquaintance of Dr. Herbert L. Flint, the well-known +hypnotist briefly referred to in chapter three. The science of Hypnotism +being a theme of absorbing interest to me, I eagerly availed myself of +the opportunity thus offered for exhaustive investigation of the +subject, and was accorded frequent and prolonged interviews with Dr. +Flint. During one of these I reviewed to him briefly the outline of my +story and the strange mystery of Evelin Delorme which had given rise to +the plot. I saw at once<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span> that he was unusually moved and interested. At +my conclusion he arose hastily and left the room, returning a moment +later with a quantity of papers which proved to be an unpublished memoir +which he was then preparing. From this he hurriedly separated several +sheets and placed them in my hand, remarking with suppressed feeling, +"Here is the missing link in your narrative."</p> + +<p>He has allowed me to publish it here in his own words.</p> + +<h3>EXTRACT FROM THE UNPUBLISHED MEMOIRS OF DR. FLINT.</h3> + +<p>"The following is a brief account of a very curious case of hypnotic +suggestion, and one which, because of the mystery surrounding its final +outcome, has caused me no little anxiety.</p> + +<p>"On the 9th of July, 1878, there came to my office in St. Louis a +strikingly beautiful young<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span> woman of evident wealth and aristocratic +breeding, who gave her name as Eva Delorme. Her dress indicated recent +bereavement, and her face impressed me as being that of one whom death +had deprived of all those near and beloved. She stated her errand at +once, and briefly. She had been pursuing the study of Mesmeric Sciences, +and, believing herself a good hypnotic subject, desired that I make a +trial with that end in view. A simple test convinced me that she was +susceptible to hypnotic suggestion, and further experiment revealed to +me that she was one of the most perfect subjects I have ever known. She +called again the day following and asked me if it were possible, through +the aid of hypnotism, to give to her a double personality; adding that +she desired to become for a few hours a heartless, haughty, gay woman of +the world—precisely opposite, in fact, to what she really appeared. +Believing that she wished to forget her sorrow for a time, I assured +her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> that I thought this might be accomplished and that it would +probably obliterate all knowledge of a previous existence for the time +being. To this she eagerly consented, and after some further +conversation concerning the details I asked her what name she desired to +assume in her new character. She replied that her full name was Evelin +March Delorme, of which, in her assumed personality, she would retain +the first two. She likewise gave me a memorandum of a street and number +to which she was to be directed; this being, doubtless, one of several +of her dwelling properties, for she impressed me always as a person of +abundant wealth. With a few passes I then placed her under the hypnotic +influence, and while in this state I impressed upon her earnestly the +fact that she would awaken a haughty and heartless woman of the world, +dashing and gay, free from past regrets and future misgivings, as she +had told me to do. That her name would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> be Evelin March; and I repeated +to her the street and number, and some minor details which she had given +to me. That she would retain this personality for twelve hours. This I +repeated to her several times, then bade her awaken.</p> + +<p>"The change in her was complete and startling. Her whole +expression—even her very features—appeared altered. Accustomed as I am +to such things I could not avoid feeling somewhat nervous at this +wonderful transformation. In her new character she was as beautiful and +imperious as a queen, with a supercilious, almost coarse, expression of +countenance. She seemed much mortified at the somber simpleness of her +dress, and I judge went immediately to make changes.</p> + +<p>"I did not see her again until a week later, when she came to my office, +apparently restored to her true character. She had a vague +semi-recollection of what had been her experience in the other state and +desired a second<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> trial, to which I somewhat reluctantly consented, +though I must confess I was by this time deeply interested in the case.</p> + +<p>"These transformations were frequently repeated, during the next few +months; then her visits ceased and I did not see her until a year later, +when I was astounded one day to meet her riding in Forest Park <i>in her +assumed character</i>, evidently having taken on the condition unaided, +either unconsciously or of her own volition.</p> + +<p>"I never saw her again, and as I had mislaid the memorandum of her +address and the number had slipped my memory, I lost trace of her +entirely. I have always felt a great and somewhat guilty curiosity as to +the final result of this strange experiment."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>THE MYSTERY</h2> + +<h2>OF</h2> + +<h2>EVELIN DELORME.</h2> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>PROLOGUE.</h2> + +<p>Julian Paul Goetze died December 21st, 1885. This event removed the +final reason for concealment of that strange story whose dark reality +flung a shadow about his later years.</p> + +<p>At his death Goetze was in his thirty-fifth year, and for more than a +decade previous had been considered one of the foremost portrait +painters of the younger school. I knew him intimately—was a frequent +visitor at his studio, and, I believe, the only<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> confidant he was ever +known to have.</p> + +<p>As I recall those years there is an unreality about them that I am +unable to dispel. The problems discussed—the theories maintained of +life, death, art, poetry, and any number of other unfathomed subjects, +appear to me now so preternatural—the conceptions of his wonderful +brain so startling, that I can hardly realize having ever been a part, +even though but a faint reflex, of that dazzling and unsated life.</p> + +<p>In appearance he was no less remarkable. His figure was rather slight +than otherwise, and of medium height. His features, though greatly +modified, were distinctly those of the American Indian. High cheek +bones, slightly aquiline nose, dark olive skin. His eyes and hair were a +blue black. You would hardly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> have called him handsome, but there was +something in that fiercely intense face, in the lithe grace of movement, +in the small and exquisitely shaped hands and feet, that made him a +fascinating, if not a dangerous, companion for the other sex. All of +these had been bequeathed him by his mother, in whose veins ran the +French and Indian blood in equal parts. From his father, a fair-haired +German, he had inherited only his name.</p> + +<p>His nature was a strange blending of opposing forces, forever at civil +war and each swaying him in turn. He had few friends, but those few +adored him for his splendid genius and prodigal generosity, pitying his +darker side.</p> + +<p>When, as not unfrequently happened, he locked his studio and plunged for +days into abject depravity, they sought him out and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> led him back to his +better self. After the culmination of that singular affair narrated in +these papers, and for which he doubtless felt himself greatly to blame, +these lapses became more and more frequent and protracted. The facts +which I have collected relating to this period of his life were many of +them gathered bit by bit as the events occurred, and later from brief +interviews during temporary periods of consciousness just prior to his +death.</p> + +<p>It was in one of these that he apprised me of the existence of certain +private papers, the contents of which would make the chain of +circumstances complete. Then the fires that had blazed forever within +him burned out his life.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">H. L.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;"><span class="smcap">St. Louis, Nov</span>. 4th, 1890.</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Note by the Author</span>.—The above, accompanied by a manuscript +roll of considerable<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> size, a crumpled, and yellow letter +torn in halves, and a number of loose pages covered with +peculiar writing (unsigned, though evidently the work of the +unhappy artist) lie before me. It is with hesitating and +unsteady hands that I separate these silent voices of the +past, and gather them at last together into a living though +unworthy echo of my own.</p></div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>I.</h2> + +<p>"A little more to the light, please—so, that is better." The artist +worked rapidly; now and then letting his eyes rest for a moment on his +sitter, then returning to the face on the canvas, that was rapidly +growing under his hands.</p> + +<p>The studio, a small Swiss cottage some distance from the business center +of St. Louis, was rather richly, though plainly, furnished. The walls +were tinted a neutral gray, an occasional piece of sober-hued drapery +hung here and there, while a heavily curtained arch at the back +connected with the artist's private apartments beyond.</p> + +<p>On the opposite side of the room a door opened to the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> entrance +hall, and near to this doorway was a carved oaken mantel, above which +were grouped together a number of curious weapons, evidently gathered +here and there as bric-a-brac, and used, perhaps, now and then, as +properties, in the arrangement of some picture.</p> + +<p>There was the long-barreled and elaborately ornamented gun of the +Arab—the scimitar of the Turk—the blow-gun of the South American +Indian—the bow and arrow of his northern brother. At the bottom of this +array was a pair of French rapiers of the seventeenth century. The +blades were crossed and rested upon a brass-headed nail, and upon this +nail there hung, point downward, a jewel-hilted Italian stiletto or +dagger, suspended by a silken cord.</p> + +<p>The room was lighted by a sky-light and one window—only the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> light of +the former falling upon the sitter—a large Japanese screen diverting +all other direct rays. Through the half-open casement a light breath of +summer crept in, from the little garden outside, freighted with the +mingled odors of sweet-briar and white flowering locust. A yellow +butterfly flitted in and out, now and then making a circuit of the room, +resting here and there for a moment to fan noiselessly with its bloomy +wings. A stray bee buzzed drowsily in, but, finding nothing so +attractive as the sweets without, hastily retreated, striking heavily +against the window-pane, where it sputtered and fumed for a time, and +gladly escaped. Then all was silent in the room save for the light +chafing sound made by the artist's brush against the hitherto untouched +canvas.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>He at the easel was a man of about thirty years—Julian Paul Goetze, a +name already ranked high among his profession. His sitter was a woman of +perhaps twenty-three. Her figure was somewhat above medium height and +perfectly developed. She was clad in a plain, trimly fitting dress of +silver gray, with a neat white collar at the throat. Her face was a +perfect oval in its contour, her complexion almost childish in its +delicacy. Her hair, a silky brown in color, was fastened in a knot at +the back of her shapely head, while in front it was a fluffy mass that +partially concealed the forehead, and softly shadowed what seemed to the +artist to be the sweetest face in all the world. The features were as +delicately chiseled as one would expect to find them in a statue of +Purity. The eyes were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> a deep gray, inclining to hazel, and the coloring +of the cheek and lips so tender that the artist looked a little +despairingly at the tints upon his palette; while through all there +pervaded such an expression of absolute innocence and freedom from the +world's taint, as to find expression in but the one word, saintliness.