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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..13e6e43 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65318 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65318) diff --git a/old/65318-0.txt b/old/65318-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5b336bc..0000000 --- a/old/65318-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4196 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Modern Hercules, by Melvin G. Winstock - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: A Modern Hercules - The Tale of a Sculptress - -Author: Melvin G. Winstock - -Release Date: May 11, 2021 [eBook #65318] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN HERCULES *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -“A MODERN HERCULES,” - -THE TALE OF A SCULPTRESS, - -BY - -MELVIN G. WINSTOCK, - -OF THE - -LEADVILLE BAR. - -AUTHOR OF - -“A Western Politician,” “The Fatal Horoscope,” “A Virginian Romance,” -Etc. - - -Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1899, by Melvin G. -Winstock, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. -C. - - -Herald Democrat Print. Leadville, Colo. - -1899. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -HOTEL VENDOME, } -LEADVILLE, COLO., OCTOBER 31, 1899.} - -TO THE PUBLIC: - -This City, surrounded by snow-clad peaks pointing to and almost losing -themselves in the bosom of the Supreme Intelligence, has inspired -my effort. The volume is dedicated to “Ouida,” radiant also with -inspiration. She lives. The novel is written from my play of the same -title. - -The clergy at first may condemn the _morale_ of my story, but upon -reflection I think they will realize the injustice of such a course. -There is no religion that does not preach that though men sin, true -redemption may be accomplished by honest repentance and noble effort. -My hero and heroine go through the valley of the Shadow of Death to -cleanse themselves of impurity, and the story of their lives is a -living, breathing sermon in itself. - -I have published my story here for the reason that the generosity of -Leadville citizens has made it possible for me to place my work before -the public. I trust it will meet with such success as it merits and no -more. - -MELVIN G. WINSTOCK. - - - - -“A MODERN HERCULES.” - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -“THE NUDE IN ART.” - - -Two things caused the great heart of New York society to throb with -unusual excitement. One was a marvelous work of sculptural art, where -boldness in design and utter fearlessness in execution had almost -affronted, and yet had won the plaudits of the cultivated of the -Metropolis. Ouida Angelo, a woman in “A Grecian Temptress,” had dared -to wring from men an absolute tribute to and acknowledgement of her -genius and power. The second event was the announcement that Horatio -Nugent, the great pulpit orator, would preach a sermon on “The Nude in -Art.” - -The wealth and fashion of the city sat spell-bound beneath the -eloquent tongue of the great divine. The sad face of the Madonna, in -the painted window of Geneva, grew sadder still as she looked down -upon the favored multitude. There were present there, men who headed -every published list of charity, who paid thousands for pew rental, -in this great official residence of God, yet who had no compunction -about wrecking a railroad and thereby indirectly spreading ruin among -hundreds. In the front row sat a bank president, who knew that on -the morrow his financial institution would be in irretrievable ruin, -yet who for months had been a pillar of the church and had some of -the congregational funds in his rapacious clutch. A poor wash woman -or window cleaner, probably attracted by the magnetic tones of the -stupendous organ, had dared to wander in. In simple ignorance she -had probably imagined that Christ’s boasted friendship for the poor -meant something to modern dogmatists, and had taken a seat high up -among these mighty lordlings of this majestic world. The congregation -held its breath in amazement, and could not have been more shocked if -the yellow fever in disguise had paid its fatal visit. This magnetic -indignation communicated itself to an usher in full dress. He came -forward and whispered something to the woman. She slowly rose and went -up into the gallery. _God had sold out all the down-stair seats to -the rich!_ The Madonna sighed in pity and was angry. The congregation -breathed a sigh of relief. The church itself cost half a million. It -had no reading room, free bath, employment bureau or lunch counter -attached to it. It was open for about nine months each year on Sundays, -and when a millionaire wanted to get married, or his heirs wanted to -bury him, so they could get up a sensational will contest and make -newspapers sell. Not far away from the church was a series of alleys, -where poverty held supreme sway, and where the grim specter of want, -filth and misery, stalked, dealing death, crime and agony, winning each -moment recruits for the devil’s army in hell. - -I’ll not allow that rich woman over there to plead not guilty, upon -the ground of ignorance of these conditions. She knows all about it, -and yet to get those latest diamonds that sparkle on her breast, she -made her husband sell the farm, whereon his honest old rustic parents -were buried. Over there sits a woman, who is unfaithful in heart to her -marriage vows, and who yet lacks the courage to follow the bent of her -intense longing, for fear of what her small world would say. In all of -this artificial brilliance, there are masks and faces as false as many -of the hearts which rich attire conceals. - -Notwithstanding all this, there was every inducement for real -inspiration. The architectural beauty of the interior of the church was -artistic to the nature, and soft and alluring to the eye. The place -was decorated with beautiful pots, plants and flowers. Through the -stained windows a mellow light gilded rich carpets and soft cushions. -The trained choir sang divinely while the organist thundered forth not -only the wrath of the Deity, but promised mercy, like the whisper of an -angel, through the organ’s pipes. As the notes of the grand instrument -died away in the distance, softly, like a summer sigh, a man of noble -face and figure stood in the pulpit. - -It was the preacher! - -He was young. His eyes were boldly black and brilliant. They sparkled -like pure diamonds with feeling, comprehension and intelligence. His -head had the shape of a Roman God. His shoulders were square. He looked -the very physical and intellectual giant that he was. His voice was -flavored with magnetism that always distinguishes the eloquent orator -from the mere word absorber. He ran his long, shapely fingers through -his dark hair, shook his head like a lion, and plunged like a blooded -courser into the very meat and marrow of his subject. - -“Christ was insulted on Sunday last. This church was empty at service -time, and all had forsaken Him to pay tribute to a woman’s vindictively -immoral work. You who have built this religious palace to the glory of -a mighty and eternal God, betrayed Him for the devil. For hark me, -I tell you, that he who so prostitutes true art, be it man or woman, -pandering to the depraved tastes of modern society, is but an agent of -the King of Hell! - -“‘A Grecian Temptress’ was, or is, its theme. A woman of form almost -divine, enticing a youth of purity to voluptuous sin, while in the -veiled background stands a Satan, holding sway over the temptress, -while she is but serving her Master in alluring souls to the regions of -perpetual darkness. - -“All true art leads to God. The tree, the earth, the sparrow, the -eagle, the wheat, the stars, the beasts, man, are parts of a great and -mighty network of machinery. All false art leads to God’s enemy, and -sin, selfishness, voluptuousness, temptation and passion, carry with -them and in them the seed of their own punishment. How dare these bold -and brazen creatures, under the name of art, lay before the multitude -chapters from their own devilish and inconsistent lives? _Yet the sin -is not theirs alone._ You who hear me are equally guilty, because you -encourage them by your countenance and patronage to continue in their -base course of debauching the public taste. We seek in vain for purity -and find it swiftly fleeing, while in its place there is rising up a -craving for sensationalism which is even reaching the pulpit itself! - -“Why should we follow ancient Greece? As long as the Athenian was -stalwart, patriotic, full of rugged simplicity, the influence of Greece -was all powerful in shaping the thought of the world and in moulding -its history. But when its brave warriors, orators and poets sank -into luxurious excesses, succumbing to vice, vying with each other -in the mere promotion of enjoyment, its influence waned, its people -degenerated, until today it is a memory only serving to teach the -world, that its people as a nation were unfit to survive. And when -Grecian methods permeated Rome and Judea, these nations, too, became -practically blotted out. Shall we permit American valor, patriotism -and healthful vigor to have engrafted upon it these ideas so fatal to -Greece, Rome and Judea? Shall we permit, by such an education of public -morals, a gradual loss of respect of all those pure ideals taught by -Him, who preached the sermon on the mount?” He paused here, but no one -stirred. - -“But this is not all. These Bohemian rebels, who create and produce and -publish these things do worse than this. They make their own universe, -enact their own laws, defy mankind, and yet society grovels at their -feet and elevates all such so-called gifted creatures to a pedestal -high above the church itself! They are worshiped, and Christ, who made -for man the most agonizingly sublime sacrifice of which the mind can -conceive, is insulted, neglected and made a common mockery! - -“This woman Ouida Angelo, who gave to the world ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ -who is she? A luring siren whose devotion to all that is voluptuous and -sensual, reveals in her work only that which characterizes her ignoble -life. She should be driven forth from achievements, that alike disgrace -herself, art and humanity. Instead of worshiping her with idolatrous -affection, we should freeze her with a monstrous condemnation.” - -Again he ceased and staggered almost out of the pulpit as though filled -to the quick with some strange emotion. - -A rustling gown with a queenly woman under it arose from a cushioned -pew and majestically stepped down the aisle to the door. - -She was Ouida Angelo, the sculptress! - -Just then a startling crash was heard, and the pane of glass, upon -which had been exquisitely done the face of the Madonna, fell and broke -into countless pieces. - -The sermon on “The Nude in Art” had done its work, and Monday’s papers -were full of it. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -FROM POVERTY TO WEALTH. - - -Ivan Strogoff was a Russian nobleman at the University of St. -Petersburg. Together with many of his noble colleagues, he imbibed -radical theories concerning freedom and the abuses practiced by the -imperial government. Added to this, he married a pretty but poor -Polish girl, who died in giving birth to a son, Paul. Ivan one day was -arrested, secretly tried and condemned to Siberia. He, however, bought -his freedom from corrupt public officials, and fled to New York with -his son. Then he began a battle with the world in which starvation and -misery constantly held the upper hand. Nothing succeeded with him. He -could gain no foothold. His nature, naturally honest and bright, became -soured, until at times he actually hated even his son, Paul. The latter -was a noble specimen of physical humanity, and apparently seemed to -thrive on the hardships which both father and son seemed compelled by -cruel fate to endure. This continued until Paul was about 10 years -old. Then it was that Ivan brought home one night a long envelope, -and while Paul slept in their garret in the slums, Ivan, his father, -sat long into the night, until the candle burned out in the socket, -reading documents with long, gold seals on them. It was a promise from -an influential Russian official, toward a restoration of Strogoff’s -estates, if the exile should return and swear anew his allegiance to -the Czar. Now Strogoff’s vain struggles in the new world had sobered -him. Many of the wild dreams of youth had disappeared, and he was ready -and quite prepared to accept good fortune again, even if it meant a -sacrifice of those poetic dreams that had caused the misfortunes of his -earlier days. - -He had but enough money left to barely get back to St. Petersburg -alone, and the great question was: What could be done with Paul? He -finally saw the keeper of the lodging, and received every assurance -that Paul would be cared for until his father could send for him. -So Ivan kissed the sleeping boy, and ere the sun had started on his -course, was on the broad Atlantic, his brain busy with teeming projects -for the newer and noble future that seemed to spread out before him. - -Politics in Russia, however, are even worse and more complicated than -in New York under Tammany. By the time Ivan reached the seat of Russia -government, his friend had lost imperial favor. The plots against the -life of the Czar had rendered a restoration to wealth and power of -great difficulty, and almost an impossibility. Then began a struggle -which slowly but surely sapped the vital energy of the returned exile. -Each day brought forth fresh complications. Three times during a period -of ten years the poor devil was compelled to fly to save himself from -the enforcement of the old sentence, that like the sword of Damocles, -hung over him. But with a perseverance worthy of all admiration, he -persisted, and something he could not define, would not let him die. -To add to his misery, Paul had apparently been swallowed up, and never -again while life remained, did the doubly unfortunate man ever hear of -the boy he had abandoned to the cold charity of the New York lodging -house keeper. - -At length the great day came! Ivan Strogoff was ushered into the -presence of the Czar, kissed the imperial hand, and once again trod his -ancestral halls. But the struggle was too hard. All vitality had been -sapped up in the battle, and the exile died before he had had time to -enjoy his return to prosperity. - -Upon his bed of death he gathered to himself that trusty friend who -had been faithful, and conjured him to search out Paul and in some way -compensate him for the terrible injustice inflicted upon the abandoned -boy. “Seek him out in poverty or shame, and win from his lips my -forgiveness, or I shall not rest in Heaven or in Hell.” Consoled by the -sacred promise of his friend so died he, and nature was gracious to vex -his tired soul no more, for truly had the man endured an undue share -of the mortal grief. But so is the world, and no man can measure the -amount of agony he can live through. He who fears death is a criminal -and a coward. A man should so live his life that death is the most -welcome gift of nature. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -PAUL BECOMES A THIEF. - - -The next morning after Paul’s father had gone, the lad arose, dressed -himself and waited for breakfast, of course in vain. - -“Come, boy,” said the lodging house keeper, “eat with me.” - -“Where is my father?” said Paul. - -“Gone.” - -“Gone where?” - -“Far away, boy; even over the ocean. He will send for you.” - -Paul said nothing. He did not even shed a tear, as many a lad would -have done. There was the blood of the Cossack in his rugged nature. -Even at his small age he did not and would not wear his heart upon his -ragged coat sleeve. But he was full of bitter thought. He became a -miniature stoic. He munched his humble breakfast in silence. - -At first he was treated with a fair degree of kindness by his rough, -rude and miserly guardian, but when days, weeks and months came and -with them no remittance from the struggling father in Russia, the -guardian of the lad became sour, morose, vindictive and cruel. One day -he beat the boy, and became greatly enraged because he could not make -Paul cry or show by word or sign that the beating gave him pain. Paul -stood the abuse like a dog, but he grew. One day, feeling within his -loins the strength of a lusty young giant, he arose and whipped his -persecutor like David did Goliath, and fled out into the fathomless -streets of New York. - -That night he avoided the police and slept in a dry goods box in an -alley. He awoke cold and shivering. His stomach ached with hunger. -Health, youth and vigor conferred on him a monstrous desire to eat. As -he sat in his alley he heard the growl of a dog. Looking up, he saw a -plate full of meat scraps. The dog growled with satisfaction at his -contemplated feast. Now, it seemed a strange and unjust thing to Paul -that a dog should enjoy plenty, while he, a human being, had nothing. -So with the instinct of the barbarian, he proceeded to dispute the -dog’s right to the whole of the tempting banquet. So the boy and the -dog fought desperately for the food. The boy won. But even then Paul -was too honest to appropriate it all. He fairly and justly divided with -his late foe. So if Paul was a thief, he differed from the common kind. -The banker and stockbroker steal on a large scale, for the excitement -afforded in legalized robbery. The boy stole from necessity. He and -the dog in silent sympathy became friends, and went out in the world -together. - -That night they slept in a boat, and in the morning were out at sea, -their craft having been attached to a schooner. They were discovered -and taken on board, where Paul was put to work. He, however, got back -to New York. He never parted with the dog. They had a great time in -starving together. Paul held horses, blacked boots, sold newspapers, -carried satchels, and, in spite of all hardships, privations and -miseries, grew up tall, muscular and of wondrous physical beauty. He -never was a thief but once, and had spent some years of devotion in -paying his victim for the theft. - -One day Paul was passing a great brown stone palace. A man was carrying -in huge blocks of marble. He called on the boy to help him. Paul -readily assented. - -In one of the rooms stood a majestic woman. When Paul’s eyes fell upon -the vision he dropped his burden, and as it crashed upon the floor he -stood like one transfixed. To his starving, neglected, hungry soul it -seemed as though some goddess had dropped to the earth from the stars, -and the woman looked at him with uncommon interest. - -In a voice that thrilled him with unknown, undefinable, undreamed-of -longings, she said, “I want you.” - -“Yes,” he said, as in a dream. - -Thenceforth Paul Strogoff entered the household of Ouida Angelo, the -sculptress, as a model. For the first time in his life, he felt that he -was human. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE GREAT SENSATION. - - -Monday’s papers were full of Dr. Nugent’s sermon, and its sensational -termination. Tongues wagged fierce concerning the artistic creation, -its creator, and the fearless, the eloquent divine. - - -[_New York Herald._] - -“The sensation of the season has arisen out of ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ -by Ouida Angelo. Only crude, narrow and dogmatic opinion condemns. -The liberal and artistic world welcomes the work and its producer, -and New York is to be congratulated upon the priceless possession of -a genius who has obliterated sex in the grandness of her conceptions, -in the boldness of her execution and in her wondrous grasp of poetic -imagination. Dr. Nugent has made a fearful mistake, and his attack -upon the work and the woman in his pulpit yesterday, was the pursuit -of a course altogether at variance with his usual conservatism. He -has, if possible, defeated his very object by the bitterness of his -denunciation. For it is a known fact that New York breaks its neck to -see anything which is even nastily described, and ‘A Grecian Temptress’ -will now be viewed by thousands who, but for the preacher’s invective, -would never have known of its existence. The learned doctor of divinity -in future would do well to confine himself to biblical subjects, and -leave artistic discussion to those who can appreciate.” - - -[_New York Post._] - -“New York has the greatest things of any city in the world, and we -have added to our proud possession in the shape of Dr. Nugent, whose -courage has won the admiration of all classes of the community. Some -years ago an adventurous and audacious creature established a studio in -this city, and has since palmed off upon certain hysterical newspaper -men and old maids sighing for excitement, some vulgar carvings, and by -pandering to depravity and licentiousness, has contrived to secure a -certain idolatrous following. Dr. Nugent, in the face of her admiring -adherents, many of whom are members of his own congregation, has had -the courage to read New York a much-needed lesson. In an age when so -many preachers speak to please their rich constituencies, it is indeed -refreshing to find one man who preaches his convictions, regardless of -consequences. ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ by Ouida Angelo, is a dangerous -work of art, because of its very seductive quality. To the youth of -our land it is suggestive of pernicious evil. The Society for the -Prevention of Vice would do well to spend less time in hindering the -Turkish dance, and more effort in the prevention of the prostitution of -pure marble to such ignoble ends. The _Post_ appreciates Dr. Nugent’s -honest efforts in the cause of public decency. We have recently been -cleansing the political atmosphere. Let us second every honest effort -to purify public morals.” - - -[_Puck._] - -“A great clown has appeared in the pulpit arena, and he shows every -Sunday at a great and fashionable church. True, the audience does -not laugh aloud. They do it in their sleeves; nor do any swallow the -medicines prescribed by this theological quack. The listening folk wait -till they get out. They then sneak around the corner and devour the -forbidden fruit. Churches are fast adopting the methods of the circus, -and we may soon look for the deacons to hire space on bill boards, and -there, in all the colors of the rainbow, we will see pictures of hell, -heaven and many other strong features of the regulation religious bill -of fare. Suppose Ouida Angelo wants to carve a pretty woman’s leg. -Don’t we know that such things exist, even though sometimes the shape -is not real? Shame upon you, Dr. Nugent! Have you not a large enough -task to look after the morals of your own flock, that you must forsooth -hold up to public ridicule, the greatest genius which New York has -seen for a century?” - - -[_New York Journal._] - -“Ouida Angelo should now die happy. She has been outrageously -criticised by the scribblers of a subsidized press until they have -absolutely won for her a niche in the temple of fame, and now, to -cap the climax, she has at length antagonized the church. A noted -preacher has set all tongues wagging, and blood-tingling murders, -shipwrecks, are forgotten in a universal discussion over a piece of -marble statuary. The learned doctor says the artist is sensational, and -yet he proceeds to undignify the church by bettering her instruction. -He says she is vulgar, yet he vulgarizes a noble theme by becoming -offensively personal. No one can quarrel with his right to say what he -pleases about a work which has become public property. But he has no -more right to discuss what he pleases to term her private life, than he -has to attack the character of the richest member of his congregation. -Who authorizes him to set himself up as a judge and executioner of -the character of his fellows? Among people of all classes there is a -growing disrespect for the mere ecclesiastic, and such sermons are -aiding to bring the church into public contempt. This is gravely to -be regretted, especially in this instance, as Dr. Nugent was rapidly -forging to the front as a liberal and intelligent public speaker, and -this ill-considered effort will undoubtedly tend to lessen his great -influence as a public speaker.” - -The preacher sat alone in his study, a prey to many conflicting -emotions. He had read all the journalistic comments on his sermon, -and was filled with mighty discontent. For months he had known the -woman he condemned, and in his inner being there had been aroused for -her, a strange interest. To him, she had unfolded many of her artistic -dreams, but he did not comprehend, for he had been nurtured in a narrow -school, and had embraced in his smooth and successful career, but few -of fierce experiences. Nor was he completely assured of the sincerity -of his motive. A dim, shadowy belief was slowly forcing its way through -his consciousness that he had spoken for other purposes than the mere -desire to uplift and purify public taste. He had learned to realize, -inconsistent as it may seem, that the woman was really noble of heart -and character, but his education and environment made him believe that -she was debasing the noble gifts with which Nature had endowed her, and -he was preaching as much to the individual woman as he had apparently -been preaching to the public mind. The complex nature of his attitude -to the great question troubled him, and a furrowed brow and anxious -eye told a tale of mental agony. Now that he had spoken, he was filled -with a grave doubt as to the righteousness of his conduct, and he was -paying the penalty of all men who are sensitively moulded. Then the -thought came to him that he was using his pulpit, not for mankind but -for himself, and he questioned his right to such a course of action. He -could not, and would not, deny to himself that the artist possessed for -him an enormous attraction. A vague dream had often come to him that -he could breathe into her soul nobler and purer dreams, but he put it -away each time with a weaker struggle against the passion that slowly -made its inroads into his soul. She was a Bohemian. She broke all links -in the chain of custom and established precedent. She exhibited a -reckless freedom in the comradeship of men, that maddened and frenzied -him, yet he was speechless. He would crush this out of her, drive her -from this insane, voluptuous life, and uplift her to his higher sphere, -where her true nobility of character might be exercised, freed from -the Bacchanalian influences of her mad life. Gradually, as he thought, -he was ashamed to think how much of personal longing had crept into -a sermon which should have been delivered in the honest work of his -sacred profession. - -He awoke from his fevered self-examination, and buttoning his great -coat around him, went out upon his daily visits to the poor, for, -though he was accounted a great and fashionable preacher, he stole -out daily to haunts where misery dwelt, and the greater part of a -magnificent salary went annually to places unknown to organized and -official charity, and he was almost afraid that people would find it -out! - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -SATAN REBUKING SIN. - - -Among the many great houses in this metropolis, none were more -artistically and voluptuously arranged than the mansion of Ouida -Angelo, the sculptress. There were parlors and drawing-rooms, a study, -a library, dining room in exquisitely carved oak, while the boudoir of -the artist was a perfect dream. She had costly paintings and pieces of -marble statuary for which a monarch would almost give his crown, and -all arranged and placed with perfect artistic and poetic taste. Ouida’s -boudoir was palatial with its tiger skin rugs, couches, mirrors and -jeweled cases. Her sleeping couch was draped in richest silks, and was -as soft and as alluring as ever enticed to sleep the troubled head of a -queen. - -On leaving the church, Ouida had entered her carriage, in which, by -an imperious wave of the hand, she had been driven quickly to her -residence. There, with the assistance of her sweet-faced maid, she -had disrobed and was quickly attired in a soft and clinging negligee -apparel, which women delight in, and which men cannot describe. This -done, pointing to the door, she almost fiercely said: “Go!” - -The little maid stood a moment, amazed, for never before had her -mistress been so harsh, but slowly she turned and silently moved toward -the door. Ouida, quickly shamed into atonement, said: “Lucile!” - -Quickly and gladly the joyous girl bounded back, and almost tearfully -said: “Is my mistress angry with me?” - -“Child,” said Ouida, “I angry with you!” The great creature stooped and -kissed Lucile’s forehead. “I am troubled with the nasty world.” - -Left alone, the artist paced the floor of her boudoir like a lioness -from whose breasts her cubs had been rudely torn. - -“I hate them all. None can be trusted. This one seemed nobler than the -rest. I revealed more of the woman in me to him than to any creature -born. See how he repays me, my art. I could forgive him who preaches -against my life, for I have given the world the right to talk; but when -he attacks true art, the Goddess at whose shrine I worship, when he -ridicules my religion, I feel as though my heart would crack with rage. - -“Bravery, thou art extinct, and there is a premium placed on public -cowardice. He attacks me from a safe place, behind the battlements -of the pulpit. I indulged in the vain hope of having won the respect -of one honest man, among the contemptible puppies by which I am -surrounded, and I find that he, too, has a narrow, putrid soul. He -wants to enhance his reputation at my expense. A vulgar woman would -horsewhip him. I cannot so commonize myself. A barbarous woman would -kill him, a bold woman would insult him. My vengeance upon him shall -not be commonplace. - -“A fool, too, he is. There is no wisdom in him. Does he think he can -rob me of the affection of New York? What idiotic nonsense! Not a -thousand sermons could do that. My place in art is greater than his in -the church. - -“Ah, I have it! I’ll make him supremely ridiculous. I’ll make the city -laugh at him. I’ll carve a work with him as central figure, and I’ll -christen it ‘Satan Rebuking Sin.’” - -Like a woman, she laughed at the cleverness of her conceit, dressed and -took a fierce drive through Central Park. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -A LAWYER’S STUBBORNNESS. - - -Edward Salmon was one of the brilliant and successful lawyers of New -York. His office contained family secrets that would tear wide open -the very vitals of society, if he but chose to speak. But he was oily -and discreet, and maid, matron, and millionaire as well, knew that -what went into that massive safe and into Salmon’s wily brain, never -came out again unless it was proper. That was the reason of his great -success. Mr. Salmon was a great success. He had a wondrous practice, -a splendid library, a rich and lovely home; but he had a daughter, -Marie, who had seen fit, as young girls will do sometimes, to fall in -love without parental consultation, and the result was that both father -and daughter were very unhappy. She would not yield to his wishes, and -he would not consent to the man of her choice. Now, Milton Royle, the -sweetheart of Marie, was a noble fellow, but twenty years prior to the -commencement of this story, Royle’s father and the lawyer had a great -difficulty over a law suit, and Salmon had never forgotten or forgiven -what he had always alleged, was the betrayal of Royle’s father, and -he had sworn that he would rather see Marie go wifeless to the grave, -rather than that she should marry a man in whose veins flowed the blood -of the elder Royle. In all other respects he was an indulgent parent, -and was particularly tender to Marie, as the girl had lost her mother, -and was almost alone in the world, not liking or indulging in the -usual frivolities of society and fashion. Her life was spent in art, -and among artists. She was a great friend and admirer of Ouida, and it -was at the studio of the latter, where she had met young Royle, who was -one of the students much favored by the great sculptress. - -Salmon was in his office dictating a number of very important -communications to his stenographer. Happening to glance out of the -window overhanging the street, he saw something that evidently caused -him great annoyance. A moment later there was a quick, nervous rap at -the door, and a young girl exquisitely dressed, entered, and coming up, -threw her arms around the lawyer’s neck and kissed him. He received the -embrace with coldness. - -“Why, father, what is the matter?” said Marie. - -“Matter? It is ridiculous for you to ask such a question. I saw you -just a moment ago on the street, part company with Milton Royle. You -know you always displease me by your association with him.” - -“I can’t help it,” said the girl, her voice tinged with unutterable -sadness. “I make no concealment of my love for Milton. I like to be -with him, and am with him whenever he can spare the time from his -studies.” - -“And yet you know it angers me beyond expression.” - -“And, I think, sir, without reason. You have not a word to say against -Milton’s character, and because you had trouble with his father before -we were born, you want to make us miserable.” - -“Now, Marie, you know that is not all. I want you to marry a man worthy -of you.” - -“Then let me have Milton,” she pleaded. - -“I want no artist in my family,” he sternly said; “they are all a -shiftless and unreliable lot, and one was never known to make a woman -happy. Their attachments are as fleeting as their artistic conceptions.” - -“Such argument will not move us. You know, father, I have some of your -blood in my veins, and our race has always been stubborn.” - -The old man looked on his daughter with admiration, and going over to -where she sat, he kissed her tenderly. - -“Now you are like the dear old dad you used to be.” She gently stroked -his gray hair, and fondling him softly, said: “And you won’t be angry -with my Milton any more?” - -“You sly puss; just like your mother was,” and the hardened man of -the world breathed a touching sigh, in the memory of a past that was -fraught with delicious happiness, but which had gone forever. - -“Not meaning to change the subject, my dear girl, but about a month ago -I received a large mass of legal documents from Russia, which conveyed -information of a very valuable character to a Russian lad, whose -father had abandoned him here in New York City. I have had a horde -of detectives employed, and they have been unable thus far to locate -him. The last news is contained in a report today, that a person of -that description was employed somewhere in an art studio. Now, you get -around among this class of cattle quite often. His name is Paul--” - -“Paul Strogoff?” - -“Yes. Do you know anything about him?” - -“Yes. He is employed by Ouida Angelo as a model.” - -“Good. The fee in the case shall be yours.” - -“Cash?” cried out the mercenary little wretch. - -“Yes, cash,” said the delighted father, and he forthwith went into the -safe and brought a roll of bank notes, which he gave to Marie. - -“Do you desire a receipt for this,” she said, with a smile. - -“No,” said Mr. Salmon, “but you might tell your old dad what you are -going to do with so much money.” - -“No, I cannot do that,” she replied, with assumed fear. - -“Going to waste it on your staff of paupers?” - -“No.” - -“New dress?” - -“No.” - -“Pray, what then?” - -“Going to buy Milton a birthday present,” as in a mocking fit of -laughter she skipped through the door and vanished from the office. - -“The little devil has tricked me,” he said, but there was no anger in -his tone. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -OUIDA WILL NOT BE INTERVIEWED. - - -When Ouida returned from her drive through Central Park, she found in -waiting, Olivia Winters, special writer for the Daily Tattler. Now, -Miss Winters was one of the most brilliant women of the New York press. -She it was whom the World had sent to be knocked down by a moving car, -so that the new style fenders might be properly described. The girl -had also taken a balloon ascension, and written it up for her paper. -She at one time spent three months as an inmate of a mad house, and as -a result, had written such an exposure of the methods of the place, -that the State Legislature had passed a new law for the government of -such institutions. One of the girl’s crowning achievements, however, -had been to interview the President of the United States at a time and -upon a subject upon which other writers had tried, in vain, to get an -expression of opinion. The only thing she had ever failed in, was in -getting Ouida to talk, nor did she ever press the great artist, for -she really liked her. Ouida had told her many things, but had always -requested her to refrain from using them in the paper, and Olivia had -always respected the confidence reposed in her, by keeping her word. No -true writer will ever break faith under similar circumstances. - -Ouida did not keep her visitor long in waiting. A rap at the door was -heard, and upon being bid, Olivia Winters entered the apartments of -Ouida. - -“Ah,” said the sculptress, “I am indeed glad to see you.” - -“That gives me hope,” said the writer. - -“Of what?” exclaimed Ouida. - -“That you will break the silence you have maintained for years.” - -“Ah, dear girl, there you, no matter how delicately, have approached -forbidden ground.” - -“Have I offended you?” said Miss Winters. - -“No,” replied Ouida, “if any one could have probed the mystery of my -life, it would have been you.” - -“I thank you at least for that slight evidence of your confidence and -esteem--” - -“But,” said Ouida, interrupting, “I have taken Disraeli’s advice.” - -“And pray, what was that?” inquired Olivia. - -“A young man, ambitious to succeed in public life, approached the great -English statesman, and said: ‘Mr. Disraeli, to what one great thing do -you attribute your success in public life?’ The wonderful Englishman -grew thoughtful for a moment, and said: ‘Well, sir, when I started out -in public life, I resolved never to reply to what the newspapers might -say about me.’ ‘Good,’ said the young man, ‘I will follow your advice,’ -and he started to depart. ‘Hold! young man,’ cried Mr. Disraeli, ‘let -me finish my story.’ Continuing, he said: ‘But on one occasion the -London Telegraph came out with an accusation against me of so monstrous -a character, that I felt constrained to deny it. And what do you -suppose the damned rascally newspaper editor did? Why, he proved it.’” - -Both women laughed merrily over the tale, which the Winters woman -declared was in Ouida’s usually happy and clever vein. - -“But, my dear Ouida, I came to see what you had to say about Nugent’s -sermon.” - -“Nothing.” - -“Nothing?” - -“Absolutely nothing, my dear girl. If Mr. Nugent preaches against me, -my art, it is because texts are scarce and he wants to draw a crowd.” - -“But, my dear Ouida, his personal, direct attack on you--you owe it to -yourself to speak.” - -“No, I shan’t help him advertise himself.” - -But even as she said it a cloud of vexation passed over her stately -brow. - -“Then,” said Winters, appealingly, “nothing I can say will urge you to -speak?” - -“No, Winters, don’t try to make me deviate from that silent course I -have from the very beginning mapped out for myself.” - -“Well, then, I must go. But rest assured, our columns are yours at any -time you desire to speak.” - -“Thanks! By the way, call at my box tonight at the opera. There will -be a lot of fools in attendance, and I will need the exhilaration of a -chat with one like you.” - -“Au revoir.” - -“Until tonight.” - -And as Olivia Winters departed, her heart was filled with sympathy for -the big-souled, independent creature she had just left, and she felt -for her a deeper love and affection than for any other woman breathing -the breath of life. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -PAUL HEARS GOOD TIDINGS. - - -The very day upon which the Winters woman called on Ouida, in her -unsuccessful attempt to secure an interview, Paul Strogoff, the model, -paid a visit to the office of Edward Salmon, the shrewd and wily -lawyer. - -The young Russian gazed with awe on the great array of books and files, -and wondered what could possibly have been the reason why any lawyer -should have requested his presence. - -After a while he was ushered into the presence of Mr. Salmon, and stood -rather fearingly waiting for what was coming. He was rather like a dog -at bay. He had had such an amount of silent agony throughout his life, -that he was in that passive frame of subjected mind, that he was ready -for and could bear almost anything. - -“Take a seat, sir,” said Mr. Salmon. - -Paul dropped into the first chair, and still spoke not. - -“I am a lawyer, sir,” said Mr. Salmon. - -“So I saw by your letter head; but how does that concern me? I have no -lawsuits.” - -“That may be true, but strange things come to us at times.” - -“True,” said Paul, growing somewhat restless, “why have you sent for -me?” - -“Before I can entirely tell you, I must ask a few questions, to which I -must have frank and truthful answers.” - -“Having nothing at stake,” said Paul, “I have no inducement to lie.” - -“You are a Russian by birth?” - -“I am.” - -“Your father abandoned you in this city years ago, returned to Russia, -and you have not heard from him since?” - -Paul jumped up. “How do you know all this?” - -“Sit down and calm yourself,” soothingly said the man of law. “I mean -you naught but good.” - -“Well, go on,” said the impatient fellow. - -“He returned to his native land in the hope of recovering his ancestral -estates, and was grievously disappointed, tricked and hounded for -years. At last he won the great battle, and died. - -“I suppose I should weep,” said Paul, “but I am no hypocrite. I cannot -forget these years of cruel abandonment and misery.” - -“But,” said the lawyer, by way of consolation, “your future is full of -promise and brilliance. There is absolutely not a single obstacle in -the way of your complete enjoyment of a noble name and wealth.” - -“That may be true,” said Paul. “Fate has played him a scurvy trick to -my advantage, but I have become bitter, my heart is sour with evil -neglect. I have known starvation of body and soul; I have craved love, -sympathy, affection, and only a dog licked my hand. Nothing can move -me.” - -“I don’t blame you, my boy, but your future is more than bright.” - -“A new experience for me,” said Paul, who already felt as though a -burden had been dropped upon his young life. - -“There are many complications likely to arise, in which you will need -legal advice. May I consider myself retained in your behalf?” - -“I don’t know anything about these things,” said Paul, “but do for me -whatever is necessary.” - -“By the way,” said Salmon, looking at Paul shrewdly, “perhaps you need -an advance of money. If so, I can supply you.” - -Paul laughed. “Me, money? Why, man, I have learned the lesson of -starvation so thoroughly that I need nothing.” - -“You are a happy philosopher,” said the lawyer, and with a wave of the -hand the interview ended. - -Paul departed in a more than reflective mood. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -DECIDED BY LOT. - - -It was evening, and three of the most prominent men of New York City -confronted each other at the residence of the sculptress. Milton -Wayland, a noted stock broker, Edmund Connors, a successful politician, -and Iago Doane, an editor, formed the trio. - -“I trust,” said Wayland, “we may now and forever settle the question of -superiority at whist.” - -“I did not come here to play whist tonight,” said Connors, frankly and -boldly. - -“Pray, then,” said the editor, with ill-concealed sarcasm, “what -brought you here?” - -“Are you my father confessor?” said the politician. - -“No,” replied Doane, “I have enough agonies of my own; nor would I like -to hold in my soul the knowledge of all your evil deeds.” - -“Do you think a politician is worse than an editor?” said Connors. - -“Frankly speaking,” said Doane, “no. The difference in our deception of -the public lies in the method only.” - -The men were evidently ill at ease, but all laughed at Doane’s -boldness. - -“We poor monied men,” said Wayland, “seem to be altogether out of -consideration.” - -“How so?” said Connors. - -“Because in this day and generation,” said Wayland, “thanks to Doane, -the newspapers have killed our trade by exposing our tricks.” - -Connors looked on in grim satisfaction at the contest between money and -printer’s ink, and quietly said: “I am not so sure that newspapers are -just what they should be.” - -“What’s the complaint against us?” said Doane, in mock fear. - -“There is as little honesty in journalism as there is in the world of -finance,” said Wayland. - -“Nothing truer was ever said,” chipped in Connors. “The ordinary -newspaper of today but reflects the cowardice of wealth. There is -little of the sincerity of conviction which prevailed in the days of -Horace Greeley.” - -“They always cram Greeley down our throats,” cried Doane. - -“Well,” said Connors, “wasn’t he a pretty bold and fearless man?” - -“I’ll admit all that,” retorted Doane, “but I never did worship at the -shrine of any journalistic God.” - -“But,” said Wayland, apparently realizing that the argument was growing -somewhat intense, “we have wandered some distance from the original -query.” - -“And that was?” said Connors. - -“The real object of our presence here,” interposed the editor. “Come, -now, what brought you here, Connors?” - -“I must yield,” said Connors, “since the moulder of public opinion -implores the mere politician to tell the truth.” - -“Be careful,” said Wayland, “sensations may be at a premium.” - -“Bah,” said Doane, in real anger, “I never mix shop with social -intercourse.” - -“Now,” said the wily politician, “don’t let us lose our tempers.” - -“I did not intend offense,” said Wayland. - -“And now,” said Connors, “since my friend has made the _amende de -honorable_, I will state frankly that I came here to take Ouida Angelo -to the Italian opera.” - -“And so did I,” said Wayland. - -“That also was my purpose,” said Doane. - -“Well,” sighed Wayland, “it would be no fun for all of us to go -together.” - -“Nor,” said Connors, “can we very well divide the lady into three -separate existences.” - -“I suggest,” said Wayland, “that we draw lots.” - -“There,” said Doane, “again breaks out his natural spirit of -speculation and chance.” - -“No intention to talk shop,” sarcastically retorted Wayland. - -This proposition finally proving agreeable, a simple plan of -lot-drawing was indulged in by these favorites of fortune, the result -of which was a victory for Doane. - -“Doane always wins,” complained Wayland. - -“I wonder if he plays fair,” spoke up Connors. - -“Gentlemen,” said Doane, evidently gratified by his success, “don’t -weep. Allow me to console you. She really cares for neither of us. -Now, you are young, vigorous men. I am a free lance. I sleep all day; -work all night. You may have the hope of some day wedding decent, -commonplace wives. Just the creatures to be the safe and proper mothers -of your children. What matters it, if I, who hate everybody, and whom -everybody hates, am swallowed up in the mad vortex of passion? Society -loses nothing, and gains a dainty bit of gossip to chew on for a month.” - -Ouida majestically burst upon them at this juncture. - -“So,” she cried, “you have been making me the subject of chance. Pray, -what excuse dare you offer for such a profane proceeding?” - -“And, Ouida, you should have heard of the consolation he offered, as he -gloated over his victory.” - -Without giving the sculptress a chance to ask, Doane quickly said: “I -told them, madame, that you would marry neither of them.” - -“Did you insinuate that it was possible that I might marry you?” - -“No, but here, publicly, I proclaim the fact, that my newspaper and I -are yours at a moment’s notice.” - -“Yes, your perpetual offer at times grows somewhat wearisome,” said -Ouida, “but, seriously speaking, Doane, get a law passed which will -allow marriage for a limited period, renewable at the option of the -parties, and I will try you for a brief period. The thought of being -forever tied to one man appals me.” - -“But,” remonstrated Connors, “you forget, dear lady, that sometimes -offspring follows marriage.” - -“Bah,” said Ouida, passionately, “they ought to be throttled ere -conceived. There are too many carelessly reared brats in the world -today. It would be a good thing to stop pro-creation for a generation.” - -“There is really some sense in that,” thoughtfully reflected Wayland -aloud. - -Ouida continued: “The Romans were wise. They killed children not -physically perfect. Pharaoh sacrificed the first born of the Jews. -I see no cruelty whatever in the idea. But I will not continue this -discussion. I am too full of anger.” - -“Because I won?” said the editor. - -“Partially so,” replied Ouida. “I was not consulted, and I refuse to be -bound by such a silly arrangement. Think you that one sour, dyspeptic, -gossipy editor, would for an entire evening suffice me, especially at -the opera, where one who listens to the music, is entirely out of the -fashion?” - -“But--” the editor started in on a protest. - -“I shall not listen to you,” cried Ouida, as she imperiously stamped -her shapely foot, “I will settle this matter by inviting you all to -occupy seats in my box. I shall take no vote upon the matter, for well -I know your acceptance is unanimous.” - -“But, madame,” protested Wayland, “this is most unkind; you should not -treat us as though we were children.” - -“I would you were as innocent,” bantered the lady of the house. - -“What do you know about us?” said Connors. - -“Do you think I don’t get some compensation for allowing Doane among my -intimates?” said Ouida. - -“So he gives you the news, does he, before the dear public gets it?” -said Connors. - -“A truce to this nonsense,” said Wayland. “Gentlemen, what shall we -do--accept the polite invitation of her royal highness?” - -“Accept,” said Ouida, in breathless indignation, “accept? Is there any -doubt of it? Oh, well, there need not be. I withdraw it--” - -“Seriously?” said Doane. - -“I’ll give a railroad,” said the stock broker, “to make my peace with -her.” - -“Now understand me,” said Ouida, imperiously, “I am not offended at -anything any one has said. This, above all other places, is Liberty -hall. Law, ordinary social rules, have long been banished, but as we -were talking, I was seized with a monstrous, overwhelming inspiration. -I must be alone tonight. I felt as though I might carve the boldest -stroke of ‘A Modern Hercules.’ Go! nor stay upon the order of your -going.” - -No protest prevailed, and the trio left; nor did they stop on the -street to offer consolation to each other. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -A LOVERS’ QUARREL. - - -While this most interesting affair was taking place between Ouida and -her three admirers in one part of the house, another scene was being -enacted in the studio, no less absorbing to the participants. Marie -Salmon and Milton Royle, the art student, so objectionable to her -father, were engaged in the most serious conversation of their young -lives. - -“So,” said she, “you could not content yourself at Harvard?” - -“No. The restraint imposed by the set rules of college was slowly -sapping up and killing my ambition. So I came here to realize my -artistic dreams.” - -“Your leaving the university, Milton, has seriously displeased me.” - -“In what way, dearest Marie?” - -“Don’t attempt to mollify me by endearing terms. Now, you know that you -had been selected on the boat crew, and the girls have whispered all -around that you were afraid to stay.” - -“And does my little sweetheart,” said he, with infinite patience, -“believe that silly story?” - -“Well,” she confessed, “of course I don’t exactly believe it, but the -talk of the crowd hurts me. Then again, could you not study your art -from a man?” - -“Oh,” said Milton, thinking to himself that if jealousy was at the -bottom of his sweetheart’s apparent anger, surely he could scent -trouble ahead. - -“Why don’t you answer?” she said. - -“I was thinking.” - -“You have no right to think. That is--I--well, I am almost beginning to -hate Ouida Angelo.” - -“Why, that is really absurd, little one.” - -“Milton, I hate all things that seem to lead you from me.” - -“Nothing, and no one, can do that,” said Milton. - -“You are with her hours and hours; I almost forget how you look, I see -you so seldom these days,” complained the girl. - -“Sweetheart, you are unfair. I am but working for that proud future -which you shall share with me.” - -“I should like more of present joy and less of future hope.” - -“Is not the future,” said Milton, “worth a sacrifice?” - -“I am like a miser with his gold. I can spare nothing of that which is -mine.” - -Milton seized her hand, raised it to his heart, and swore that his love -was completely and fully hers. - -“Do you wish me,” he said, “to abandon my profession? Say but the word, -and I will.” - -“Would you do that for me?” almost whispered Marie. - -“As surely as I live,” he replied. - -“And do you think I would accept such a sacrifice?” - -“Then my dear must not agonize me with these constant suspicions. They -are unworthy of you.” - -“Then you do not love Ouida?” - -“I love the glorious art of which she is the mistress. I appreciate her -because I grasp much from her cunning and deft craftsmanship. But you -(clasping her to his breast) are the one woman whom Nature has sent for -mating. Enough of this now. You do, you must, trust me.” - -She let her head sink gently on his breast. The struggle was over, and -the tear-dimmed eyes that looked into his had no doubt in them, for -they were lighted up by a faith eternal. - -Arm in arm they went into Milton’s work-room, where for some time he -delighted her with an exhibition of his work, the progress he was -making, and he poured into her willing and sympathetic ear, the story -of his future dreams and aspirations, so that she saw more clearly -than ever, that the only mistress beside herself which Milton had, was -Art. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -A PREACHER’S PASSION. - - -The departure of the editor, politician and broker left Ouida in a very -reflective mood. Strange to say, her mind wandered to Paul, the model, -as it had often done of late. “I’ll soon call my Herculean model forth. -Paul, the perfect brute! Yet, often when he thinks I am not observing, -there comes into his eyes a look that makes me tremble, though I know -not why. Can it be that I, who have a dozen mighty men, as this world -goes, crawling at my feet, am falling captive to a coarse-grained -beast, that sleeps and feeds from day to day throughout the year, -without a thought or hope beyond the common cattle of the field?” - -At this moment a card was handed Ouida, the reading of which filled her -eyes with an almost devilish gleam of satisfaction. - -“Show the gentleman up,” was her swift command. - -It was but a moment when Horatio Nugent, the great preacher, appeared -before the sculptress! - -“By admitting me to your presence, may I hope there is a truce between -us?” he almost humbly said. - -“Neither peace nor courtesy moved me to see you,” was her -unsatisfactory answer. - -“Then why your apparent graciousness?” - -“I desire,” said Ouida, “to declare a never-ending war.” - -“Will you not,” appealed the preacher, “even listen to what I have to -say?” - -“No. Your course admits of no explanation. Let me tell you now, you can -never creep again within the circle of my friendship.” - -“If you could but dig beneath the surface,” he audibly sighed, “and see -why I preached my sermon against the nude in art, ’twould be _you_, not -_I_, seeking pardon.” - -“I seek your pardon after that which you have done? Listen,” said the -woman, “you played the part of a friend. You sought _me_ out. To you I -unfolded my dreams, my conceptions. You said they were divine, and yet -when I attended your church, you thundered forth invectives against -my art, and hold me up to public ridicule. You would attempt to win a -public applause as fleeting as the dew upon the morning rose. If I had -loved you, I would hate you for this act.” - -“I will explain,” he said, with vehemence and commanding power before -which, even for a moment, this imperious creature quailed. “I am not -like the vain flatterers that follow in your train. I will speak, even -if the hate in you, like a dagger, shall stab me in a vital spot.” - -“Speak then,” said she, with resignation. “Courtesy compels me to -listen to one who has honored my humble roof with his august presence.” - -“Ah, hear me Ouida. The knowledge, sudden and fierce, has forced itself -upon me, that I love you with all the strength of my nature!” - -“And you have selected this novel way of showing it!” - -As Ouida said this, she laughed with such chilling scorn, that it made -the preacher shudder with agony. - -“That we will not discuss,” said he, as the echo of her scorn died -away. “Your life, your Bohemian instincts, your defiance of social -laws, has maddened me. I would drive you from this unreal existence, so -that in your despair you would turn to me. Then I should uplift you to -my grand sphere.” - -The idea of Horatio Nugent’s condescension struck Ouida with wondrous -merriment, and she laughed again, the laughter growing more intense -each moment, until it developed into an indignation almost boundless. - -“Your own grand sphere!” she cried. “Drive back the Atlantic surf; lift -valleys over mountain tops; throttle Vesuvius, and then come to me with -a hope of tearing me and my art apart. I would not exchange an eternity -in hell and my work for Paradise with the crude, narrow, dogmatic -officialism of your hypocritically pious life.” - -“I have less quarrel with your art than with your life,” continued he. -“These Bacchanalian revels, this freedom with men so maddening to me. -These are the things from which I would save you.” - -“Sir,” said she, with supreme dignity, “my life is my own. Society did -nothing for me. I have with these hands carved out my fame. You and -your kind no more understand art, than you do the voice of Nature. I -have sat nude beneath a master’s brush, without an impure thought. -I have painted men as naked as the new-born babe, without a quicker -pulse beat, wrapped in a dream. My art shall live when churches shall -crumble, and preachers’ bones shall mingle with the dust. Divinity -touches the brow of genius, and art becomes the heritage of generations -yet unborn.” - -A goddess could not have looked more divine than this woman did, as she -poured forth the inspiration of her swelling, throbbing soul. There -was silence again between them. But he at length recovered speech, and -renewed the attack. - -“Ah, Ouida, you are noble and good; why not economize this worth for -grander and purer aspirations?” - -“Purer aspirations?” she echoed. “Ah, sir, I am bursting with the -fullness of rage. Who are you, that gives you the almost divine right -to preach against a thing you know not of? You have not looked on life; -you have tasted no agony; you have not walked through the blazing -furnace of passion.” - -“God alone knows what my battle has been since the knowledge came to me -that I loved you.” - -“Your passion, sir preacher, moves me not.” - -“Then, pitilessly, you will send me out into the gloomy world without a -ray of hope?” - -“Did you not seek to make the earth for me a place without sun or -light?” - -“But I have made my atonement, and come now to crave pardon for my sin.” - -“You cannot think thus to move me,” said the woman, firmly. - -“Can nothing soften your heart of stone?” he appealed. - -“Nothing, sir. I hate you strongly. If these were the days of Lucretia -Borgia, without compunction I would have you killed. The world can do -without you.” - -“And yet,” said he, softly, as though consoled by the thought, “I have -given up all for you.” - -“I have seen nothing that you have done,” she said, sternly, “and more, -I ask nothing of you, save that you walk your way, and leave me in -peace to go mine.” - -“You know, Ouida,” said the man of strength, “that I, too, am -ambitious; that men and women showered upon me their plaudits; that I -had won a strong place in this great city. I have given up my church!” - -She started in breathless amazement! “Sacrificed your wondrous future, -and for me?” - -And simply he said: “The price of my sin to you.” - -Then a deeper silence than ever before fell upon these two, and again -there was no speech between them. - -“Now,” at length, he said, “I am ready to be sent forth with your cruel -scorn, following me even to the end of time.” - -“I cannot bid you go thus,” she said, moved to pity. “Does the world -know of this?” - -“Of the resignation, yes; of the reason, no.” - -“Then I abjure you, reveal nothing. Leave me!” she cried. - -“And may I come again?” eagerly he pleaded. - -“Yes,” she said, the power of resistance gone, “when I have had time to -think.” - -He left with a sense of mighty triumph in his soul. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -OUIDA PROPOSES MARRIAGE. - - -Even the preacher’s passion, the knowledge of his awful sacrifice, -did not rob the artist of her inspiration for work. Proceeding to the -studio, filled with treasures of brush and mallet, she found Paul, the -model, and Milton, the student. - -“Any commands for me,” said Milton, with deference and respect. - -“Yes,” said Ouida, “you may assist in arranging the pose.” - -Milton, for a few moments, attempts to place the model in the attitude, -consistent with the conception of Ouida. - -“Ah,” reflected Ouida, aloud, “if I can but tonight imprint on stone -the image that long has haunted me, I’ll wring from men the unwilling -confession that truly in my veins flows the blood of Michael Angelo.” - -Her unconscious talk was interrupted by Paul, who almost sullenly said: -“I do not care to work tonight.” - -“Hush!” said Ouida, “breathe not. I would not have had you fail me -tonight for a brace of kingdoms.” - -She then crosses over to where Paul and Milton stood, saying to the -latter: “Nay, not thus. Let him stand and look as though with mighty -power he bears the weighty earth upon his massive shoulders. There, -that is better. Go. Leave me, Milton; I would be alone with him.” - -Then, like a tigress, rapidly she set to work with mallet and chisel, -and while Paul stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, the idea -that filled her brain and soul began to take living shape from the -block of stone. At some length, however, she dropped her tools. They -fell upon the floor with a dull thud. She crosses over to the model; -then irresolutely retraced her steps, and threw herself upon a divan -or sofa, as in a dream. There she lies motionless, save for a heaving -breast. - -Paul thinks she sleeps, and leaving his station, goes to the couch -whereon she lies, and gazes upon her with strange emotion. She still -seems unconscious of his presence. - -“Had I Svengali’s power, I’d mould her to my will.” Paul clenches his -hand together, gazes passionately at the reclining figure, and slowly -moves back to his place. She arose. - -“Paul, come near me,” she said, with a voice as seductive as that of a -luring siren, “and sit upon this low stool.” - -This request was made by her following a flashing, unaccountable mental -freak, that filled Paul with pleased astonishment! - -“I am your willing slave,” he said, as he did her bidding. - -“Do you love any woman?” said Ouida. - -“I dare not answer,” said the model. - -“Dare not answer? Have I not asked you? What do you fear?” said the -sculptress. - -“Myself,” said Paul. - -“He who cannot master himself is like the beast of the field.” - -“That’s what I am. What right have I to feeling, emotion?” said the -model. - -“Have you no hope for the years that are to come?” - -“If I have, I hide it so that none may see. I had one hope, but it was -like reaching out after a star. Do not question me concerning it. It -shall never be revealed.” - -“Paul,” she said, “what think you of these men who crowd about me, like -moths about a candle, their tongues quick with the hollow mockery of -modern insipidity?” - -“They are false as Judas. They drink your champagne, and then, when -drunk, tell lies about you. I’d like to cut their throats, if you but -speak.” - -“I’ll let you, in a way,” she said, looking into his black eyes with a -boldness that made him breathe with a mixture of fear and delight. - -“How?” said he, with almost breathless quickness. - -“Paul,” she replied, “come nearer to me. You are a strong-limbed brute. -You are base born. You are poor.” - -He shuddered, and was about to acquaint the woman with the story which -Lawyer Salmon had told him, but some power which controls fate and -destiny, restrained him, and he remained silent upon the point. - -“If all you say is true,” he uttered, “What then?” - -“Ah, Paul, you are so different to the mere puppets that cringe around -and flatter me.” - -“If I were like these weaklings, I would not care to live.” - -“The very contrast attracts me,” said Ouida, dreamily. - -“My God!” said Paul, the truth at length dawning upon him, “can it -be possible that you condescend to give me more than a mere passing -reflection?” - -“There is, Paul. Can you not see that I adore you?” - -In a moment their bodies were in close embrace, he enfolding her within -his mighty and powerful grasp. After a moment, however, he put her -gently from him, and said: “You but mock me by showing me a view of -Paradise, only to snatch the entrancing picture from my eyes.” - -“No,” she said, exalted through the intensity of her artistic emotion, -“I feel a strange, uncontrollable desire to own you, body and soul.” - -“I fear, I dream, I dream,” said Paul, but Ouida hurried on: - -“You are a giant. You could take any one of these pigmies that flutter -and buzz about me, in your arms, and could crush life completely out. -I hate them all. I would throttle, and at the same time strangle, the -indignation of society. I would bitterly enrage these dogs who fawn on -me.” - -“And use me as the instrument? What, then, shall become of me?” said -Paul. - -“You? Why, Paul, you shall be the central moving figure,” said Ouida. - -“What care I? Use me as you will. ’Tis enough for me to know that you -but reach your hand.” - -“Come to my arms then again,” she cried in the ecstacy of this novel -and entrancing emotion. “Let us revel in delight, you pauper! You dog! -You base born thing, to whom vile society would scarcely throw a crumb!” - -“Oh, the delight,” said Paul, “of spurning these little creatures. A -month of such sweet vengeance, and you may have my life.” - -“I’ll dress these mighty limbs of yours,” she cried. “I’ll flaunt your -very baseness in their eyes. I’ll make them crawl to you for the price -of a smile from me. They shall pay in deepest humiliation for the -privilege of adoring me from afar. We, Paul, you and I, will richly -repay society for its wrongs to us.” - -She seemed now exhausted from the intensity of her feelings. - -“Go now,” she said, tenderly; and without question Paul went away from -her, exalted, bewildered, astonished, uplifted, amazed, but happy, and -inwardly rejoicing at the wondrous change which had taken place in his -fortunes. Poor fool! From his dizzy height he saw not the chasm yawning -in greediness below. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -A RICH MAN’S BALL. - - -A great social leader of the Metropolis had given a ball, to which had -been invited not only the “Four Hundred,” but a large proportion of New -York’s Bohemian Colony as well. - -Olivia Winters had been sent by the city editor of the Daily Tattler to -get an account of the affair for her journal. Her reflections as she -sat waiting to see the hostess, or some one in her behalf, were neither -pleasing nor flattering. “All the world’s a fake,” she thought, “and -the men and women merely fakirs. Within a stone’s throw of this place -there is a collection of miserable huts. From what I have seen so far -here, at least $15,000 has been spent on flowers, that will before -tomorrow night have lost their fragrance. How many mouths would that -feed, in this great, cold, heartless city, throbbing with the agonies -of thousands! Ah, well, why should I moralize? I wish to heaven I -could write this thing up as I feel, but to do so would be affronting -fashion, and anything original regarding modern New York society, would -mean my journalistic death.” - -Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Marie Salmon, who -extended her hand graciously to Miss Winters, and said: “You are the -representative of the Tattler?” - -“I am,” said Miss Winters. - -“The hostess of the evening presents her compliments to you, and begs -that you will excuse her personal presence. She has delegated me to act -for her in giving you what you desire for your paper.” - -“She could not have selected a substitute who would have better pleased -me,” said Olivia, with perfect grace and self-possession. - -“You are very good to say so,” said Marie. “Here you will find a -list of the invited guests. In this package is a cut of the host and -hostess, as well as a picture of her diamonds. She informs me that she -has already sent photos of some of the more striking decorations. In -this envelope will be found a complete description of the costumes of -the ladies. The number of carriages you will be able to procure from -the ushers as you go out. She thinks it not advisable to say anything -specific about the enormous amount of money spent on the affair, owing -to newspaper talk about the terrible poverty prevalent in the city. Is -there any other information you desire? If so, I shall be glad to give -it to you.” - -“Have you given this matter out to any other paper?” - -“No. Our hostess said she would give it exclusively to you, as your -paper had been the fairest in mentioning the affair in advance,” -replied Marie. - -“Thanks; that is very good. You know we newspapers always adore a -scoop,” said Olivia, and she smiled in satisfaction. - -“Why, what in the name of goodness is a scoop?” queried Marie. - -“When we print a good thing that other papers fail to get, we call it a -scoop.” - -“Thanks for the information. May I not,” said Marie, “order some -refreshments?” - -“No, thank you,” said Winters, with modest dignity, “I only accept -hospitality under certain conditions.” - -“Be that as you wish,” said Marie, with equal dignity, “I had no desire -to offend.” - -“I am sure of that, my dear young lady; yet even newspaper women have -their scruples.” - -“Then I can serve you no further?” - -“In no way save to assist me in getting out quickly and unobserved.” - -“Then follow me,” said Marie. - -Olivia Winters followed her guide, and was soon in the office of the -Tattler, pegging away, while Marie returned to assist the hostess in -entertaining the numerous guests. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -AN ANGRY FATHER. - - -There were many brilliant women at the great social function, but the -only feast for the eyes of Milton Royle was Marie Salmon. But she was -very much in demand. The hostess apparently had a mortgage upon the -young girl’s time and attention. At length, however, Milton could -endure it no longer. He marched down upon his victim, captured her, -and forcibly led her to a quiet and secluded spot in the conservatory, -determined to hold her captive until he should have accomplished his -purpose. - -“I shall not see you again before my departure for Europe, so, my -darling, I shall have to bid you good-bye here.” - -“I could be completely happy, dear Milton, if it were not for dad’s -frightful opposition to you.” - -“He forbid me the house,” said Milton, sadly, “but such a course only -makes me more determined than ever.” - -“You cannot imagine what a hard time I will have while you are gone. It -was only yesterday dad told me that it would greatly please him if I -would consider young Clafton as a suitor for my hand.” - -“What! That brainless ape?” said Milton, indignantly. - -“Now don’t get angry, dear; you know very well if he were the last man -on earth, I would not consider him for a moment,” she made haste to -say. - -“I tell you what it is, Marie,” said Milton, “I think I will alter my -plans and remain in New York, until we get this thing settled.” - -“And I tell you,” said the girl, firmly, “you shall do nothing of the -kind. Such a course on your part would make me think you had no faith -in me.” - -“But it looks cowardly,” said he, “for me to go abroad and leave you to -fight this thing out alone.” - -“I am not a bit afraid. Besides, I am more than anxious that you should -go to Rome and finish your studies. Nothing must be allowed to hinder -that great and glorious future which must, which shall, be yours.” - -“Now you are my brave darling.” He embraced her fondly, just as Mr. -Salmon appeared upon the scene, an angry scowl disfiguring his usually -calm and placid brow. - -“I had hoped, sir, that your sense of honor would have prevented you -from encouraging this young girl in a disobedience of her father.” - -“Father, dear, I pray you refrain from speech of that kind to Milton. I -love you, sir, with deep affection; but I also love Milton, and I tell -you now, as I have told you before, that if I live, and he still wants -me, I shall marry him.” - -“Marry, girl!” said the aroused father. “I tell you that you will never -have my consent to marry him.” - -“Then,” said the girl, “I shall marry him without it.” - -“I regret, sir,” said Milton, with utmost deference and respect, “that -trouble with my father, almost before I was born, should tinge and -shape your opinion of me. It is most unjust.” - -“Frankly speaking,” said the lawyer, “I do not like you. I do not want -an artist in my family.” - -“You are her father, sir,” said Milton, with suppressed anger, “and -that shields you from the answer that rises within me.” - -Marie interposed at this point, and said: “You are both dear to me, and -I beg you, in the name of the love you have for me, do not quarrel.” - -“I obey your wishes, my darling,” said Milton. - -“This is no place for discussion of this kind, anyhow,” said Salmon. -“Come, Marie, Mr. Clafton was looking everywhere for you.” - -“I do not wish to see him, father. Good-bye, Milton.” - -“Good-bye, Marie. May angels guard you everywhere.” - -And there the lovers parted. The lawyer was full of anger, but he had -no chance at that time to show it. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE LOVERS CLASH. - - -Among the guests were Horatio Nugent and Paul Strogoff, each madly, -devotedly and passionately, at a distance, watching the Goddess, at -whose shrine they worshiped. The preacher, in a rage of despair; Paul, -in secret consciousness of his advantage over all others, despite -appearances. Each held his secret well before the world, but in the -breast of each was a raging volcano, liable to burst forth at any -minute. Had any one suspected the preacher of the possession of so -strange a secret passion, his story would have been discovered by the -hungry, famished look of his eye, which followed the sculptress and her -every movement. Strange to relate, Paul exhibited more control over -himself. - -Fate threw these two strongly-contrasted characters together, the flint -and the steel. Horatio Nugent plunged at Paul boldly and fiercely, -saying: “I would study you.” - -“Why?” asked Paul. - -“Because you hold a secret power I would give my life to know.” - -“And that is?” - -“The power of winning her regard.” - -“I would not yield it up for a thousand lives, mine included,” said -Paul. - -“So you are a victim, too?” said the preacher. - -“Nay, not a victim,” proudly said Paul. - -“She loves you?” said the preacher, eagerly. - -“I did not say so.” - -“And yet I think my words are true.” - -“Your opinions do not concern me,” said Paul. - -“They may,” said Horatio Nugent, throwing discretion to the winds, “for -I love her, too, and if you stand in my way--well--it will do you no -good.” - -“You are like the rest of your kind--boastful,” said Paul, conscious of -his own power, “but in me there is no fear.” - -“Do not, I pray you, urge me beyond control,” said the preacher, “or -you will be made to feel there is something beyond mere brute force.” - -“This masterly tone,” said Paul, “must cease. I have no liking for you, -sir; you hang about the lady’s skirts too much.” - -“And what is that to you? Are you her protector?” - -Ouida approached, having from a distance observed that a clash had -occurred between these two men. - -“There comes the lady,” said Paul; “let her answer.” - -“I am heartily ashamed of you both,” said Ouida. “You have selected a -most inappropriate place, as well as subject, for discussion.” - -The preacher looked ashamed of himself, but Paul, now thoroughly -aroused, was almost bursting with defiance; but Ouida had him -absolutely under control, and when she commanded him with decisive -voice to bring her an ice, he went, submissive like a dog. - -“And you, sir,” turning to the preacher, “what right have you to give -way to vulgar differences with Paul?” - -“I have no excuse to offer, save my adoration of yourself,” said he, -humbly. - -“Why vex your soul?” said she filling up with wondrous pity for the -man. “Your torment of yourself is useless. I am further from you today -than ever before.” - -“How is this, madam? Is there absolutely no hope for me?” - -“None, sir. The barrier between us can never be broken.” - -“And what is that barrier?” he said, a mighty despair getting its grasp -upon him, for he noted the deadly earnestness of her speech. - -“The obstacle is Paul,” she confessed. - -“Your big-limbed model?” He would not believe it. - -“Even so,” said the woman, as she bowed her head. - -“And how is he in my way? Would you stoop to him?” - -“Stoop, sir,” she said, her pride returning, “I have sworn to marry -him.” - -He staggered with a nameless fear. - -“But you do not love him,” he said. “You cannot blind me.” - -“I have no desire to do so. I simply tell the truth.” - -Nor could he fail to be deeply impressed with her simple dignity. - -“Listen, woman, I care not whose heart I break, you love me! Deny it if -you can!” - -“If I did, what would be the difference?” said Ouida. “I have sworn to -wed him. I led him on. He did not dream of me, until I made him drunk -with the promise of my life. He has done no wrong. I must bear the -grief.” - -“Then all I have given up is naught to you? You will break my heart and -crush my life without a tear?” said he. - -“Rather yours than his. Come, be a man; wound me no further,” she -pleaded, earnestly. - -“I cannot break a single link in the awful chain of fate,” and he bowed -his head in silence. - -“Do with me as you will.” - -“Have you still the power to marry?” she asked. - -“Yes, I have given up my church, not the ministry.” - -“Then will you do me one last favor?” she appealed. - -“Be your fate what it will,” said he, “I am still your slave.” - -“Marry Paul and me,” she pleaded, as though upon the answer depended -her life or death. - -“Dare you ask this of me?” - -“I do, and pray you ask me not why.” - -“I have not the courage nor the strength,” said he, suddenly, filled up -with a great weakness. - -“Have I naught to suffer?” she said, in great grief. “Will you compel -me to go through it all alone?” - -“I’ll do it,” said he. “I cannot enter deeper into the vale of -suffering than I am now. You have stolen from me the power of -resistance. Now, I pray you, let me go.” - -As the preacher passed from her, Paul returned, looking dark and gloomy. - -“There is your ice, Ouida,” said Paul, striving to control himself. -“Would that my heart were like it, so that you might devour it. I do -not like that man.” - -“Why, Paul?” - -“He comes too often to you. Nay, do not deny it. He loves you, but you -do not love him,” he fiercely said. - -“I--I--” hesitated Ouida, for a moment losing her self-possession, -under the influence of Paul’s questioning. - -“But you do not love him,” he repeated again, as he seized her arm, -almost roughly. “If I thought you did--well, you know the blood of the -Cossack is in me, and--” - -“You will kill him?” she passionately uttered, and she clung to Paul as -though holding him from the accomplishment of such a purpose. - -“Now, by my life,” he said, looking searchingly at her, “this sudden -interest almost makes me think you do care for him.” - -Again her complete mastery over his simple nature exhibited itself. - -“Paul,” she said, in that alluring tone which always brought him to his -knees, “you are beside yourself. You have naught to fear of me with -him. He has just promised me to marry us tomorrow night.” - -“So you have fixed the time at last,” said Paul, exultingly. “This is -noble, oh, so good of you. This joyous news compensates me for a world -of agony and doubt. Would to God tomorrow night were here,” said he, -completely satisfied. “Come, let us to the ball room. I heard your -editorial friend, Doane, swearing a moment ago that you had promised -to waltz with him, but that you had secreted yourself to escape his -clutches.” - -“True, I had almost overlooked that. I wish I could educate Doane once -in a while to say a kindly thing, but I fear the task is a hopeless -one.” - -She was much relieved that the trying scene had ended, and with no -disastrous results. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -PAUL COMPLETES A STORY. - - -Despite the difference in their dispositions, something usually brought -Doane, Wayland and Connors together. So about midnight, at the grand -ball, this trio found themselves together in one of the apartments of -the great mansion. - -Connors, the politician, started to talk. “If Sarah Bernhardt were -here,” he said, “she’d take a bath in the wine we have wasted tonight.” - -“The frail Sarah has much faith in this method of preserving health, -as did old Ponce de Leon, in the long-sought-for fountain of immortal -youth.” - -“By the way,” said Doane, “did you hear the story they tell on the -actress, while on her late Western tour?” - -“No,” they exclaimed, “let us have it.” - -“Well,” said Doane, in great relish, for he did love to tell a story, -“when she played at Seattle, she expressed a desire to have a vivid, -real live hunt. An old trapper near by had some tame bears, and the -newspaper boys put up a job on the fair French woman. She dressed -herself up in a male attire, went out into the woods, a perfect nimrod. -She was hauled over logs and creeks, and finally, in a moment of -ecstacy, she was permitted to kill a bear. She was the happiest woman, -for a day, upon whom the sun ever shone.” - -They had a hearty laugh. - -“I saw in your paper the other day, that some fool out West had -attempted to dramatize Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables.’” - -“If you saw it in my paper,” said Doane, “be careful. I missed a train -a few days ago by depending on the accuracy of my own journal.” - -“But what do you think of the idea?” queried Connors. - -“In these days,” said Wayland, “when managers are crazy for a new idea, -it seems to me that a clever stage story of Jean Valjean would make a -certain hit.” - -“You might as well try to dramatize the clouds, the great rugged -mountain peaks,” said Doane, scornfully, “as anything Victor Hugo -wrote. No man under forty can grasp the real philosophy of Hugo. How, -then, can the unintelligent masses hope to comprehend him? Connors, -you are a great politician, but you are not overburdened with dramatic -knowledge.” - -“I wrote a play once,” said Connors. - -“Was it produced?” asked Wayland. - -“Yes, for three consecutive nights.” - -“And what became of it then?” laughed Doane. - -“The fourth night,” said Connors, sorrowfully, “the leading man did not -appear. He afterward explained that he could not stand the forcible -appreciation of the admiring gallery.” - -The trio talked, smoked and sipped champagne for quite a while. -Suddenly it occurred to the editor that it was about time for him to -fill an engagement in the ball room. - -“By the way, I promised, after considerable persuasion, to dance with -Ouida,” said Doane, “and even my gout shall not deprive her of that -pleasure.” - -“The conceited wretch,” said Connors. “He talks as though he conferred -a favor.” - -“I do,” said Doane, as he went off in search of his partner, “there are -but few women in this world I would really dance with.” - -He returned in a moment, mad as a March hare. He had been too late, and -fifty had pleaded for his place upon her programme of dances. - -“A most remarkable woman,” said Connors. - -“Peculiar, isn’t it, how a person like her could so have mastered -the world?” observed Wayland. “I have heard that but a comparatively -few years ago she was the most common and obtainable creature on the -streets of New York.” - -“I care not what may have been her past,” said Connors, with -comparative warmth, “today she is verily a mistress of her art.” - -“She is now putting the finishing touches,” said Doane, “on ‘A Modern -Hercules,’ a work which, in my judgment, compares favorably with that -of the ancient Italian artists.” - -“By the way,” said Wayland, “did you hear of her scrape with Cardinal -Beppo, at Rome?” - -“Yes,” said Doane, “but tell it for the benefit of Connors.” - -“You see,” said Wayland, “Ouida spent some time in study at Rome. For -a few months she worked hard, and behaved herself quite well, but -one sunny day she captivated the Cardinal, and so complete was his -adoration, that he lost all discretion, and Rome rung with the open -story of his mad infatuation. Finally the officers of the Vatican -made known to her, that the sacred city could exist without her. She -suddenly left her dear prelate, who, since that time, has been beyond -consolation.” - -“A capital bit of romance,” said Connors, somewhat skeptical, “but who -vouches for its truth?” - -“I had it almost direct,” said Doane, “from the Secretary of the -American Legation, who was home last year from Rome on a visit to his -people. But that story is tame, compared to what she did to Demas of -the Comedie Francaise.” - -“Let’s hear it,” said Wayland, eagerly, “you never mar a poor tale in -the telling of it.” - -Wayland was about to go, having heard all that he desired, but Doane -restrained him, and he reluctantly was almost forced to listen to a -style of gossip which, in his opinion, was good enough for the sewing -circle, but little fitted for intelligent men. - -“Ouida,” said Doane, “was more than intimate with Demas, known to you -all by reputation. But she fooled him, as she has every man who has -thus far been lured into the magic circle of her regard. One night -Demas was playing Falstaff in ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor.’ He was -of ordinary size, but made himself up as the ‘huge hell of flesh,’ -by a rubber apparatus, which was nightly filled with air. This night -the cork came out which held the air in the rubber affair, and almost -in the twinkling of an eye, he dwindled to his normal size, while -his clothing hung about him like the folds of a collapsed balloon. -The audience broke into a roar. The curtain was rung down, and it -was fully fifteen minutes before order was sufficiently restored to -allow the performance to proceed. Next day Demas was found dead in -his apartments, a bullet wound in the temple. The press said it was -chagrin. The real truth was that Ouida had led him on and on, until he -thought she loved him. That night the fatal knowledge came to him that -she was a heartless jilt, and he simply took the pistol route, with -which to end his misery.” - -“Gentlemen,” said Connors, “you astonish me. I have heard of -such creatures as you paint this woman, but never before had the -distinguished honor of a personal acquaintance. I do believe that a -grain or two of discount on such stuff would be wise and just to her.” - -“And yet,” said Wayland, “what a following she has, despite all this. -Go into the ball room, and see New York at her feet.” - -“New York is the greatest city in the world,” said Doane, “yet it is -the most easily duped.” - -“People, in their wild desire to be entertained,” said Connors, “pick -and choose queer idols for worship.” - -At this juncture, unobserved, Ouida, accompanied by Paul, enter at the -rear, but are partially concealed by large and rich portieres. Ouida -had been searching for Doane, in order to soothe his wounded feelings, -although not at fault herself. She heard herself as the subject of -Doane’s conversation, but hardly thought it would take the shape it -did. She intended, in the midst of it, to burst in and turn it into -something amusing at Doane’s expense. - -“The most astonishing part of it all,” said Doane, “is her well-known -life here in New York. At twelve, Ouida, who was the natural daughter -of a woman of the town and Albert Angelo, was a child of the street. -How she lived, she hardly knew herself. Lovers she had by the score. -She became a model. She would just as willingly sit nude, as attired in -silks and satins. One day Warde discovered that she possessed talent, -nay, genius, of a high order. She was inspired to uplift herself out of -base conditions. She was sent abroad, where, between her scrapes and -love affairs, she studied. The power of art dowered her with wondrous -victories. One or two conceptions a year brought her a fortune. She -became rich enough to gratify every whim. She came here three years -ago, having lost none of her Bohemian characteristics. Society has -opened its arms; as you see, it worships her.” - -Paul breaks away from Ouida, and confronts Doane, anger and contempt -leaping from his eyes. - -“A wonderful story! Is it fully told?” said Paul. “Do these gentlemen -know all?” - -“All!” said Doane, “all, man? Why, could more possibly be crowded into -the life of one woman?” - -“Yes, slanderous cur,” thundered Paul, as he slapped Doane’s face with -his glove. “Give them the finish. She marries me tomorrow night.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN UNCANNY WEDDING. - - -The night of this strange and almost unnatural marriage had arrived. -Ouida had very sensibly invited but few guests. Some of them were -assembled in her mansion. Thence, it had been arranged, they should be -driven to the quiet and unostentatious church, where Horatio Nugent -would pronounce the simple words that would mate forever Ouida Angelo -to Paul Strogoff. - -“I don’t like this marriage,” said Mr. Salmon, the lawyer. “Paul is a -fool, to marry Ouida Angelo. She is a great artist, but no creature for -wife to any man.” - -“They love each other,” said Marie, indignantly. “I don’t see why they -should not marry.” - -“Of course,” replied the father, “a young girl always looks into the -romance of the case. My experience in marriage settlements, and in the -divorce courts, teaches me that a marriage of this kind never turns out -well. By the way, how are you and young Clafton getting along?” - -“Splendidly,” said Marie. - -“That’s good. Now you are my own sweet child.” - -“I am helping him court my cousin, Georgie. He likes her better than -you ever thought he cared for me. You see, father, I have never ceased -to truly love Milton. Pray, forgive me, but I thought the best way to -rid myself of Mr. Clafton’s attentions, was to have him fall in love -with Cousin Georgie. He has entered into the trap beautifully, and I -am spared much annoyance. Dear old dad, you are not mad?” - -“I ought to be,” said Mr. Salmon, “but I cannot help admiring your -professional method in outwitting the old gentleman. Your scheme -was clever, even if I am the victim. But think not that I will ever -withdraw my objection to Milton.” - -“I don’t expect you to,” said Marie with a deep sigh. - -“Then you will give him up?” - -“No,” said she, “I won’t ask your consent. We’ll slip off quietly some -day when he returns, and your newspaper friend, Doane, will, in his -journal, record an elopement.” - -“Never worry,” said Salmon, much annoyed, “your Milton will never come -back. He’ll get tangled up in Rome with some Italian beauty, and she -will keep him abroad. These stone cutters always act that way.” - -“Father,” said the girl, almost in tears, “you are most unkind and most -unjust,” and she left the room, looking for consolation. - -Paul entered about this time, for the purpose of having an interview -with Mr. Salmon, who was his lawyer. - -“These are the papers which the lady requested me to present to you. -She settles her entire fortune upon you, giving you full power to make -such disposition of the same as you see fit. In fact, she is most -liberal,” said Mr. Salmon. - -“Are these the papers?” said Paul, as he took them from the hand of the -lawyer. - -“Yes, they are all pinned together.” - -Paul sat down and glanced over them. When he had finished their -perusal, which did not take long, he tore them up and threw the pieces -in the fire, where they were quickly devoured by the flames. - -“What have you done?” said the startled lawyer. - -“Nothing,” simply said Paul. “I refuse any gift of property from her. -On the contrary, you know exactly how my affairs stand. Convey to her, -by proper deeds and instruments, the full one-half of my fortune. The -cash transfer to her credit at the Chemical Bank.” - -“But, sir--” said Salmon. - -But he was interrupted by Paul, who said: “No buts, sir. This is my -will. Either carry out, with as little delay as possible, my expressed -desire, or I will be under the painful necessity of securing the -services of another lawyer.” - -“I shall do as you desire, and--” - -“Remember,” said Paul, as he left the lawyer’s presence, “not a word to -her. I must leave you now, to prepare for the ceremony.” - -A few more guests had arrived by this time. Mr. Connors came, and -at about the same time Olivia Winters, the journalist, put in an -appearance in the room, accompanied by Marie. - -“A queer wedding,” said Olivia, “and yet it may turn out well.” - -“I am glad to see you, Miss Winters. It appears that we alone, of all -New York, have been honored by an invitation to the wedding.” - -“And you, my dear Connors, were invited because, when Doane was -exuding, about Ouida, that venom which he cannot cut out of his nature, -you alone spoke up for her and her noble art, and the fame she had -justly achieved.” - -“It is entirely immaterial to me,” said Mr. Connors “what she may have -been. I know only this, that, in my judgment, she is today the grandest -artist of the modern world, and as such, is entitled to my homage. As -far as this marriage is concerned, she is her own mistress. She can -marry whomsoever she fancies. There are many men in New York today, who -would sell their souls for her.” - -“Are you one of them?” said Olivia. - -“I decline to answer so leading a question,” said Mr. Connors, but not -ungraciously. - -“I received my summons so hastily,” said Olivia, “that I am entirely -ignorant of particulars. Where will the ceremony take place, and who -will tie the knot?” - -“Dr. Nugent,” answered Marie, “and at the church around the corner.” - -“I thought,” said Olivia, “that Dr. Nugent had quit the ministry?” - -“No,” said Mr. Connors, “but almost the same. He has resigned from the -pulpit of the First Church.” - -“I have understood,” said Salmon, “that he promised to wed them at the -request of Ouida.” - -Connors, joining in again at this time, said that he had heard, that at -one time Dr. Nugent had fallen a victim to the fascinating charms of -the sculptress. - -“Some of the blackmailing sheets so reported,” chipped in Olivia, “but -no reputable journal fathered such a libel. One thing is true, this -wedding will eclipse all sensations of the year.” - -“I wonder how Doane will take it?” said Connors. - -“Badly, I think,” said Olivia. “He was hit hard in that direction. -Ouida’s is the only picture I have ever seen grace his sanctum.” - -“Nonsense,” said Salmon, the practical, “what would Doane do with a -wife? He has been wedded to journalism so long that he’d forget his -matrimonial bonds.” - -“Men who are not journalists think such a course in fashion these -days,” said Olivia. - -“Doane said to me the other day,” remarked Mr. Connors, “that New -York was getting very dull and commonplace; that men were beginning, -actually, to fall in love with their own wives.” - -“Don’t men always love and respect their wives?” asked Marie. - -“Your arcadian simplicity is really refreshing,” laughed Olivia. - -“Pray, wise one,” said Mr. Salmon, “don’t endow her with your superior -wisdom. I prefer my daughter as she is.” - -“That’s the one great mistake made in our land today, in the rearing of -children. They are allowed to grow up in utter ignorance of the things -which, if they knew, would save them untold misery.” - -“Right you are, Miss Winters,” said Mr. Connors. “If I should ever be -fortunate enough to marry, and be blessed with a boy, I should show him -around and acquaint him with life myself.” - -“Say and think what you will, ladies and gentlemen,” said Marie, with -firmness, “I shall never marry a man unless I love him and he loves me, -and it will be my fault if I do not retain his devotion.” - -“Hold fast to that sentiment, my child,” said Connors, solemnly, “and -may faith in it never forsake you.” - -“Our carriage is below,” said Salmon, “let us hasten to the church,” -and the company departed from the house. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE WEDDING IN THE CHURCH. - - -There are but few people who are not familiar with the little church -around the corner. It is not only quaint in appearance, but its history -is unique in the extreme. Those who paid but little attention to God -and religion in life, were always well treated here, in death, and -prince and pauper were alike welcome to its use. - -The bridal party arrived, and there was little of that absurd delay -which usually characterizes the fashionable wedding. Soon after, the -organist played one of the stock wedding marches, and as the bridal -party appeared before the altar, the preacher, paler than any one had -ever before seen him, ascended the pulpit. - -He looked down upon Ouida and Paul, and as he did, a mournful glance -of recognition and understanding flashed between the preacher and -the bride. Apparently, no one observed them. The organist ceased -his touching of the keys, and the sound of the music died away in -the distance. Dr. Nugent made an effort to begin the ceremony, but -something hindered him, and he had the sympathy of all, because they -thought him ill. They little knew his agony. At length, by a supreme -effort, he mastered himself. - -“Will the bride and groom join hands?” he said, and the silence seemed -full of pain. - -“Will you, Ouida Angelo, take as husband, Paul Strogoff, and, forsaking -all others, cleave unto him, and honor and obey him, as long as you -shall live, and until death shall part you?” - -And the woman said, softly: “I will.” - -“Will you, Paul Strogoff, take as your lawful wife, this woman, Ouida -Angelo, and love her, comfort, support and protect, and, forsaking all -others, cleave unto her as long as you shall live, and until death -shall part you?” - -And the man said, boldly and proudly: “I will.” - -“If any here present know aught why this marriage should not take -place, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace,” and just as he -spoke these words, the preacher himself, knowing of the empty heart the -woman was bringing to the man, was about to speak, but his objection -was registered only in his own soul. There was no spoken objection. - -“Then I pronounce you man and wife.” - -As the preacher uttered the words which united his rival to the woman -he loved, he tottered feebly from the pulpit. Mr. Salmon sprang to his -assistance, but was waived away, the minister saying: “I am not well -today.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -THE BRIDAL CHAMBER. - - -When Dr. Nugent left the church, which he did quickly, his breast -was filled with emotions of a conflicting nature. Reason seemed to -have been displaced with a mad, ungovernable rage. Why should this -ignorant, low, base-born son of a Russian exile possess this goddess? -What moral right had this usurper to loll at ease in her chamber, -barring out his betters of all the world? He knew that he possessed all -her mighty love, and yet he saw the fruit of it slipping away forever. -He was seized with a strange, overmastering desire to prevent, at all -hazards and at any cost, the actual consummation of the marriage. He -struggled, wrestled, tried to fight it down, but his feet carried him -toward her house. He reached it before the bridal party had arrived, -and, being familiar there, he ascended into the bridal chamber, and -there secreted himself. - -“Like a thief,” he said to himself, “I steal into this now sacred -apartment. Over my being creeps a determination so desperate, that I -shudder at the spectacle of my own deformity. I have suffered more -than mortal agony. There in the church, my much-abused spirit almost -departed from me. Where was the artist to tear aside the flesh and -paint the hearts as they really were? Paul, radiant and happy; Ouida, -serene in the consciousness of self-imposed beauty, while I was -burdened with the deepest sorrow of them all.” - -He waited, and soon Ouida entered, and threw off her veil and wraps. - -“The deed is done,” she murmured, “and yet I would it were undone. The -marriage vows have been exchanged, and yet Paul is as far from me as I -am from Paradise. Strange paradox am I. I know that Nugent’s love has -in it the sting of guilt, yet, through its scorching rays, I clearly -see myself. Oh, what a madcap freak, to rouse the slumbering passion -of my ‘Modern Hercules,’ and yet the fault is all my own. And I must -pay the penalty; must tread the path of sorrow to the end. This is a -rude awakening of my dream. I once had thought to greet my lord with -gleaming eyes, with passion, strong yet tender. Tonight he comes, and I -am full of fear and trembling.” - -She heard a slight noise. - -“Is that you, Paul?” - -Instead of Paul, Horatio Nugent stepped out from the darkness. His eye -was full of strange, unnatural brilliance, but his face was drawn, -pinched and haggard. At his appearance, Ouida’s heart almost ceased -to beat; she was so full of horror and despair. She expected Paul at -almost any moment. She knew his nature when once aroused, and she was -ashamed within herself to confess that she feared a collision between -the two men, more for the sake of the preacher than for her now -lawfully wedded husband. - -When Ouida asked if it was Paul, the preacher said: “No, it is I, whose -death you seal tonight.” - -“My God! what brings you here?” said Ouida. - -“You will not let me live,” said he, “so I have come to end existence -at your feet.” - -“And I,” commanded the woman, with wondrous dignity, “pronounce against -such base-born cowardice. You build your grief up mountain high, and -then make oath you stand alone.” - -“I will not argue this thing with you. I am determined on my course.” - -“Unhappy man,” she said, with mighty pity, “do you think you bear all -the agony of this dream? I, too, am full of sorrow as deep and black as -night.” - -“Then all the more reason,” said he, desperately, “that we should end -it all together.” - -“Agreed,” said Ouida, and as she spoke, she handed him a jeweled -dagger. “Waste no time,” she urged. “Plunge this deep into my heart, -then draw it forth and join me in eternity.” - -He quickly seized the proffered weapon, raised it high in the air, and -was about to sink it into her bared breast, when they heard Paul’s -footsteps approaching. The dagger dropped from his nerveless hand. He -covered his face with his hand, exclaiming: “Shame upon me, that I, in -unmanly weakness, should have entertained so hideous a resolve!” - -“Quick,” said Ouida, “to the inner chamber, and there remain until I -can let you out unseen.” - -He got out not a moment too soon, for upon the very instant of his -disappearance, Paul entered the chamber of the bride. - -“Come, Ouida,” he said, “let me fold you to my breast, for tonight you -have enthroned me in the kingdom of love.” - -“I have fulfilled my oath, that is all,” said Ouida, wearily, and not -responsive to his enthusiasm and passion. - -He threw upon her a questioning glance. - -“How changed you are,” said he. “It seems but an hour agone to me, -when you, with the very ecstasy of passion, awoke the slumbering fires -within me. Tonight, when you should greet me with a smile of joy, you -seem a block of ice, whose coldness chills me with the grip of death.” - -“Do not upbraid me,” she pleaded. “I shall strive, with all my might, -to be faithful, grateful for your fidelity and love.” - -“Oh, I see it all now,” cried Paul, delight and hope again springing up -in his simple soul. “You think I am low and base-born, a pauper, and -you despise yourself for having lifted me to the high plane you occupy.” - -She was about to speak, but he gave her no chance to break the current -of words which flowed from his lips. - -“Oh, do not speak; hear me out. The very day you made of me a God, -because you said you loved me, it was made known to me that I was -of gentle birth, rich beyond all imagination. I am not the dog, the -pauper, the base-born wretch, but am equal in birth, in wealth and -power, to any man who might aspire to honorable marriage with you.” - -He paused, breathlessly, expecting Ouida to melt in delightful surprise -at their good fortune. But no such thing happened. In his intensity, he -did not observe her gathering anger. When he finished his story, she -said: - -“So, sir, you knew all this the very day I spoke to you?” - -“Yes, but would not then have told it to you to save a tottering -throne.” - -“Then thus boldly and shamelessly,” she thundered forth, “you confess -deception?” - -“What man alive would not have remained silent,” said Paul, “when -speaking meant so deep a loss? Will you not forgive me?” - -Even then he thought she would relent, and he approached her. She -waived him off, contemptuously. - -“Away! Approach me not. You madden me,” she said, with frightful -vehemence, “I thought that you were baser clay than the dull-witted -fools that gathered round. I sighed for the pleasure of attiring those -mighty limbs of yours, of decking you with jewels, rich and rare. I -deemed you poor, that I might lavish gifts upon you. I thought you -nameless, that I might envelop you with the mantle of my own fame and -genius. You knew the motive, and yet, by the false pretense of silence, -you tricked from my freakish lips that hasty declaration. Be gone! Let -me not look upon your face again!” - -The pallor of death overspread his face, and he exclaimed, almost -piteously: “I do confess my sin; yet, does it merit the punishment of -exile? A life that’s worse than death?” - -“Go,” she said, in tones that left no room for hope, “I’ll not unsay a -single word. Since you are other than I thought you, this marriage bed -shall know you not. This is no place for such a husband.” - -She pointed to the door, and slowly Paul turned, and gradually his -feet bore him away from her presence. When the sound of the departing -tread of Paul had passed away, Ouida, with a glance at the inner room, -wherein waited her lover, she sank with a sigh upon the floor. Her -brain reeled, and consciousness for a period completely abandoned her -being. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE METROPOLIS FROWNS. - - -After the nuptial night, Paul disappeared from the knowledge of men. -Ouida and Horatio Nugent took up their lives together. New York society -indulged in a spasm of virtuous indignation; became monstrously -shocked; entered a vigorous protest; and pronounced upon the guilty -pair the judgment of condemnation. This mattered not to the lovers. -They could see, feel, comprehend, appreciate nothing but themselves, -their love and devotion to each other. The outside world was naught to -them. They builded their own universe, peopled with the inhabitants of -their own imagination, and well satisfied and pleased, existed in it. -But New York’s frown, in time, practically meant much to them. It meant -the withdrawal of art commissions to Ouida, and the absolute banishment -of Mr. Nugent from the practice of his profession. As time relentlessly -rolled on, their affairs grew complicated. She was compelled to -sacrifice her art treasures, her valued property, her jewels, and -still they awoke not from their fevered dream. The day came at last -when poverty and want crept in and found them in rude, uncomfortable -lodgings in a back street. By a strange fatality, of all her glorious -possessions, Ouida had alone retained “A Modern Hercules,” that piece -of statuary done from the form of her discarded husband. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -DOANE’S EXQUISITE VENGEANCE. - - -One day shortly after Ouida and Nugent had taken up their residence in -the slums, Mr. Connors, who had now become a power in directing the -political destinies of the country, met Mr. Doane, the editor, in the -vicinity of Ouida’s home. - -“This is a queer place,” said Doane. “It rather surprises me to see you -here.” - -“Not more so than I am to see you in such a locality,” said Mr. Connors. - -“Oh, we newspaper men go everywhere.” - -“And we politicians, too; but honestly, what are you doing here?” - -“Well,” said Doane, rubbing his hands in grim satisfaction, “I don’t -mind telling you; a little private vengeance.” - -“Upon whom?” queried Connors. - -“Ouida Angelo. You were present when I received that insulting blow on -her account?” - -“Yes, and by heavens, you brought it on yourself.” - -“Never mind that,” said the editor. “I feel the sting yet, and while I -cannot pay her back in kind, I can twist and probe her pride, and I’ll -do it, too. She lives in that miserable hovel over there,” pointing to -the place. “I am going to visit her.” - -“You astound me,” said Connors. He himself was bent upon the same -mission, yet was not inspired by so ignoble a purpose. - -Doane continued: “She has become an object almost of public pity. When -the haughty creature abandoned her husband, almost at the altar, and -began a life of shame with her lover, even rotten New York society -rebelled and frowned her down.” - -“Yes, it is but too true. The world, when once aroused, is cold in its -judgment. But I did not know that she had been so frightfully reduced.” - -“She has lost her fame, and everything,” said Doane. - -“All,” asked Connors, “her jewels, carriages, works of art?” - -“Yes, all except the ‘Modern Hercules.’ So far, nothing has induced -her to part with that. I have kept track of her affairs, awaiting my -opportunity.” - -“Doane,” appealed Connors, seriously, “I think there is true nobility -yet in the character of that woman. Forego your vengeance.” - -“Not I,” said the vindictive writer. “I am going to tempt her to sell -the thing to me.” - -“This is the very refinement of cruelty,” said Connors, in disgust. -“You should have been a Spanish Inquisitor. You would have stood well -with Torquemado.” - -“Wouldn’t you like to share the treat with me?” said Doane. - -“No,” said Connors, and the men parted, Doane going over in the -direction of the place where Ouida lived. - -The once proud and queenly sculptress sat alone, all pale and haggard, -in her humble, ill-furnished abode, a prey to emotions that scorched -her soul. - -“Society never pardoned me,” she thought, “my genius and fame, and when -passion enslaved me and my back was turned, the cruel jade stabbed me -in a fatal spot. I thought I could offer defiance to custom’s rigid -rule. I dreamed I was a queen, to whom the world owed obedience. I -awoke, and found I was a woman, strong only in passionate devotion. -Yet, could I turn back the hand of time, I would not change. Eternal -poverty, exposure, shame, disgrace with him, is better than Paradise -without. I have had pointed at me the finger of scorn, and yet upon his -aching breast, I have found a consolation so deep and sweet, that it -gave oblivion to the taunts without.” - -Her reverie was disturbed by a knock at the door. - -“Come in,” she said. - -Doane entered. - -“Ah,” said he, placing his glass to his eye, “can it be? Do my eyes -deceive me? Ouida Angelo!” - -“Yes,” she said, “and what can you want with me?” - -“You surely believe me,” he said, in exquisite irony, “when I tell you -that I did not expect to find you here?” - -“Then,” said she coldly, “you will have no objection to making your -stay as brief as possible. You see, I am not in a position to properly -entertain so distinguished a visitor.” - -“Oh, don’t let that worry you,” said he, with cool impudence. “I’ll -take a seat; you don’t mind, do you?” - -“I have no way of relieving myself of your presence,” said Ouida, “save -by invitation, as this is the only apartment at my disposal. I presume -I shall be compelled to hear what you have to say.” - -“I was seeking curios,” said Doane, whose malicious smile revealed -the fact that he was lying, “and a neighbor of yours informed me that -a lady, once proud and rich, had a very fine piece of statuary for -sale. I called to see it, not knowing who the owner might be, and was -dumbfounded to find it was you!” - -“Mistaken, sir, as you usually are,” said Ouida, “mistaken in all your -facts. There is no lady here; only a woman of sorrow, one acquainted -with much grief. I have nothing to sell, or give away.” - -“I see a marble figure there,” said he, pointing to the one work of art -that lent radiance and dignity, even to that humble abode. “Is that -your work?” - -“Yes,” was the curt reply. - -“What is it?” he said. - -“I will not tell you.” - -“I know, so you might as well.” - -“If you know,” she said, “then there is no necessity for me to give you -any information.” - -“Let’s throw deception to the winds,” said he, unmasking himself. “It -is ‘The Modern Hercules.’ I came to buy it of you.” - -“It is not for sale.” - -“Not for sale!” he said, “when the price I’d pay for it would enable -you to hold up your head in the world again?” - -“Sir,” said she, filled to the quick with indignation, “I want neither -your gold, sarcasm, advice nor presence.” - -“A little of each would do you good.” - -“You are a coward, sir,” the woman flashed out, “to say things to -me here that you would not have dared to utter when wealth, power, -position, all were mine.” - -“No, dear lady, not a coward, but one who enjoys telling the truth, -even if it bites and wounds. Will you sell that piece of stone to me?” - -“Not for the wealth of Vanderbilt,” she replied. “I’d rather give it to -a pauper whom I respected, than to sell it to you for enough to buy the -golden opinion of all men.” - -“Such a resolve shows delicate sensibility, artistic temperament, but -a minimum of common sense. I saw your--” (here even he could go but -little further) “I mean Mr. Nugent, a few days ago, and if you still -possess your romantic attachment for him, his pinched cheeks and sunken -eyes, would induce you to make some little sacrifice for him.” - -The interview was becoming beyond endurance to Ouida, when, -fortunately, the subject of the latter part of Doane’s talk--Horatio -Nugent--entered the room. He had heard the editor’s allusion to -sacrifice. - -“Who are you,” he cried, “that dare talk to her of sacrifice for me? -The world should weep for her. She has, upon the altar of her affection -for me, sacrificed a glory, which before, no woman had ever achieved -upon the American continent.” - -Doane laughed, and Nugent, growing desperate, crossed over toward him, -with threatening attitude. - -Ouida clung to him, begging him, for their mutual sake to be calm. - -“Oh, don’t restrain him,” said Doane, provokingly, “he’ll cool down bye -and bye.” - -“Oh, I know you now,” said Nugent, “You are from the upper world, a -fair representative of the classes who set themselves up in judgment -over common men.” - -“No,” said Doane, assuming an injured air, “only an editor, whose -kindly intent has been met here by rude insult.” - -“Take your intent and presence away,” said Nugent, “and at once. We -want neither. You and your kind stand well in the eyes of the world, -but we refuse to bend beneath your judgment.” - -“Yet,” said the editor, “you set up a tribunal of your own.” - -“Yes,” said Ouida, “the tribunal of conscience, where we have had our -trial, pronounced sentence, and for years have been paying to justice -the penalty we owed.” - -“You refuse my aid?” said Doane. - -“It was not sought; we will not accept it,” said Nugent. “We prefer -starvation to your pity.” - -“Then,” said Doane, “let it not be pity, but a pure matter of business.” - -“We desire none with you,” said Ouida. “This lodging is poor, but it is -our own. Go, vent your spleen where it may be felt. We are beyond it. -We have passed through the vale of agony. No shaft of scorn or ridicule -can wound us more. Leave us, we would breathe the untainted air.” - -And as Doane went away from the presence of his intended victims, it -crept through his narrow brain, that he had not accomplished much. - -“I could not pierce the armor of their pride and devotion. I am an -ass,” said Doane to himself, and the next day’s editorials were -permeated with great bitterness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -OUIDA’S WELCOME VISITORS. - - -Mr. Connors, while awaiting Doane’s departure from the house of Ouida, -happened, accidentally, to brush into Olivia Winters. - -“My friend, the politician,” she said, shaking hands. “I am glad to see -you.” - -“I echo the sentiment,” he said. “Where have you been? I missed you -lately from your usual haunts.” - -“The Tattler knows me no more. I have a magazine of my own.” - -“And doing well, I sincerely hope,” remarked Mr. Connors. - -“Largely experimental yet,” said Olivia. “I fear I shall have to -educate the public up to the point of appreciating fearlessness. I am -the freest lance today in the whole of New York.” - -“I am glad of it,” said the politician. “Society needs a mirror in -whose sharp reflection it may know itself.” - -“People at first,” said Olivia, “were pleased, then amazed; now they -are mad. But they read every line, and from the remonstrances I note in -other quarters, I am satisfied that my object is being accomplished.” - -“Where are you going?” said he. “May I accompany you, so that we may -finish this delightful chat? You attract me. Now don’t imagine I am -paying you some silly compliment. We both know too much for that. But -there is something exceedingly refreshing in your society, especially -for one who, like me, has run the gauntlet of ambition and emotion.” - -“One good turn deserves another,” remarked his companion. “I frankly -admit that your society is agreeable to me. While you are a politician, -you never fail to admit the truth. But I cannot let you go with me. I -am on a mission of mercy.” - -“That spoils all of good you previously said,” insisted Connors. “Do -you think that in the whirl of politics, I have lost all heart, and so -am unfitted to be your companion, upon a deed of goodness?” - -“No, I do not think so ill of you, but I am going to see one whom we -both knew when the world was at her feet. To see us together might -bring deeper pain to her troubled soul.” - -“Your mission,” he said, with deep interest, “is no secret to me. I am -here on the same errand. I just met Doane, who was bent on visiting -her, with the idea of vengeance.” - -“Then you may go with me,” she assented, “and perhaps together we may -smooth over the roughness of Doane’s contemptible behavior. But you -must agree in advance to back up all I say. Come, we will go together.” - -As they approached the house of Ouida, Connors began to think very -seriously that Olivia would make a charming life companion, and -resolved, then and there, to further cultivate so sweet and strong a -personality. - -They entered the lodging together, and were more than cordially greeted -by Ouida and Horatio. - -“Welcome to you both,” said Ouida, “and you especially, Olivia, for -you are one of the only two women in New York whose hand I clasp in -friendship.” - -“This is indeed good of both of you,” said Horatio. - -“And I offer you both my complete attachment,” said Mr. Connors. - -“In affluence,” said Ouida, “we would not have prided ourselves in the -devotion of kings. Today, when stripped of all, save humiliation, your -proffer is a consolation preciously dear.” - -“Would to heaven, my dear Ouida,” fervently said Olivia, “that I could -impregnate you with some of the bubbling pleasures of my life.” - -“Too late,” said Nugent, “we ourselves have spun a web of fate, that -fast imprisons us. We cannot break the chain.” - -“You must not say that,” said Connors. “There is no mistake beyond -retrieving.” - -“Pardon me,” said Ouida, with a slight impatience, “I have no faith in -such a sentiment. You, who have won the fight, forget the weary rounds -of ambition’s ladder.” - -“Yes,” said Nugent, in echo of Ouida’s thought, “we do not bare our -souls to the insane multitude, but to you, dear friends, we say, that -we feel that further effort to rise from out the pit, is vain.” - -“May I change the subject?” said Olivia. - -“You certainly have my permission,” said Ouida. - -“I met young Wald, the sculptor, a few days ago, and he inquired as to -your whereabouts. I evaded him, but he strongly hinted that discovery -of you by him would be to your advantage.” - -“The dishonest wretch!” exclaimed Ouida, angrily, “what do you think he -would have had me do?” - -“I don’t know, but I have had a very poor opinion of him ever since I -knew that his father paid Doane $5,000 for a flattering critique of his -‘Goddess of Progress,’ a thing of no real merit. But what did he want -of you?” - -“To create, model, carve, and in his name.” - -“I had no idea,” said Connors, “that there was such corruption in art -circles. It is needless for us to ask your answer.” - -“We have sunk,” said Nugent, “to what you behold, but Ouida and I will -cut our throats, ere she shall thus prostitute her divine genius.” - -“May we not help you in some way?” said Olivia. - -“Not with ostentation,” quickly spoke up Connors. “Not even for -yourselves, if you will have it so, but for the world, that should not -be deprived of Ouida’s masterly creations.” - -At this, Ouida wept, nor was she ashamed of her tears. - -“I have not heretofore, through all my misery, shed a single tear,” -said Ouida, “till this delicate offer of your sweet sympathy, and yet I -cannot allow you to interfere with fate.” - -“I have withstood the bitter hate of men,” said Nugent, “nor trembled -once, but your kindness makes me weak, like a child. Do not be -offended, but I must leave you. You will excuse me?” - -“Yes,” said Connors, “if you so desire.” - -“Kind friends,” said Ouida, “take your leave now. Your visit has left a -ray of sunshine, which Horatio and I will bask in long after you wend -your way from this place, out into the busy world. Leave us alone, to -work out our own salvation.” - -“Will you, dearest Ouida,” pleaded Olivia, “thus drive forth two -earnest, loving friends, who desire no higher privilege than to stand -by your side?” - -“Yes, my dear Ouida,” said Connors, “I am not without some power. The -strongest effort of my life is yours, absolutely, to command.” - -“No, friends, go your way. With ourselves alone we must conduct this -mighty strife. If we should fail, all I ask is that, when we have -shuffled off this mortal coil, paint us as we really were, not as -biting tongues, tinged with malice, have told the story of our sin.” - -“Come, Mr. Connors,” said Olivia, “it would be sinful, upon the rough -rack of this world, to longer vex the proud spirit of our friends.” - -“Good-bye, dear friends,” said Connors, almost with affection, “and as -we say au revoir, let me breathe the earnest prayer, that the Supreme -Intelligence will lift you out of the valley of the shadow of grief, so -that from the hill tops, you may behold the dawn of a new and nobler -life.” - -They left Ouida together, admiring, yet regretting, that marble pride -which prevented Ouida from accepting their proffered sympathy and aid. -But a contemplation of the history of Ouida and Horatio, drew them -closer together, though no word of love was spoken between the two. -Their mutual interest in the fate of their friends provided a bond of -sympathy between the two, that bid fair to develop into a deeper and -holier connection. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -LAWYER SALMON MEETS DEFEAT. - - -The day on which Doane and the two sweet friends visited Ouida was -a fateful one. On that same day Lawyer Salmon had a most eventful -conversation with his daughter Marie. They also met near Ouida’s place. - -“My dear child,” said he, “it is foolish for you to pine your young -life away in grief over Milton.” - -“Father,” said she, “it is easy for you to speak thus, but I cannot -root out of my soul the love and faith therein enshrined.” - -“He has forgotten you.” - -“I will not believe it,” said she stoutly. - -“How long,” persisted the father, “has it been since you have heard -from him?” - -“About six months, but he may be ill. There must be some cause,” said -Marie, fighting every inch of ground. - -“Stuff and nonsense,” said he, “why don’t you admit to yourself the -truth. He has abandoned you. I always thought you had more pride than -to throw yourself into the arms of a man who seems so utterly to have -forgotten you.” - -“Father,” said Marie, a tremor in her voice, “you wrong Milton. I fear -you do not love me, or you would not so wound me.” - -“There, daughter, you are unjust to me. You may deem me hard, cold, -unromantic, but I know these Royles. His father was as treacherous as -an Indian, and I believe in heredity.” - -“And I in love,” said Marie. - -“And I shall be silent henceforth on the subject. Stern though I seem, -I love you, my darling child, and your happiness is my one aim in life.” - -“Then withdraw your opposition to Milton, for I will only be completely -happy when you shall admit him to your heart as a son.” - -“Ah, well,” said Salmon with a sigh, thinking of the girl’s dead -mother, “I will think upon it. I must now go in to see Ouida. I will -not be long detained. Remain without until I return.” - -“I will yet win him over. God alone knows how I have worried over -Milton’s long and extraordinary silence.” - -A moment and right upon the street, she felt warm arms around her, and -a heart breathing next her own. - -“Marie,” was all that Milton said. - -“Milton!” she exclaimed, “what a surprise to father. Your name has -just left my lips. My father and I have just been indulging in another -portion of our perpetual quarrel over you. Why have you been so long -silent?” - -“Silent, dearest,” said he in surprise. - -“I have not received a line from you in six months.” - -“Then my mail must have been miscarried, for I wrote almost as -frequently as usual.” - -“Almost? Why not just as often?” she said, rather piqued. - -“For the last few months I have been more than absorbed in my work, for -the annual competition at Rome, and moments were golden.” - -“Did you succeed?” she asked in breathless suspense. - -“Yes, my darling,” said Milton proudly, “I won the first prize, and -hastened home to lay the laurels at your feet.” - -“I am proud of you, and I rejoice in your success. Now father shall -come over to us,” said Marie. - -“What’s the news?” asked Milton. “I just disembarked from the Germania, -jumped into a cab at the wharf, drove to your residence, learned that -you had started for this place, followed, and once again behold your -beloved face.” - -“Strange things have happened since you went abroad. You have heard -about Ouida?” - -“Yes,” said Milton, “and it almost broke my heart. I owe so much to -her.” - -“I am no longer jealous of her, and, dear Milton, if you can in any way -help her I will love you more than ever, if possible.” - -“I need no inspiration to that end,” said Milton, “my own gratitude -would urge and compel me to serve her.” - -“You are always generous, Milton, and I appreciate you all the more for -it.” - -“I care not what the world may say,” said Milton, “but humanity needs -her, and she shall no longer be buried beneath the weight of a sin for -which long ago she paid the awful penalty.” - -“I share your opinion with all my heart,” said Marie. - -Just about this time Mr. Salmon, having accomplished the mission which -had called him to Ouida’s house, returned, and his first glance lighted -upon the happy pair, who were totally oblivious to his presence. He -turned down another street, with a sigh, and left them undisturbed. -_He had met with defeat._ The girl’s faith had triumphed. He felt he -ought to succumb, yet he was proud and stubborn, and even yet there was -opposition in his soul. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -SALE OF “THE MODERN HERCULES.” - - -Almost immediately after Olivia Winters and Mr. Connors had departed -Horatio Nugent returned to Ouida’s presence. - -“I have just seen Marie Salmon and Milton Royle,” said he. - -“Milton Royle,” she said, “so he has returned from abroad?” - -“Yes, and radiant with victory. He has won the first prize at Rome, and -was most anxious to offer his gratitude to you, but I knew you were -weary with the trials of the day, and begged him to come some other -time.” - -“I am glad you did so. The sight of his beaming face would have -recalled memories that would have made me doubly sad.” - -“Yes, the period of your triumphs before I cast my dark and grim shadow -over the sunshine of your life. Woe is me!” - -“And do you think,” said Ouida, with infinite tenderness, “that I -regret you?” - -“That is the very thought that sears my soul. I know my wrong to you. -Yet through it all your brave smile remains. Oh! for the power to blot -out the past; to dower you with the past.” - -“I would refuse the gift,” said Ouida, “if I could not share my life -with you. You seem fevered tonight, love. Any good results today?” - -“No, dearest, only added torment,” said he, sadly. “You remember last -week I left my manuscript with Dixon & Company, the publishers? Their -reader told me to call today. I did, with large hope and expectations. -I was ushered into his office, furnished with artistic taste. ‘Your -work,’ said he, ‘is clever and original, but I have made some inquiries -about you. You are Nugent, the preacher, are you not, who was concerned -in an escapade with Ouida Angelo?’ I could not and would not deny my -connection with you. ‘I like your work,’ said he, ‘but our house cannot -afford to insult society, which it certainly would do, if we fathered -anything from your pen.’ With a careless nod he handed me my bundle of -papers and dismissed me. And as I left, my heart almost bursting with -indignation, I wished you again upon the very throne of art, that you -might tear out my soul, and use it as a model for a creation, ‘The -Agony of Despair.’” - -“Come, Horatio, lay your head upon my knee and let me soothe your -aching brow.” He gladly complied with her sweet suggestion. There was a -brief silence, when, looking up into her face, he suddenly said: - -“Do you not think, Ouida, that you and I have fairly tried the world?” - -“Yes,” said she, firmly, “and surely we have reached the end.” - -“Think you self-destruction is ever justified?” - -“Have you abandoned hope so completely,” she said, “that you let such -dark visions come into your mind?” - -“I am full of despair tonight,” said Nugent, gloomily. “I see naught -before me save the impregnable wall of fate. I can neither break -through its thickness, nor scale its height.” - -“True,” said Ouida, dreamily, “our lives have utterly failed, and if we -quietly sought oblivion, the world would wag its tongue for one brief -hour, then would speedily forget that we ever lived.” - -Horatio rose to his feet, and said with impressive solemnity: - -“I have thought that when two, through their love, pure in itself, -had gained but grief and tears, when they had reached that point when -starvation, both of body and soul, confronted them like a hideous -spectre; when their pride had been stung by pity; when love views love -with more than mortal agony, affording no hope; Oh, Ouida, beloved, I -have thought ’twere best to end it all with one bold stroke, and solve -the mystery of the fate beyond the stars!” - -“Your magnetic eloquence,” said the woman, “moves me beyond expression. -We cannot longer live together. Your agony each day kills me a million -times. Mine utterly unnerves you. Whatever course you deem best I’ll -share without a sob or tear.” - -“Then, since you are content, let us die together!” - -“I assent,” said Ouida, almost with joy. - -“No vulgar death of violence,” said her lover. “I could not stab you -with a knife, for the sight of your red, spurting blood, would rob me -of the strength to do the deed upon myself. To blow your brains out -with a pistol would be brutish. But see, here is a poison. This, in a -small quantity of water, will provide enough to send our souls hence -into the other world. Shall I prepare the drink?” - -“Yes, and without delay. The morning sun shall shed its earliest rays -upon our soulless dust.” - -And Horatio Nugent, upon whose eloquence once hung breathless, -countless thousands, mixed the drink, with firm hand, that would -self-murder two human lives. When ready, said he: - -“The fatal distillation is ready for the taking. Farewell, my queen! -Would to God I had never crossed your life and dragged you to the dust!” - -He held ready the glass almost to his lips. - -“And you, my king, farewell! Let me drink first. I would not look upon -your rigid limbs, environed in the grip of death.” - -“Have your wish,” he said, “here is the cup.” - -She raised the small vessel to her lips, and was about to quaff its -fatal contents, when Edward Salmon, the lawyer, broke into the room, -and quickly seizing the horror of the situation, struck the cup from -her hand, and it fell with a crash upon the floor. - -“Thank God!” exclaimed the lawyer, “in time to save you both.” - -“Sir,” said Horatio, “may we not be permitted to die in peace?” - -“You know not,” said Ouida, “the grief you have prolonged.” - -“You told me yesterday to sell ‘The Modern Hercules,’” said Salmon, -breathlessly. “I have found a purchaser.” - -“Then sell it,” said Ouida, “and dig our graves in decency.” - -“Sell it rather,” said Salmon, in deepest sympathy, “and with the -proceeds begin life anew.” - -“Our lives have run their course. We can no longer hold up beneath the -world’s black frown,” said Horatio. - -“That is the talk of the moral coward,” said Salmon, boldly. “Come, I -know your story. Draw out your strength, your manhood. Fate brought me -here in time. You both shall live to look upon this hour with shame.” - -“He is right,” said Ouida, arousing herself with mighty effort. “Look -up, my love, we may yet wring from fortune’s grasp a noble fate. Where -is the purchaser?” - -“He awaits without. Would see the work, pay the price and go.” - -“Let him come,” said Ouida. - -Salmon retired for a moment, and when he returned, brought with -him--Paul Strogoff, the sinned against! - -He only said: “I come not in anger, nor in vengeance; only in sorrow, -to crave your pardon, that I live.” - -“Would that I had died ere this,” said Ouida. - -Horatio bowed his head in shame and humiliation. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -THE BEGINNING OF REDEMPTION. - - -Paul Strogoff’s sorrow had ennobled him, and, though the opportunity -came to him to humiliate those who had wronged him, no man, born of -woman, could have acted with rarer delicacy, than he did upon the -trying occasion of the purchase of “The Modern Hercules.” - -His behavior at that time produced marvelous results. It seemed to -have had the effect of tearing aside the veil which had blinded the -sculptress and her lover, to a realization of the enormity of their -sin. They resolved to be no less noble in sacrifice than Paul had been. -They had resolved to give each other up, and the separation had taken -place. - -Nugent at first applied to the organized churches for place, but -they would have none of him. So he began his work independent, and -alone. His field of operation lay among the poor, the forsaken, the -down-trodden of the slums. Many a time he had gone down into the gutter -to uplift the fallen and degraded creatures, who were abandoned by the -big churches to their fate. Gradually he won for himself a distinctive -place in the real affections of the common people. He became a familiar -figure in the humbler quarters, and often money came to aid worthy -causes from an unknown source. It came from Paul, but Horatio Nugent -never knew. He became such a character, that when he passed through -the crime infected portions of the city, every cut-throat, burglar -and petty larcenist took off the hat to him. They all felt that there -was some mighty secret locked up in his breast, and they respected -him and it. And what were the feelings within him? He had marked out -his course, and was rigidly pursuing it, and gradually there crept -over him, a peace, contentment, harmony of thought, that furnished a -complete compensation for the sacrifice which he had made. His moral -redemption was complete, but the struggle had been fierce and intent, -and the temptation to swerve in the earlier days of the battle had -often times been strong and almost beyond control. He had no friends, -save among the poor whom he served, and he led as simple a life as that -of a rustic shepherd. - -And what of Ouida? Her life and pursuit were equally as noble. She had -become a woman whose only object in life was to prevent others from -falling into the sad sin which had darkened her life. The sensational -newspapers had laughed at her for a while, but she bravely persisted, -and ridicule was soon transformed into respect and admiration. -Several times in the course of their philanthropic work they met, -but no thought had come to them concerning a renewal of their former -relations, and each, from afar, by magnetic sympathy sustained the -other in this newer and nobler life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -DOANE TOASTS DISEASE. - - -Doane, Connors, Salmon and Wayland were all members of the Union League -Club, and spent much of their time amid its comfortable, enticing -environments. There is a common opinion prevalent, particularly in New -York, that a society man may as well be dead as not to hold membership -in at least one of the fashionable clubs. You can eat there, receive -the billet doux of your lady friends, and if you want to gamble you -can be accommodated at any limit of the game. If you are convivially -inclined you can there get on a decent drunk, and perfect care will be -taken that you do not fall into the hands of the police. In fact the -club is a great protection to married as well as single men. Many a -husband, who likes a quiet time apart from domestic influences, has had -his shortcomings covered by the club. This sort of thing is not for the -poor man. He takes his drink in the groggery, and woe betide him if he -should stagger on the public highway. - -Doane, the editor, and Salmon, the lawyer, both sharp witted, were -seated in one of the private rooms of the Union League. It was shortly -after Salmon, apart from his usual custom in the profession, had been -victorious in a celebrated murder trial. - -“I congratulate you on your acquittal of Wilcox,” said Doane. - -“A hard case,” remarked Salmon. “He was convicted once, actually sat -in the electric death chair, but I got a new hearing, secured a second -trial, and now the accused is as free as you or I.” - -“A clever victory for you, but bad for society. The way murderers are -freed now only encourages desperate deeds. There would be more respect -for law if there were fewer lawyers,” said the editor. - -“Perhaps it would be better,” said Salmon, “if we permitted the -newspapers to administer justice.” - -“How so?” said Doane, ignoring the covert sarcasm of his friend. - -“I will illustrate,” said the lawyer: “About a year ago, in this city, -a man was hacked to pieces. With him lived a Polish immigrant. He knew -but little of the language or customs of the country. A sensational -newspaper put its blood-hound-detective-reporters on the trail. They -convicted Skinoski, only to find a few months later, beyond the shadow -