</p> + +<p>And yet there was something about the face of his sitter that brought a +troubled expression to that of the artist. As with bold, rapid strokes +he laid in the ground-work for the hair he looked puzzled. As he traced +the exquisite outline of the ear his look was almost one of vexation. +Once he left his easel, and, going to another canvas that rested on the +floor, face to the wall, he turned it partly about and looked at it +intently for a few moments. Then he resumed his work, evidently<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> in deep +thought. For awhile he painted on in silence. He was inclined by nature +to be diffident at first with his sitters, and with this fair being the +beginning of a conversation seemed to him a thing as difficult as it was +desirable. There was a suggestion of weariness in her face, too, which +he felt would disappear with awakened interest.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg pardon," he said, somewhat abruptly at length; "have you ever +had a portrait before?"</p> + +<p>His voice was rich and musical, and the face before him brightened.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! And it is only by accident that I am having one now. I was +passing and saw your name; I knew it by reputation, and it occurred to +me all at once that I would sit for my picture. Perhaps I should have +waited and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> worn a different dress. It was only a passing impulse. It +never occurred to me before; I cannot tell why it did now."</p> + +<p>The animation and the faint blush that had crept over her face while she +spoke were enchanting. The artist was delighted.</p> + +<p>"Your dress could not have been better chosen, and the impulse was +surely an inspiration," he said, smiling, "and perhaps," he added, "you +may have a friend or—a—a relative who has had, or is having a +portrait, which suggested the idea."</p> + +<p>As he paused he looked at her inquiringly. The look of weariness had +returned to her face.</p> + +<p>"No; I have no relatives, and"—she blushed deeply and was silent.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he said, earnestly; "I did not intend to be inquisitive."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> + +<p>She did not reply in words, but as she lifted her eyes there was a +tenderness there that awakened within him all the sympathy, the +nobleness and the affection of his purer and better nature. Their eyes +met, and in a single moment there was formed between them an invisible +bond which both felt and neither sought to conceal. No word was spoken. +The artist painted on in silence; but a new light had come into his +sitter's face, and a new source of inspiration into his own heart.</p> + +<p>For a long time neither spoke. A dreamy hush seemed to creep in with the +sweet odors from the garden, and, with them, a summer restfulness and +peace. The yellow butterfly that had been hovering about them, flitting +this way and that, came closer and closer, and at last settled +fearlessly upon one of the gloved hands that lay<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> folded in the sitter's +lap. She watched it for a moment, then looked up at the painter with a +smile.</p> + +<p>"The insect has a true instinct," he said, gently; "it has no fear of +capture."</p> + +<p>"No; I should only hurt it and destroy its beauty."</p> + +<p>"Butterflies," said the artist, "are like beautiful thoughts. They hover +mistily about us, flitting away whenever we attempt to capture them; and +if at last we are successful we find only too often that their wings +have lost the delicacy of their bloom."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I have felt that many times."</p> + +<p>While she spoke the insect rose hastily in the air as if frightened, +and, circling about for a moment above them, darted out through the open +window.</p> + +<p>"I have heard they are emblems<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> of inconstancy, too," she said, +thoughtfully, as it disappeared.</p> + +<p>A faint glow of crimson suffused for an instant the olive face before +her, but he forced a smile and did not reply.</p> + +<p>The rest of the afternoon slipped away with but little interchange of +words between artist and sitter. When either spoke the words were few +and simple, but there was a tenderness in their voices that uttered more +than the spoken syllables.</p> + +<p>The face on the canvas was growing rapidly. He had already worked longer +than he usually did at the first sitting, and yet he could not bear to +let her go. He had seen her for the first time less than two hours +before; he did not even know her name. The little white card which she +had given him he had glanced at without reading. He had only seen<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> her +features, and heard only the gentle voice that had made known her +errand. And now he wondered if it were possible that only a few hours +before she had had no part in his life; a life wherein there had been +many lights and shadows, and the shadows had been ever as broad and +somber as the lights had been bold and brilliant.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>II.</h2> + +<p>An hour later Julian Goetze was standing alone in his studio. The sketch +fresh from his brush was before him, and beneath it, resting upon the +floor, was another somewhat farther advanced.</p> + +<p>He had painted until the light had begun to grow yellow and dim, then he +had reluctantly told his sitter that he could do no more for that day.</p> + +<p>"And when shall I come again?" she had asked.</p> + +<p>He would have said, "Come to-morrow," had he dared; but remembering +other engagements, and knowing that the work could not be continued so +soon, he had hesitated before replying.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I can go on with the picture in two or three days; come as soon after +that as—as you wish," he said, softly.</p> + +<p>Their eyes met for a moment; the delicate color deepened in her cheeks, +her lips murmured a half inaudible word of adieu, and she was gone.</p> + +<p>Julian left alone had flung himself into a large chair that stood near +the window, and looked out upon the little garden beyond. It was June. +The days were long and the sun was still touching the tops of the locust +trees. He was away from the bustle of the city, and an atmosphere of +peace almost like that of the country was about him. All at once he +covered his face with his hands, pressing his fingers hard into his +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I love her, I love her," he groaned; "she is an angel from heaven, and +I—oh, my God! if she knew she would hate me."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> + +<p>He rose and stood before the face on the easel; then, as if suddenly +recollecting, he approached the canvas that was turned face to the wall, +and which once before that day had claimed his attention, and, facing it +nervously about, placed it beneath the other.</p> + +<p>It was the portrait of a woman. Like the one above her, she was fair and +beautiful; but here all resemblance apparently ceased. Nothing could be +more widely different than the characters that had stamped themselves +upon the faces of these two.</p> + +<p>The picture on the floor was that of a woman whose age might be anywhere +from twenty-five to thirty-five; a woman of the great world of fashion, +of folly, of intrigue, perhaps of vice. Her dress was a rich ball +costume, exposing the white flesh of her beautiful arms, her perfect +shoulders,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> and her pearly tinted throat and bosom. Like the other, her +face was oval in shape, but seemed less perfect in its contour. There +was a certain lack of delicacy and softness about the outline that +suggested the fierce chase after the sham pleasures of the great social +world.</p> + +<p>The rest of the features were in harmony with this idea. The beautiful +mouth was hard and cruel. The lips and cheeks were bright as if +artificially tinted, or flushed with wine. The eyes were bold and the +pupils seemed expanded as with belladonna. The nostrils of the finely +shaped nose were full and sensual. Her luxuriant brown hair, singularly +like that of the portrait above her in color, she wore in the late +French mode, combed back from her high, broad forehead and twisted into +a massive device at the top. Her<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> eyebrows were unnaturally dark. An +artificial air pervaded the entire picture—one felt that she had an +artificial soul. A perfect prototype of Folly's feverish and heartless +world.</p> + +<p>As the artist stood gazing from one to the other, the curious vexed and +puzzled expression that had come into his face once before that day +returned. He approached closely to the work as if to examine it more +minutely. As he bent low over the face on the easel he heard the street +door open. He started guiltily, and hastily turned both pictures to the +wall. A moment later a tall, fair-haired man of about his own age +entered without knocking. It was Harry Lawton, the artist's most +intimate friend.</p> + +<p>"Julian, old boy, how goes it?" he said, cheerily.</p> + +<p>"Pretty well, Harry; come in."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes, I should do that any way. I don't seem to be any too welcome, +however."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Harry, of course you are welcome; I am very glad, in fact, to +see you, just now.</p> + +<p>"Well, that's better; although I must say your face doesn't indicate +excessive joy."</p> + +<p>"Sit down; not there—here by the door; I want to show you something."</p> + +<p>"Oh, some new and wonderful work of your transcendent genius, I suppose. +By the way, how is the picture for the Salon getting along?"</p> + +<p>"Tediously, Harry; I seem to have lost the spirit of the thing."</p> + +<p>"Found too much spirit of another kind, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"No, not that. I have been a model of abstinence of late."</p> + +<p>"And the heavens do not fall?</p> + +<p>"No—yes—that is—let your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> tongue rest for a moment, please, and use +your eyes."</p> + +<p>While the artist had been speaking he had taken the large screen from +before the window and moved his easel into a stronger light. Upon it he +now placed the two portraits in their former position. The effect upon +the other was vigorous and immediate.</p> + +<p>"Heavens! Julian, where did you get that angel and that dev—I beg +pardon, that extraordinary pair of beauties? Oh, I see!—why, of course! +a new idea for the Salon. A modern Guinevere and Elaine; Siren and +Saint; Sense and Innocence. I congratulate you, old boy; they are +wonderful"—</p> + +<p>"Please be quiet for a moment, Harry; they are not for the Salon. They +are two sitters of mine. The one beneath has been here twice—the first +time about<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> a week ago; the second time day before yesterday. The other +came for the first time to-day."</p> + +<p>"And they are real, live women, then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. I was in hopes you might recognize one or both of them."</p> + +<p>The other shook his head, and gazed from one to the other in silence.</p> + +<p>"Do you see any—any resemblance between them?" asked the artist, after +a pause.</p> + +<p>"Resemblance! Good Lord, no! Why? Are they related in any way?"</p> + +<p>"Not that I am aware of; in fact, I am quite sure they are not. She told +me she had no relatives."</p> + +<p>"Um—and which do you refer to as she?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the upper one, of course."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see any 'of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> course' about it. She was here to-day for +the first time. I don't see why she should begin by exchanging family +confidences. All things considered, I should have thought it more than +likely you referred to the other. However, I suppose you are familiar +with her family history, too."</p> + +<p>"Don't be sarcastic, Harry. I know nothing of either of them; at least +not in that way. The one who came first gave her name as Evelin March. +She came in suddenly, one morning last week, and asked for a sitting. +She had on a light wrap, which she laid off and stood before me as you +see her. During the sitting she was inclined to be lively and talkative. +Her voice is just a trifle harsh, but she is a remarkably brilliant +talker and a very fascinating woman. I had not met the other, then, and +foolishly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> allowed myself to say some rather silly things to her. When +she came again I did more. You know what a rash fool I am, Harry. Well, +I made love to her, off-hand. She stirred me up terribly for some +reason. Of course, there was nothing of real love in what I felt for +her; it was a brief madness of the head. You know about what I would say +under the circumstances."</p> + +<p>"Oh, perfectly. You swore that her eyes were as are lights in a midnight +desert; that her tints would rival the roseate pearl of a June sunset; +that her smiles would be your only diet henceforth and forever; that her +frown would be as terrible as the day of judgment. And now what has the +other one to do with it?"</p> + +<p>"Lawton, you will think I am crazy, and I am, perhaps—but I love her; +and more than that, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> believe she loves me. No word of it has passed +between us, but—we understand."</p> + +<p>"Oh, we do, eh? We—we understand," imitated Lawton. "Well, this is +exceedingly interesting, I must say, although quite the thing to be +expected from one of your temperament. How very fortunate you are in the +choice of subjects, too."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I should judge you might divide up your affections on those two +without any serious confliction of sentiments."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken, though; I do not care for Evelin March at all, now. I +am sorry I ever met her. I shall stop this foolish flirtation with her, +at once."</p> + +<p>"Quite likely. And when does Evelin come again?"</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"So; well, I'll just drop in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> to-morrow evening for the latest. Evelin +seems to be a trifle outclassed just at present."</p> + +<p>"Harry, you are unkind. I tell you I love that innocent girl on the +easel there and mean to marry her."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course; I haven't the least doubt of it. And now, what about the +resemblance?"</p> + +<p>"Why, look! do you see their hair? The shade of each is exactly the +same—the same silkiness and glow through it; it is very peculiar. And +notice the ear; the outline and formation of each is identical. You may +not have noticed these things as I have, but it is very rare that the +ear is anatomically the same in two people. There is a similarity, too, +about the oval of the face, although less marked and not unusual; and +there is a faint suggestion of something else,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> which I feel but cannot +locate. I noticed these things, and they struck me at once as being a +tie of kinship. I hinted, in a miserably awkward manner, as to relatives +who might be having their portraits painted. It was then she told me +that she had no relatives, and I believe started to tell me she had no +friends, but she hesitated and was near bursting into tears. From that +moment I loved her; I shall love her always."</p> + +<p>"Charming, Julian. And yet I fancy she is not wholly alone in the world. +A beautiful and affluent maiden is not calculated to be friendless; and +you will admit that one who is able to gratify a passing impulse for one +of Julian Paul Goetze's justly celebrated portraits is not likely to be +destitute. Still, I will allow that there are cases, even among the +wealthy,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> that are not entirely undeserving of sympathy; and, if I may +judge from this incipient work of your magic brush, I think I should be +willing to lavish any amount of that article on its original. However, +you haven't told me her name as yet; I trust it is not disappointing."</p> + +<p>"I do not even know it myself. She gave me her card; I laid it down and +haven't thought of it since."</p> + +<p>"Well, really, if your love is no greater than your curiosity, your case +does not present any very alarming features, as yet."</p> + +<p>The artist had approached a small table in the center of the room, from +which he now picked up a slip of white pasteboard and held it to the +light, then he started a little and was silent.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said his friend, inquiringly; "is it Mary Mullally or Nancy +Muggins?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>The artist turned to the table again and selected another card, somewhat +larger, from a little silver tray; then he returned to Lawton and held +them before him, one above the other, like the pictures. On the lower +one, written in a bold, dashing hand, were the words:</p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Evelin March</span>.</h4> + +<p>And on the other, in a neat and beautiful penmanship:</p> + +<h4><span class="smcap">Eva Delorme</span>.</h4> + +<p>"Capital, old fellow!" exclaimed Lawton. "There is an air of harmony +about the name, the handwriting, and the face of your charmer that is +delightful. What a blessing she has no relatives."</p> + +<p>"But do you notice nothing strange about these names, Harry?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, except that both are strangely bewitching. What more is +there?"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Why, the similarity of the first names. Eva—Evelin; one is frequently +a contraction of the other. I don't like this, Harry; it troubles me."</p> + +<p>"Now, Julian, you are positively absurd. Here are two women of natures +manifestly as different as light and darkness. By a coincidence, or a +distant family tie, or both, their hair happens to be the same color +(not a very unusual one, either, by the way); a similarity in their +names; also, perhaps, one or two other trifling resemblances, more or +less marked. I will admit, myself, that there is something in the face +of that siren that had she kept herself unspotted from the world might +have suggested the other—that rare being there on the easel who told +you she had no relatives or friends, and for which reason you are deeply +troubled.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> It is probable she told you the exact truth. I have seen +people who were almost counterparts of each other between whom there +existed no known tie of kinship. There was once a man in New York who +resembled Jay Gould so strikingly as to deceive their best friends. And +besides, the girl may have relatives of whom she knows nothing. Most of +us have cousins whom we have never seen, or even heard of. Should +Guinevere prove to be the unknown cousin of Elaine, I cannot see that +the purity and charm of Elaine is in any manner affected thereby."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Harry; that is so. Besides"—</p> + +<p>"Besides, the resemblance is positively trivial. No one but an artist +would think of it. I should never have suspected it without your +assistance. In the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> one face there is written all that is good, and +pure, and holy; in the other, all that is reckless, unscrupulous, +soulless, and if not vicious might easily become so. It does not take a +physiognomist to see that. I beg pardon for saying so, Julian, but it +seems to me that there is no more similarity between the two than there +is between the opposing elements of your own strange nature. The one all +that is good, and the other, well—not all that is bad, but very +different, you know, old boy. And it is probably these forces within you +that answer to the charms of these two beings who are so manifestly +opposites. The one inspiring only the nobleness of a blameless love; the +other suggesting the abandonment of a reckless passion."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>III.</h2> + +<p>The light in the studio was growing dim. Goetze had risen to his feet +and was walking back and forth in front of the portraits. When he spoke +he seemed to have forgotten them, except as the representation of an +abstract principle; or, perhaps, he was thinking of his own nature, and +what his friend had said of it.</p> + +<p>"Good and bad are relative terms only," he said, as one pronouncing a +text. Every man fulfills his purpose. I can put a stroke of paint on my +canvas, and you will call it white. I put another beside it, and by +contrast the first appears gray. Still another, and the second has +become gray, and the first still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> darker. And so on, until I have +reached the purest white we know. It is the same with humanity. Men are +only dark or light as they are contrasted with others; nor can they +avoid the place they occupy on God's canvas any more than my colors can +choose their places on mine. The world is a great picture. God is the +greatest of all artists. His is the master hand—the unerring touch that +lays on the lights, the half-tones and the shadows. Each fulfills its +purpose. Without the shadows there would be no lights.</p> + +<p>"What is true of masses is likewise true of individuals," he continued, +after a moment's pause. "In a landscape, every blade of grass, every +pebble, has its light and its dark side. If you see only the light side +of an object, it is only because the shadow is turned from you. It is so +with men;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> one side is sun, the other shadow. Sometimes the light, only, +is presented to view, but the darker side is none the less there because +unseen. Nature is never unbalanced. Whatever of brightness there is +toward the sun there must be an equal amount of shadow opposing, with +all the intergradations between. If the light is dim the shadow is soft; +if the light is brilliant the shadow is black. Some of us are turned +white side to the world, some the reverse; some show the white and the +black alternately."</p> + +<p>The man in the chair settled himself comfortably to listen. He liked +nothing better than to see the artist in his present mood, offering a +word now and then that was likely to draw out his peculiar ideas.</p> + +<p>"You believe in fate, then, and the absence of moral freedom," he said +reflectively.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> + +<p>"I believe nothing. Belief is not the word. What is, is right. To assert +otherwise is an insult to the Supreme. He is all powerful, hence—wrong +cannot exist."</p> + +<p>"I should be glad to hear your argument in support of that position."</p> + +<p>"Argument! It is a self-evident truth! Argument is not necessary! +Argument is never necessary! If an assertion is not true no amount of +discussion will make it so, while the truth requires no support."</p> + +<p>The other had lighted a pipe, and was smoking lazily.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, as the artist paused; "at least those who have crossed +over have solved the mystery."</p> + +<p>"Oh, they have! And how do you know that anyone has crossed over? You do +not believe in the mortality nor the slumber of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> the soul; no more do I; +but time exists only with life. A man dies and in the same instant opens +his eyes upon eternity, and yet a million of years may have been swept +away in that instant. As a tired child you have fallen asleep. A moment +later you have been called by your mother to breakfast. And yet, in that +moment of dreamless sleep, the long winter night had passed. Adam, the +first man, closing his eyes in death; you and I, who will do the same +ten, twenty, forty years hence, and the generations who will follow us +for a million years, perhaps, will waken to eternity, if there be a +waking, in one and the same instant of time, without a knowledge of the +intervening years. There were no years. Eternity has no beginning, no +end, no measurement."</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, then suddenly burst out again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nothing in life is real—it is all a dream. You think your being is +reality and that you hear my voice speaking. I tell you it is but fancy. +We are the figures—the mimes in some vast hypnotic exhibition—the +shadows in some gigantic spirit's disordered dream. Hypnotism," he +continued, pursuing a line of thought which his impulsive words had +suggested, "has, in fact, proven that no one can distinguish the real +from the unreal. You remember, when we went to see Flint, the great +hypnotist, how his subjects passed from one condition to another and +took on any personality at the operator's will; capering and grimacing +about the stage with all the characteristics and even the facial +expression of monkeys, one minute, and simpering as silly school-girls +the next; and to them it was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> all real—as real as this room, these +bodies, these pictures are to us. I read some lines once that seemed to +express the idea:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">"I sometimes think life but a dream</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Of some great soul in some great sphere,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 21em;">And what appear as truths but seem,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 22em;">And what seem truths do but appear."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>He repeated these words with slow earnestness, adding solemnly, "Who +knows? Who knows?"</p> + +<p>The man who sat listening drew a long breath. He was a rich idler with a +good deal of worldly wisdom, but he loved and admired his erratic +friend. He felt that much of what he said was sophistry, wholly or in +part; but there was a charm about the earnest manner, the musical voice, +and the flashing brevity of statement,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> more pleasing to his ear than +sounder logic from a surer reasoner.</p> + +<p>It was nearly dark now in the studio. The artist halted in his march, +and offered to light the gas.</p> + +<p>"Not for the world, Julian; I am far too happy in the dark. I was just +thinking what a glorious agitator you would make; you would carry all +before you. I wonder you have never dabbled in politics or socialism. +Now I think of it, I have never heard you mention these things. I +suppose you belong to one or the other of the great parties, however."</p> + +<p>"Politics? Party? Good heavens, no! I never meddle with such things; it +is one step lower than I have ever gone."</p> + +<p>"But a man must stand somewhere. He that stands nowhere stands upon +nothing."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> + +<p>The artist paused before the open window and stood looking out upon the +dusk of the little scented garden. A faint reflected glimmer from some +far-away lamp dimly illuminated one side of his face, silhouetting his +striking profile sharply against a ground of blackness.</p> + +<p>"If you mean," he began, slowly, "that I should have some opinions, then +I will tell you what they are.</p> + +<p>"I believe neither in tariff nor trade. Currency nor coin. Traffic nor +toil. I believe in <i>nothing</i>—but the absolute freedom of every living +being. Freedom!—freedom from the curse of creeds, the blight of +bigotry, and the leprosy of the law. Freedom to go and to come, to live +and to die. Life without loathing, love without bondage. To live in some +sunlit valley, where the bud is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> ever bursting into flower, the flower +fading to fruit, and the fruit ripening to sustenance. The untouched +bosom of Nature would yield enough for her children had not the curse of +greed been implanted in their bosoms."</p> + +<p>Goetze had turned away from the window and was again striding up and +down the floor in the dark.</p> + +<p>"A beautiful poem, Julian," said the other, dreamily; "but a sort of +delightful barbarism, I'm afraid."</p> + +<p>"Barbarism? No! A higher, purer intellectuality than we have ever yet +known—a civilization that knows not the curse of avarice nor the +miseries of crime—the weariness of wealth nor the pangs of poverty. The +garden of Eden is still about us, but we have torn up the flowers, and +desecrated it with the lust of gain. Man was never driven out of that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +garden. Greed was planted in his heart and he destroyed it."</p> + +<p>"Come," he continued, suddenly changing the subject, "I have made you +tired and hungry; let us go out, somewhere, to supper."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," said the other, laughing; "I supposed a man in your condition +had no need of bodily sustenance. You are comfortably situated here, +Julian," he added, as they passed out into the street.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is quiet here—no bother with servants nor landladies. Once a +week my washerwoman comes and stays to put my establishment in order; +the rest of the time I am disturbed only by my sitters."</p> + +<p>"You forget <i>me</i>."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Harry," said the artist, taking his arm affectionately; "and by +you, of course."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>IV.</h2> + +<p>When Julian Goetze arose the next morning he felt strong within himself +to withstand and conquer those fierce impulses of his savage heritage +that had answered to the blandishments of Evelin March. And yet he was +greatly troubled. He felt that in a large measure he had been to blame. +He blushed hotly as he recalled some of the things he had said to this +woman whom Harry had called a siren.</p> + +<p>"Men are all scoundrels," he said, savagely; "I wonder if there are +really any who are not so at heart."</p> + +<p>He rapidly formulated his plan of action, and even the sentences<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> with +which he was to meet and conquer this modern Circe.</p> + +<p>"I will keep Eva's face before me," he thought, "and I will treat her +coldly. She is high-spirited and keen; she will notice the change at +once and resent it. She is too proud to demand an explanation."</p> + +<p>He felt himself equal to the ordeal. He was anxious now for her to come +that it might be safely passed. As the hours went by he grew impatient; +he placed her portrait on the easel and fancied the original was before +him. He went through an imaginary dialogue with it in which he was +wholly victorious. He no longer felt any emotion for this woman.</p> + +<p>"I will begin a new life," he said, as he strode rapidly up and down the +room; "a new life." But there was a feverishness in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> his voice that did +not bode well for his resolution.</p> + +<p>"I wish she would come," he muttered, fretfully.</p> + +<p>His cheeks were hot and flushed, and his hands were like ice, and +trembling. And the result was—that he failed—failed miserably and +completely. When, an hour later, Evelin March entered the studio and, +throwing off her wrap, stood before him, imperious, soulless and +beautiful—a delicate odor, as of pansies, from her white flesh, +stealing into his brain—his pledges of faith and his fair resolves +melted away like walls of mist, and the face of Eva Delorme shrank back +into the silent recesses of his heart, and only a small voice within him +whispered, "Coward—traitor—"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him sharply.</p> + +<p>"Something troubles you, <i>mon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> ami</i>. You are not overjoyed at my coming. +I have been fancying to myself how impatiently you were waiting."</p> + +<p>His hands were no longer trembling. He was calm enough, now, but it was +the calmness of defeat—of having yielded to the inevitable.</p> + +<p>"I have indeed been waiting impatiently," he said, smiling. "You see +that I have been even consoling myself with your picture," and he +pointed to the easel.</p> + +<p>"From an artistic point of view, only, I fancy."</p> + +<p>"That is unkind. I have been holding a conversation with it that I fear +I should hesitate to repeat—with the original."</p> + +<p>"How interesting! A rehearsal, perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps; and I was testing the powers of my work as compared to those +of the original."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> + +<p>"And with the result"—</p> + +<p>"That my work is a failure."</p> + +<p>"How humiliating! May I ask in what way?"</p> + +<p>"I could withstand the charms of the picture, but with the original"—</p> + +<p>"Well, and with the original?"</p> + +<p>"I failed."</p> + +<p>The face before him was radiant; but down in his heart the small voice, +growing very faint, still whispered, "Coward—traitor—fool."</p> + +<p>That evening Harry Lawton found him sitting gloomily before the window +looking out upon the shadows that were gathering in the little garden +beneath. As the door opened he glanced up and nodded without speaking.</p> + +<p>"Circe came?"</p> + +<p>Again the artist nodded.</p> + +<p>"And conquered?"</p> + +<p>Another nod.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Did you suppose for a moment that she wouldn't?"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>Lawton assumed a dignified attitude, and began with mock earnestness:</p> + +<p>"Oh, wise man—thou who knowest so well the heart and the face of +Nature—how little thou knowest of thine own soul!"</p> + +<p>A shade of anguish swept over the artist's face, but he made no reply.</p> + +<p>"Most gentle and gifted man! Last night I listened long and patiently to +the scintillating wisdom of your wonderful brain. Let me now speak, +while you, in turn, give ear.</p> + +<p>"When, last night, you showed me the portraits and told me their +history, I foresaw this moment. You are plunged into despair at the +contemplation of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> your own weakness. You have been abusing your soul +with hard names. Now, I would whisper to you with great gentleness that +what you observed to me last night, about the sunlight and shadow of +every life, is true; and that the brightness of the sun cannot +illuminate, but only intensifies the blackness of the shade. Pursuing +the same line of reasoning, I add that flowers bloom in the sunlight, +while mushrooms thrive in the darkness. That because man is fond of +mushrooms is no reason why he should be deprived of flowers. That +because your purer and spiritual self reaches out for the stainless +lily, is no reason why your material and grosser nature should be left +starving. Because you are for a time intoxicated with Evelin March is no +reason why, in your calmer and nobler existence, you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> should not love +truly and sinlessly, Eva Delorme.</p> + +<p>"I am aware that my logic is not wholly in accord with generally +accepted theory. It accords much more nearly, perhaps, with universal +practice—of course I refer only to men in the single walks of life. It +is well known that all men after marriage are irreproachable. And when +you have plucked your stainless lily, you, like the rest, will subsist +only upon its fragrance. But really, for the present, I cannot see that +your affair with Miss March in any way conflicts with your sentiments +for Miss Delorme; and especially as you have known the latter but a few +hours in all—hardly sufficient, I should think, to inspire a lifelong +devotion. Truly, Julian, I would advise you not to take matters quite so +seriously, and let the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> tide drift as it will for the present."</p> + +<p>Throughout this long harangue Julian Goetze had listened in silence.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry," he groaned, as the other paused, "you don't know what a +traitor I am!"</p> + +<p>"Well, possibly my sensibilities are not over fine, but I think you will +be more comfortable for taking my advice."</p> + +<p>Without replying, the artist rose and going into the adjoining room +returned a moment later with a decanter and glasses.</p> + +<p>"I am tired," he said, apologetically, as he caught the look of +disapproval in his friend's eye; "it will do me good."</p> + +<p>"None for me, Julian, before supper, and—I don't think, if—if I were +you, I would take any, either."</p> + +<p>"I am exhausted, Harry; I am<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> not going to supper and I need it," he +said, fretfully.</p> + +<p>The other sighed and did not reply. Goetze filled one of the glasses and +drank it off, then he resumed his seat by the window. A little later his +friend took leave of him; reaching the street door he hesitated as if +about to turn back, then he lifted the latch, and passed slowly out into +the lighted street, closing the door gently behind him.</p> + +<p>The next morning the studio of Julian Goetze was locked. It remained +locked all day, and within, stretched upon the floor, unconscious, lay +the gifted man, and by his side was an empty flask.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>V.</h2> + +<p>Perhaps Julian Goetze did not willingly abide by the somewhat fallacious +reasoning of his friend. It is more than probable that each time he +succumbed to the savage elements of his nature, he did so with +reluctance and shame, with subsequent remorse, and good resolutions +formed a score of times, perhaps, to be as often broken.</p> + +<p>As the weeks went by he became more and more involved in this singular +affair. In a way he had found it possible, as his friend had once +suggested, to be in love with two women at one time.</p> + +<p>When he was with Eva Delorme his love for the pure, beautiful girl +seemed to take entire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> possession of his life. Evelin March, for the +time, was as hateful to him as his own weakness, or was wholly +forgotten.</p> + +<p>When in the presence of Evelin March his better self shrank away before +the fierce heredity within him, and the face of Eva Delorme became only +a dim, haunting ghost that taunted him with his treachery.</p> + +<p>Of the lives of these two he knew absolutely nothing. The evident +distress which his reference to relatives and friends had occasioned Eva +during their first meeting, had caused him carefully to avoid the +subject afterward; and the other, who had never referred to her family, +he had not cared to know. He had never even considered whether she was +wife, maid or widow, until he suddenly became aware that the sentiment +he had awakened within<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> her was not, as he had at first supposed, a +passing fancy, but a fierce passion of jealous and tyrannical love. She +no longer rallied him, and parried his compliments with her light, +pointed sarcasm, as she had done at first, but assumed an unmistakable +bearing of ownership and possession—questioning him closely regarding +other sitters and female acquaintances—while he writhed helplessly in +the exquisite misery of a spell which he felt himself powerless to +break.</p> + +<p>Thus far he had never surrendered himself entirely to this passion. More +than once he had hesitated on the very brink of the precipice. Whether +it was the haunting face of Eva Delorme that stayed him, or something in +the manner of the other, he could not tell.</p> + +<p>One day he suddenly caught<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> her in his arms. She suffered his embrace +for a moment, then drew away from him.</p> + +<p>"When we are married, Paul," she said, tenderly, "I will take you to +Italy, where in some beautiful villa we will give ourselves up wholly to +our love. I am rich, Paul, rich; and it is all yours, but we must wait."</p> + +<p>He turned white and was silent. The thought of marriage with this woman +had never entered his head. He had already asked Eva Delorme to be his +wife. She had long since confessed her love for him, but had deferred +her answer from week to week, and with such evident distress of mind +that the young artist felt that a secret sorrow lay heavily upon her +life. He longed to fly with her to some far country, away from it all, +and from the dark shadows that encompassed his own.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> + +<p>The similarity of features which he had at first noticed in his two +sitters was at times almost forgotten; at others it had recurred to him +and haunted him like a nightmare. More than once he had imagined he saw +the fleeting something in one woman that reminded him of the other. He +had dallied over the portraits, making them photographically minute for +comparison. He had hesitated guiltily about showing either of these to +the other woman. He had sometimes longed, and always dreaded, to see +them side by side in person. They did not always come at their appointed +time, and he was in constant terror lest they should meet in the studio; +and yet the thought had in it a fascination for him that made him +feverish for its realization. It was strange that they had never met in +his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> rooms—he did not realize, perhaps, how strange.</p> + +<p>As the months slipped away, and he had become more and more distracted +by the contending forces that were eating deeply into his life, he had +grown almost indifferent to his curiosity and only dreaded their +meeting.</p> + +<p>It was now October. The portraits had been practically finished long +since. Day after day he had resolved to send that of Evelin March to the +dealer for framing. He felt that he could then break away from her. But +still he had hesitated and lingered, and now, when in a moment of +recklessness he had taken a step nearer the brink of the precipice, she +had spoken to him of their marriage. The idea stunned him; he could not +reply. She believed his emotion had been caused by her rebuff, and laid +her hand gently on his arm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't be angry, Paul," she whispered.</p> + +<p>He had never seen her so subdued and beautiful as she was at that +moment. He was nearer to loving her than he had ever been.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said, with some agitation, "we must—wait."</p> + +<p>That night after supper he sought Harry Lawton, and unburdened himself.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do, Harry?" he said, piteously; "what <i>must</i> I do?"</p> + +<p>"Marry Eva Delorme and take a year's trip to Europe."</p> + +<p>"But Eva hesitates—she has never yet given me a decided answer."</p> + +<p>"Insist upon it. Then take her to the preacher at once, and fly."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Harry, what a villain I am! Evelin is really in love with me, and I +have given her just cause. I never saw her look as she did to-day."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Nonsense! She is a schemer and an actress. I did not suppose she wanted +to marry you, but since that is her idea I can see right through her. +This being the case, and your determination to marry the other fixed, +the sooner you do it and get away, the better."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are right, Harry; there seems to be no other course. I +haven't the moral courage to tell her the truth."</p> + +<p>"No need of it, whatever. It wouldn't help matters in the least. Just +marry and go away quietly, and don't return until you get ready. If you +need money draw on me at sight."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Harry. I expect Eva soon. I am going to put the final +touches on her picture, and I will urge my suit. If she accepts me I +will take her away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> at once. Evelin's picture is ready for framing; I +will send it to the dealer's to-morrow. I wish to God I could get away +before she comes again!"</p> + +<p>"Why not? You have nothing to keep you. If the girl really loves you she +will marry you out of hand, and be only too glad to cut loose from all +unpleasant associations. And now let's take a last look at the +pictures," he said.</p> + +<p>They had been walking slowly in the direction of Goetze's cottage. They +entered now, and the artist lighted the gas. Then he arranged the +portraits of the two women as he had done for his friend's inspection +nearly a half-year previous. Both were thinking of that evening now. How +long ago it seemed. Harry sat silent before them for a long time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> + +<p>"They are wonderful portraits, Goetze," he said, at length; "but, do you +know, it doesn't seem to me that they have quite the artistic value of +the first sketches."</p> + +<p>"You are right, Harry; they are too minute. I shall destroy some of that +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The other was silent. After a long pause he said, thoughtfully, "There +<i>is</i> something— I can't tell where it is, either; but it is certainly +there."</p> + +<p>"You refer to the resemblance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is hardly that, however."</p> + +<p>"I have thought very little about it lately. It troubled me terribly for +a while."</p> + +<p>"Well, good-night, Julian," said Lawton, rising. "If there are to be any +orange-blossoms, I suppose I am best man."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Harry. Good-night!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> + +<p>Two days later, when Eva Delorme came to the studio, the artist thought +he had never seen her so beautiful.</p> + +<p>And now the whiteness of his own soul was turned to view. He resembled +as little the man who had trembled before Evelin March, as Evelin March +was like this beautiful being before him.</p> + +<p>With all the ardor and fervid eloquence of his nature he urged his suit; +and she, tearful and trembling before him, half consented. He caught her +to his breast and covered her face with kisses.</p> + +<p>"My darling—my darling," he murmured, "we will leave this smoky, dingy +city; I will take you to a beautiful land where the flowers never fade +and the air is forever filled with their fragrance. Where the blue skies +of an eternal summer are above us, and the blue waves of a whispering +sea<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> shall lull us to peace. There is a tiny island in the Mediterranean +on the coast of France. I was there once; it is like heaven. I will take +you there. Say that you will go, sweetheart; we will start to-day."</p> + +<p>The girl lifted her face to his, and kissed him on the forehead.</p> + +<p>"It would be heaven, indeed, Julian; but—we must wait."</p> + +<p>The artist started and grew pale. Her final words had been the same as +those used by Evelin March. She did not seem to notice his emotion, or +mistook its cause.</p> + +<p>"You know that I love you, Julian," she continued, "and I will do +anything for your happiness; but—oh, Julian"—</p> + +<p>She burst into tears and hid her face on his shoulder. He felt that some +mystery of grief weighed upon her, and he longed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> to urge her +confidence, but refrained. He soothed her gently with tender words and +caresses. By and by she grew calm.</p> + +<p>"Julian," she said, "I am in no condition to-day to give you a sitting. +I will come to-morrow, and then—I will give you a final answer, +and—oh, my love, do not urge me further to-day; I—I cannot endure it."</p> + +<p>Then suddenly throwing her arms about his neck she pressed one fierce +kiss upon his lips and hurried from the room.</p> + +<p>After she was gone the artist walked up and down the studio for a long +time in deep thought. He was wildly happy in her love, and yet he was +troubled. It was strange that her words should have been the same as +those of Evelin March. Her manner, too, during the last moment had been +unusual. Something about it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> had jarred him—almost reminded him of the +other woman. What was it between these two?</p> + +<p>By and by, he noticed something white lying on the floor. It was a +woman's handkerchief—a bit of cambric and lace exhaling the delicate +odor of violets. He pressed it to his lips repeatedly, and whispered her +name over and over, then hid it away in his bosom. He had not noticed, +in the dim light, that in one corner, in small, delicate letters, were +the initials, E. M. D.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VI.</h2> + +<p>The next morning was bright and crisp, and the artist felt better than +he had for many weeks. He arose happy in the thought that he should +again see Eva Delorme so soon, and in the confidence that she would +accept his offer of marriage. He was happier still in the prospect of +cutting free from all the feverish torture of the past few months; of +leaving behind all the unpleasant associations that clouded both their +lives, along with the soot, and fumes, and temptations of this grimy +city; and of dreaming away the winter with Eva on the coast of France.</p> + +<p>He rose early and set out for a morning walk. His favorite<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> restaurant +was near the heart of the city; he would go there for breakfast. The +distance was considerable, but the brisk exercise was in harmony with +his thoughts. The blood was circulating rhythmically through his veins; +he threw back his shoulders and breathed in the fresh frosty air. He +wanted to sing. In another week he would be away from all that was +disagreeable and disgraceful—perhaps to-morrow. They would spend a +whole year in Europe; may be they would not come back at all.</p> + +<p>After breakfast he met two or three acquaintances; they remarked his +unusual spirits.</p> + +<p>"You must have made a big strike, Goetze; can't you tell us?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by and by; not now—later."</p> + +<p>"Congratulations are in order, of course."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Hardly yet; pretty soon."</p> + +<p>He returned to his studio. Eva had named no hour, but he hoped she would +come early. As he opened the street door he saw a long, thin, delicately +tinted envelope that had been pushed beneath it in his absence. He knew +instinctively that it was from Eva, and hastened into the studio to read +it. It was not sealed and there was no address. Trembling with agitation +he tore off the covering and read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Julian</span>:</p> + +<p>"I am feeling badly this morning, so will not come for my +sitting to-day, and since my portrait is so nearly finished +I suppose there is really no need of my coming again for +that purpose. I should have come, however, as I promised, +had it been possible. And now, my dear friend, as regards +the decision which so concerns us both, I will ask your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +kind patience until to-morrow eve.</p> + +<p>"On West L—— Street, between 18th and 19th, near the park, +there is a large, old-fashioned, brick mansion. It is No. +74, east side—you cannot miss it. There is an arc electric +light directly in front of it.</p> + +<p>"Go to this place to-morrow night, exactly at six o'clock. +If the door is fastened, ring, and the servant will admit +you. There wait in the hall-way until I come. If the door is +unlocked, enter and wait likewise, unless I am already +within to meet you. Then I will give you my answer; and oh, +my friend, if it be possible I will unfold to you the +history and sad mystery of my poor life, which you have so +kindly never sought to know.</p></div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 34em;">"<span class="smcap">Eva</span>."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Julian read this note again and again now with pleasure, again with +anxiety. Surely she meant to accept him or she would not have written +thus; she would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> not have appointed a meeting with him at this old +mansion. And why at this old mansion? Was it her home? No, that was not +likely, or why was he to wait until she came? If her home, she would be +waiting there for him. Probably the home of some friend of whom she had +made a confidant, and who was in sympathy with her love affair. Yes, it +must be this; and the mystery of her life, what could that be but some +pre-natal pledge of marriage with one whom she despised, or tyrannical +guardians, or both. She would probably be disinherited if she disobeyed. +What did he care; money was not the end of God's judgment. He would take +her away from it all; his precious darling, and she was ill, too; she +was in pain and he could not go to her. He longed to sit by her side, +and hold her hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> and pour out his love. He was bitterly disappointed +at not seeing her to-day, but he almost forgot that, now, as he thought +of her ill and suffering. He read and re-read the lines of her letter, +and tried to comfort himself with the thought that it was no more than a +headache brought on by her mental strain.</p> + +<p>By and by, something else about this letter began to puzzle him. He had +not thought of it at first, but gradually it dawned upon him that the +handwriting was not exactly like that upon the card of Eva Delorme. It +seemed to him that it was less delicate and more irregular. He took her +card from the little tray on the table, and compared them. He decided +that they were the same, after all. The letter was written hurriedly and +she was ill; but the formation of the characters<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> was much the same. As +he replaced the card his eye fell upon that of Evelin March. There was +no similarity between the writing on the two cards, but as he glanced +now from that of Evelin March to the letter he fancied one suggested +faintly the nervous, dashing style of the other. The haunting curiosity +that had once possessed him returned for a moment. There was a strange +fear in his heart which he could not name. He compared the two more +closely, and as he did so the fancy disappeared. It was like certain +faint odors that are only perceptible at a distance. He heaved a sigh of +relief.</p> + +<p>"I am a consummate ass, among other things," he muttered.</p> + +<p>His mind reverted to Eva. How would he get through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> time until +to-morrow? To-morrow there would be a sitting with Evelin. As he thought +of her his face flushed with shame, and a feeling of dread came upon +him. He would send her portrait to the dealer to-day—it was +finished—then there would be no excuse for her staying. No, he would go +away and lock the studio all day. What a fool he had been to allow +himself to be fascinated by her dashing beauty. What a traitor he had +been to make even a semblance of love to this bold, flashy woman of the +world—a woman who, until recently, had not even commanded his respect.</p> + +<p>"I have been a villain," he muttered, to himself; "a villain and a +traitor, but I will be so no more. I will curb this savage nature within +me. I will abstain from drink. I will be a new man."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> + +<p>He sealed his resolution with a kiss pressed upon the little, tinted +letter, then placing it in an inner pocket he arranged the canvas of Eva +Delorme on the easel before him and walked backward and forward in front +of it thinking, pausing now and then to gaze long upon the beautiful, +saintly features.</p> + +<p>"It does not do her justice," he said, at last; "there is something +about the lips and the expression that I have not caught. It is too +minute; I must darken the ground; there is not enough relief—not enough +depth."</p> + +<p>Hastily removing his coat and the wide felt hat which he always wore on +the street, he hung them on a rack in the adjoining room, and donning +his velvet studio jacket, returned to the easel. Seizing his palette and +brushes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> he fell to work rapidly, and with the enthusiasm of one who is +in love with his task.</p> + +<p>As he dashed on the broad sweeps of color from his palette, the +background gradually assumed the effect of having faded away, and the +rare face before it to have become a thing of flesh and blood. It was a +marvel of skill. He had never done anything like this before. He became +so absorbed in his work that he forgot the passing hours. The background +of the portrait complete, he began adding touches of light and shadow +and color to the drapery, to the hair, to the perfect features. He felt +that he had never painted half so well. It seemed to him that he was +inspired. He remembered the story of the artist who had painted the +portrait of his beloved, drawing the tints so truly from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> her life, that +when he had finished and turned to look at her with an exclamation of +triumph on his lips, she was dead. It seemed to him at this moment that +he was drawing his tints from her very life. That the intense workings +of his brain must in some manner affect her own. He paused and his hand +trembled. She was ill; what if she were to die! Pshaw! it was but a +fable. He would paint the picture as truly, but only that the world +might bow before the beauty of his mistress. He would exhibit it in +Paris, and the multitude would worship the beautiful face that should +win him a world-wide fame. Then he would take it away from the gaping +throng and lay it, with the fame it brought him, at her feet.</p> + +<p>The little clock on the mantel had long since chimed noon, and the hour +hand had crept around<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> the circle nearly to five before he finally laid +aside his brushes and palette, and stepped back to view his finished +work.</p> + +<p>"It is wonderful—wonderful," he said, aloud. "Oh, my precious darling!"</p> + +<p>There was a sound behind him as of some one choking. He turned and stood +face to face with Evelin March. She was very pale, and her eyes burned +like two stars.</p> + +<p>"Who is that woman?" she said, fiercely.</p> + +<p>He knew that she had overheard him, but he endeavored to address her +calmly. He felt the cowardliness of his nature rising, and he cursed +himself inwardly.</p> + +<p>"I—I was not expecting you to-day, Evelin," he stammered; "to-morrow, +you know, is the day for your sitting."</p> + +<p>She did not take her eyes from the portrait; she had gone very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> close to +it and as she turned upon him to reply there was a mingled look of +terror and ferocity in her face.</p> + +<p>"No, it is quite evident that you did not expect me, and that you were +too much absorbed to remember or care when my sitting was due. And now +you will please to answer my question. <i>Who is that woman?</i>"</p> + +<p>What would he not have given, at that moment, to have had courage to +say, "She is to be my wife;" but the magnificent fury of the woman +before him, and the recollection of the shameful words of love he had +spoken to her, overwhelmed him.</p> + +<p>"She is a—a Miss Delorme, I believe; a sitter of mine," he managed to +say at last.</p> + +<p>"You believe! You lie! You know who she is, and you love her! You love +that nun-faced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> baby! I heard your words. You believe—you"—</p> + +<p>"Evelin, stop!"</p> + +<p>"Don't speak to me, you traitor! 'Your precious darling.' Oh, I could +kill her! I <i>will</i> kill her!"</p> + +<p>He could not understand this wild fury, that seemed to be half inspired +by a sort of terror. She had turned to the portrait again and was +examining it, oblivious, for the moment, to all else. Then suddenly she +turned upon him again with blazing eyes.</p> + +<p>"I will kill her!" she hissed. "I could kill her with <i>that</i>," and she +pointed to the jeweled stiletto on the wall.</p> + +<p>She was so magnificent in her rage that he could not help admiring her +through it all. The love for him which had aroused this tempest was so +fierce that he felt his savage blood beginning to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> throb with an +answering glow. He felt that once more he was about to be a traitor to +all that was good within him. The ground was slipping from under his +feet. The glamour of her voluptuous beauty was ruling his brain like the +fumes of liquor. His eyes, too, were beginning to shine fiercely, but +not with anger.</p> + +<p>"Evelin," he said, "listen. You know I love you and have from the first. +She is nothing to me. The words that you overheard were addressed only +to the picture. It is my masterpiece. I was not thinking of the +original." And down in his heart the small voice was whispering, +"Coward—traitor—fool!"</p> + +<p>But the hot blood of passion was sweeping through his veins, and he +heeded it not. He put out his hand and laid it upon her arm.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Don't touch me!" she said, angrily, but the expression in her eyes +softened. He saw his advantage and followed it up.</p> + +<p>"Evelin," he said, huskily, "I love you— I love you!" Again he laid his +hand upon her and this time she allowed it to remain. They were standing +near the curtained arch of the adjoining room. He parted back the heavy +draperies, and gently drew her within.</p> + +<p>The savage blood was rioting fiercely within him. He caught both her +hands in his and drew her to his embrace. She hid her face upon his +shoulder, and would not let him touch her lips. Other than this she made +no further resistance. Half dragging, and half carrying her he +approached a large divan that stood in a little alcove on the opposite +side of the room. Suddenly he took<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> her bodily in his arms and they sank +down upon it together. For a second, only; then, with a quick powerful +effort she threw him backward and sprang to her feet, staring about her +with a wild, startled look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Goetze, wholly at a loss to account for the suddenness and fierceness of +the resistance, was for a moment stunned. As he recovered himself and +made a movement toward her, she gave him one quick, piteous look—a look +that recalled to him suddenly and strangely the beautiful, innocent girl +whom he had wronged and forgotten—the <i>face of Eva Delorme</i>—then, as +if seized with sudden panic she sped from the room, out through the dim +studio and into the dusky hall-way beyond.</p> + +<p>He heard the opening and closing of the outside door, and knew<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> that she +was gone. Then the tide of reaction swept over him. The glamour of +conquest had passed, and there remained only the shame, the treachery +and the remorse.</p> + +<p>With a curse of anguish he flung himself down upon the floor, and lay +groveling with his face in the dust. The moments flew by unheeded. An +hour passed. The electric lamps were turned on, and a white ray of light +shot in through the half-curtained window. The little clock on the +mantel chimed the hour.</p> + +<p>The sound roused him. Starting to his feet he gazed stupidly about him +for a moment as if undecided what to do, then seizing his hat from the +wall rack he hurried out through the studio and the dark hall-way +without pausing to remove his working jacket, or to lock the door.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> Out +into the street where people were hurrying home, chattering and +laughing, and glancing only for a second at the figure in the velvet +studio coat and broad hat, wondering a little at the dark, intense face +that flashed so swiftly past them toward the glare and confusion of the +business center.</p> + +<p>He did not know where he was going. He did not care. He was trying to +get away from himself. He walked faster and faster; twice he started to +run.</p> + +<p>He was drawing nearer to the bustle of the city. Small shops were +scattered along between the rows of brick dwellings, and at one corner +the light of a saloon flared out upon the pavement. Entering, he called +for brandy. The bar-keeper stared at him and set out a bottle and a +glass. Twice he filled it to the brim and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> drank it off with hardly a +pause between. Then, throwing down a silver dollar, he hastened out +without waiting for change.</p> + +<p>The shops were getting thicker and larger. Dwelling-houses were fewer +and more old fashioned. Here and there newsboys were crying the evening +papers. Street-cars, filled with lights and faces, rolled swiftly by him +and in front of him, jangling their bells. The buzz and whirl of the +city was around him. He was drawing near to its great, throbbing heart.</p> + +<p>Splendid shop windows threw a flood of light upon the pavement, making +it like day. The shouts of the newsboys and street venders, the jangling +of the car-bells, the rushing cabs and carriages, the hurrying crowds, +the brilliant lights, the liquor in his brain, all whirled together and +sent the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> blood racing through his arteries, tingling to the surface now +and again in burning waves of misery and shame.</p> + +<p>People paused for a moment to look at the strange figure, and hurried +on. Everybody was hurrying—hurrying somewhere. He, too, was hurrying, +as one pursued by furies; but where?</p> + +<p>Suddenly, in front of an illuminated window, he paused; why, he did not +know. There was nothing there to attract him. It was a place where they +sold shoes. Numberless shoes were arranged for display, and in the midst +of them a little white lamp-globe revolving by clock-work with two words +painted on it in black letters:</p> + +<h4>GENTLEMEN'S SHOES.</h4> + +<p>He read the words over and over as the little globe came round,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> and +round, and round. "Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's +shoes." The thing fascinated him. It was such a funny little globe. It +reminded him of a merry-go-round he had once ridden on as a child. He +wondered how many times a day it spelled out the words, and if it kept +on going, there in the dark, after the place was closed. Then he hurried +on, but the little white globe and its black, flying letters were still +before him. They had impressed their image upon his brain. More than +once he repeated the words aloud. They seemed to have blended themselves +into his whirling senses and become a monotonous undertone.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes."</p> + +<p>Here and there he stopped at a saloon and drank. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> drank deeply and +the liquor was strong.</p> + +<p>The lights were beginning to grow fewer. He had turned in his walk, and +was leaving the whirl and glare behind him. He did not know what +direction he had taken. He only knew that he was going, going, going, in +a mad effort to get away from himself.</p> + +<p>The people that passed him he did not see. He saw only the white face of +Eva Delorme, and that piteous look in the eyes of the other, that had, +in one instant, revived within him, and with ten-fold vigor, all the +strange, torturing suspicions he had once felt regarding these two +mysterious lives. The faces that turned to look at him, he did not +notice; he saw only these two, and mingled with them, and whirling +round, and round, and round, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> little white globe with its black +letters, "Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes."</p> + +<p>After a long time he noticed that he was passing a small suburban +railway station. There was a bustle of preparation as though a train was +expected to arrive. He crossed the shining steel tracks and entered. A +number of people were inside, chattering, laughing and waiting. Waiting +to go somewhere. Everybody was going somewhere—everybody but him. +Suddenly a group in one corner attracted him as had the lighted window +and the revolving globe.</p> + +<p>A hatchet-faced woman, wearing a faded straw hat of antique pattern, a +cloak to match, and a soiled and largely plaided dress, was vainly +endeavoring to still the cries of a miserable babe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> swaddled in an +assortment of dirty garments.</p> + +<p>Two children, of ages evidently beginning at prompt and regular +intervals from the one in her arms, extended from her at right-angles on +the bench, their legs straddled about with a childish disregard of +modesty. They were asleep—at least one of them was, and the other was +equally silent.</p> + +<p>By and by, the woman arose and walked the floor with the babe. At this, +the child who was not asleep arose also and stared at its mother with +wide, round eyes. Then, as she approached it and turned in her march, it +began to follow her, keeping close behind and in step.</p> + +<p>The other slept on unconsciously. The lamps flared and flickered; the +babe, partially soothed, sobbed and moaned, and the squalid pair marched +on.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> + +<p>Begotten in bliss—brought forth in suffering—retired in privation.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there is a prolonged, shrill shriek in the night, a trampling +of many feet, a shouting of discordant voices, and the midnight train is +snorting at the platform.</p> + +<p>Hastily the mother gathers up the sleeping child, and bidding the other +cling close to her skirts, hurries out into the night, past the +fiery-eyed Polyphemus, on toward the coaches behind.</p> + +<p>The people that are going somewhere jostle against her in their haste to +get into the coaches and secure seats. Mechanically the artist follows. +Everybody is going somewhere; he will go, too.</p> + +<p>The monster ahead begins to puff and grunt, and the bell that is +fastened to its back, to ring wildly.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> + +<p>The men who are loading baggage shout and swear and hurl coarse jokes at +each other, and the midnight train begins to move. The bell still clangs +frantically, the demon puffs and grunts faster and faster, and the light +from its one fearful eye penetrates farther and farther into the +darkness ahead.</p> + +<p>Faster, and faster, and faster—the sound of the wheels falling into a +regular measure, until it has become a weird, rhythmical monotone.</p> + +<p>"Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes."</p> + +<p>Then there is a momentary flare of light, a final, blood-curdling +scream, and the one-eyed demon—the faded and soiled woman—the sobbing +baby—the sleeping child—the marching child with the big, round +eyes—the people who are going somewhere,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> and the artist who is going +nowhere, are on their way.</p> + +<p>He has taken a seat facing the faded woman, and is unconsciously +studying her face. She is still hushing the babe to rest. On one side +the sleeper is huddled up against her. On the other, next to the window +and resting upon its knees, the child with the big, round eyes stares +out into the darkness.</p> + +<p>The coach is warm. The heat and the strong liquor are beginning to tell +on him. The face before him begins to mingle with all sorts of +impossible fancies. The roar of the flying train is in his ears, but it +seems the roar of some mighty sea that is about to overwhelm him. The +conductor, coming through, shakes his arm to rouse him.</p> + +<p>"Tickets!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes!"—he forgot. He<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> thrusts a bill into the conductor's hand. +"Keep the change, I will ride it out."</p> + +<p>The drowsiness is again stealing upon him. He still sees the wretched +face before him and is studying it; but always between them are those +other faces—the face of Eva Delorme and of Evelin March—and the +piteous, frightened look that rests now upon one, now upon the +other,—and now the two are melting—melting into one, like the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>blending outlines of a dissolving view—and both fade out into the +little white globe with its whirling black words, that the hum of the +train flying through the night keeps repeating over, and over, and +over,—"Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes—Gentlemen's shoes."</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VII.</h2> + +<p>The sky was beginning to get gray with morning when the night express, +more than a hundred and fifty miles from its starting point, rushed into +a little station and halted a moment for water, panting and fretting to +be on its way. A figure stepped from it to the platform, staggering a +little as from the motion of the train. It was a young man. His eyes +were bloodshot, his face stained with the grime of travel. His soft felt +hat and his short, velvet coat were covered with cinders and dust. One +would hardly have recognized the artist, Julian Goetze.</p> + +<p>The station agent stood a few<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> feet away with a lantern. He looked up +somewhat astonished as this odd figure approached him. "Some drunken +showman," he thought.</p> + +<p>The man came closer, as if to speak to him.</p> + +<p>"How far back to Saint Louis?" he asked, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"One hundred and fifty-three miles."</p> + +<p>"When can I get a train?"</p> + +<p>"At eleven-thirty, if it's on time."</p> + +<p>"Is it usually on time?"</p> + +<p>"Hardly ever; four hours late yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Good God! Is there no other train?"</p> + +<p>"There's a cattle train lying up there on the switch now. Pulls out soon +as this one leaves."</p> + +<p>"And what time will that reach Saint Louis?"</p> + +<p>"No telling, depends upon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> what luck it has; possibly by four or five +o'clock."</p> + +<p>The artist did not wait to hear more. Anything was better than remaining +here on an uncertainty. He sped away up the track to where lay the long +line of waiting cars.</p> + +<p>He had been awakened by the stopping of the train, and a realization of +affairs had flashed over him like lightning. He was far away from Saint +Louis, and at six o'clock that night he had an appointment with Eva +Delorme.</p> + +<p>The effects of his self-abasement and the strong liquor had worn away. +The fever and the delirium of last night were as a bad dream. He would +hasten back to Eva. He had sinned—fallen almost to the lowest +depth—but it was over now. He would see Evelin March no more. If Eva +accepted him they would go away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> at once. Oh, if kind Providence would +but help him to reach the appointment in time!</p> + +<p>The conductor whom he asked, noting his anxiety, assured him that it was +quite probable they would reach the city by five o'clock.</p> + +<p>It was growing light rather slowly. The sky was overcast with clouds, +and the air had the feeling of a storm. It seemed to Julian that the +train crept along like a farm wagon. For a long time he looked out at +the gray monotonous landscape, then he lay down on the cushioned benches +of the caboose and tried to sleep. Now and then he would doze a little, +but his mind was too full of anxiety and impatience to obtain rest. +Terrifying dreams forced themselves upon him, and he awoke often, sick +and frightened.</p> + +<p>And so through that dreary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> autumn day the heavy train rumbled along +across the wide stretch of country that divided him from that which fate +was at that moment busily preparing—an experience as strange, as weird, +as terribly fantastic as was ever accorded to human being before.</p> + +<p>The little Swiss cottage of Julian Goetze was very silent that day. All +through the forenoon no one entered, although the street door was +unlocked and the studio door was open. As the afternoon wore away, the +clouds and smoke that hung heavily over the city seemed to settle lower +and lower, until within the narrow hall-way it was almost dark.</p> + +<p>Just after the clock on the mantel of the inner room had chimed three, a +cloaked figure passed through the hall and entered the studio. It was +Evelin March. Her eye fell upon the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> portrait of Eva Delorme still +resting upon the easel, and she glanced about hastily for the artist. He +was not there. For some reason she did not remove her wrap, but stood +still, listening. A wagon rattled by outside, but within all was silent.</p> + +<p>"Paul!" she called, softly.</p> + +<p>There was no reply.</p> + +<p>"He has stepped out for a moment," she thought; "he will be back +presently."</p> + +<p>She approached the face on the easel, cautiously, as though it were +alive.</p> + +<p>"I wonder who she is," she muttered; "I have seen her somewhere +before—or I have dreamed it. He said it was his masterpiece. I hate +her!"</p> + +<p>She seated herself before the picture, studying it silently. Little by +little a fear invaded her bosom—a strange fear, such as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> she had never +known before. A fear of this portrait, of the lonely room, of the +weapons upon the wall. It seemed to her that something horrible was +about to happen.</p> + +<p>She started up and began to pace up and down the room to drive away this +feeling. Why did the artist not come? She parted back the draperies and +looked into the room beyond. He could not have gone far; his coat was +hanging upon the rack, and his velvet studio jacket was gone. Entering, +she approached the coat and put her hand against it in a sort of caress.</p> + +<p>How she loved him! She seemed to have forgotten or forgiven the offered +insult of yesterday. Turning back the garment she touched her lips to +the silk lining where it had covered his heart. As she did so she<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +noticed the tinted edge of a narrow envelope in the inner pocket. In an +instant she was seized with a passion of curiosity. All her jealousy and +suspicions of the sweet-faced girl in gray came rushing back. She +listened at the curtained arch for a moment, but there was no sound of +approaching footsteps; then, her eyes flashing, and her cheeks flaming +guiltily, she snatched the delicate missive from its concealment, and +with trembling hands tore it from its covering. In another instant her +suspicions were verified. The woman reading seemed suddenly to have +become deranged.</p> + +<p>"Coward!—liar!—cur!" she screamed.</p> + +<p>She tore the letter in halves, crumpled it in her hands, and flung it +upon the floor. Then suddenly becoming calm she gathered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> up the pieces +hastily and concealed them in her bosom. A look of peculiar cunning had +come into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"So he is going to meet her," she muttered, savagely; "but they will not +meet alone. I, too, will go to No. 74 West L—— Street, east side." +Then she hesitated. "Perhaps I would not be admitted," she thought.</p> + +<p>Plans for overcoming this obstacle flashed through her brain like +lightning. She seized upon what appeared to her the most feasible.</p> + +<p>"If I will counterfeit her," she said, feverishly; "I will disguise +myself."</p> + +<p>She hurried back into the studio and stood for a moment before the +easel. Yes, yes; she could do it. Her figure was much the same, dress +gray and plain, hair low upon the forehead—a veil would make it +complete.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Oh," she muttered, "how I hate your baby face! Look! I will kill you, +you fool—you fool!"</p> + +<p>Again that sickening, fascinating terror of this unknown woman came upon +her. Hastily turning from the portrait she listened a second for the +artist's step. As she did so her eye caught the weapons on the wall. +Without a moment's hesitation she plucked the jewel-hilted stiletto from +its place, and concealing it beneath her cloak hurried from the house.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An hour later the artist burst into the studio. His bloodshot eyes, and +face blackened with travel, made him almost unrecognizable. Hurrying +through to his room beyond he glanced eagerly at the clock. It was on +the stroke of five.</p> + +<p>"Just time to make myself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> presentable and reach the place by six," he +thought.</p> + +<p>Then, turning, he surveyed himself in a mirror.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens, what a spectacle I am! People must have thought I was a +maniac—and they were not far from wrong—but I am all right now. I am +going to Eva and confess my villainy, and ask her forgiveness. I will +swear my faith to her. She will forgive me—she must forgive me. And as +for Evelin, all is over with her after what passed last night. Last +night! was it only last night? It seemed an age."</p> + +<p>He made a quick motion as if to drive away an unpleasant memory, then +throwing off his outer garments he opened the door of a little +dressing-room.</p> + +<p>"I will bathe, and confess, and be born again," he said, with a little +laugh.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> + +<p>Twenty minutes afterward he emerged a new man in reality—as far as +outward appearances were concerned. Cleanly shaven and scrupulously +attired, no one would have recognized in him the dusty, wild-looking +figure of an hour before. He glanced at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Yes—I have plenty of time," he thought. "No. 74 West L——Street, east +side; I will look at her letter again to make sure. Bless her sweet +face! I can hardly wait until I see it again. If she only is not ill, +but—good God, it is gone!"</p> + +<p>He had looked in the breast pocket of his street coat, that still hung +on the rack; it was empty. He stood holding the coat, with a puzzled +expression on his face, trying to think.</p> + +<p>"I know I put it in that pocket—I recollect it distinctly," he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> said, +aloud; "perhaps it fell out when I took off my coat."</p> + +<p>He looked hastily about the floor, then hurried out into the studio, +searching rapidly and carefully. His face grew more and more troubled. +Could anyone have come in during his absence and picked it up? Perhaps +Harry had been here; if so, it was safe. As he stood there reflecting, +trying to solve the mystery, he was looking directly at the weapons upon +the wall. All at once he noticed that there was something different +about their arrangement. Something was missing. It was the dagger! Then +it all came to him. "Evelin!" he shouted. "Good God!"</p> + +<p>He had wasted valuable time searching for the letter. He could hardly +reach the place of appointment by six unless he could catch some kind of +a vehicle.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> + +<p>"My God—my God! she will kill her—she will kill her! and all through +my treachery."</p> + +<p>He had fled from the house and was now speeding wildly westward. No cab +was in sight and he could not wait to find one.</p> + +<p>"She will kill her—she will kill her!" he groaned, over and over. "Oh, +my God—my God!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>VIII.</h2> + +<p>At a quarter before six, a woman ascended the marble steps of the old +mansion at No. 74 West L—— Street, east side. She wore a plain dress +of silver-gray material, a rich Persian shawl, a neat walking hat, her +face thickly veiled. Reaching the door, she laid her gloved hand on the +knob, then hesitated, as if undecided whether to enter at once or ring.</p> + +<p>The heavy clouds hung oppressively low, and it was already dusk. A few +flakes of snow were falling, but it was not cold.</p> + +<p>All at once the woman removed her hand from the door, slipped off her +shawl and threw it across her arm. As she did so some<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> thing glittered +bright, which she hastily concealed beneath the shawl. As she stood now +she was the exact counterpart of Eva Delorme. Then without further +hesitation she laid hold of and turned the heavy knob of the massive +black door. It yielded noiselessly, and she entered, closing it as +noiselessly behind her.</p> + +<p>Within all was dark. A faint ray of light crept in through the transom, +penetrating a few feet into the blackness. She stood almost against the +door, listening and hardly breathing. All was silent. She had expected +the other to be there before her, waiting for his coming. She put out +her hand and felt about her. She touched a chair at her left and softly +laid her shawl upon it, keeping firm hold upon the keen weapon she had +carried beneath it. She listened again; still no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> sound. She was growing +impatient. She took a few steps forward, keeping one hand extended in +front of her to avoid collision. Then she turned and retraced her steps.</p> + +<p>She had been very cool, thus far, but she was losing control of herself. +Why did she not come? She had said in her letter that she was +ill—pshaw! it was but a trick to arouse his sympathy. She must +come—<i>she must come</i>!</p> + +<p>She paced back and forth in the small space which she had explored and +found free from obstruction. Three steps forward and turn—three steps +back and turn; pausing each time to hold her breath and listen, while +the fingers of her left hand involuntarily crept down and pressed +against the keen point of the dagger until it pierced through her glove +and entered the tender flesh.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> + +<p>Suddenly a white ray of light shot through the transom above her, +falling at an angle against a projection in the wall at her left, and +dimly illuminating the entire place. It was six o'clock, and the large +arc light just outside was turned on. Then, as she reached the door and +whirled quickly in her march, she saw her for whom she waited standing +at the extreme farther end of the long hall. Between them was what +appeared to be a narrow and ornamented archway.</p> + +<p>She could dimly distinguish the figure clad in gray. The face, like her +own, was veiled. She noticed with quick satisfaction that her disguise +was perfect—the counterpart was exact even to the smallest detail.</p> + +<p>Without hesitation, and concealing the dagger in the folds of her dress, +she advanced quickly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> and silently toward her rival, who, somewhat to +her surprise, instead of fleeing or crying out, also advanced. She was +going to try strength with her.</p> + +<p>"I will kill her with a blow," she muttered.</p> + +<p>They were now within a few feet of each other—the ornamented arch +exactly between them. Suddenly Evelin March snatched the dagger from its +concealment and raised it aloft to strike. As she did so her rival made +precisely the same movement, and something glittered in her hand also. +Both took a quick, forward step, and each, at the same instant, struck +fiercely with a swinging, downward blow.</p> + +<p>A hissing metallic report, a low moan and the sound of a falling +body—then silence.</p> + +<p>A moment later the hall door burst open for a second time, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> in the +flood of electric light that poured in, Julian Paul Goetze saw a gray, +veiled figure, stretched upon the floor, the gloved hand clasping a +jeweled hilt, the blade of which was buried in her bosom. A stream of +crimson was discoloring the fabric of her dress, and spreading in a dark +pool on the rich carpet.</p> + +<p>Rushing forward he caught up the prostrate form and tore away the veil.</p> + +<p>Then, as if by magic, a revelation swept over him in one mighty wave of +horror. <i>The strange, piteous look he had once seen on the face of +Evelin March was again before him, and while he gazed he saw it +melting—melting, almost insensibly, like the blending outlines of a +dissolving view—into the saintly loveliness of Eva Delorme.</i></p> + +<p>The mists of doubt, the shadows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> of suspicion, and the fever of +curiosity that had troubled him during those feverish months, were +suddenly swept away. Eva Delorme—Evelin March—one and the same. One +body, one soul, one heart; by some strange freak of nature—some wild +mental vagary or devilish witchery of which he could not know—made two +in life, but only one in death.</p> + +<p>Above her was a heavy French-plate mirror, in an ornamented frame, +cracked entirely across. From its polished surface the self-aimed, +glancing dagger had found its way to the one troubled heart of those two +strange lives, and brought to it silence and restfulness forever.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mystery of Evelin Delorme, by +Albert Bigelow Paine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF EVELIN DELORME *** + +***** This file should be named 33814-h.htm or 33814-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/8/1/33814/ + +Produced by Annie McGuire. 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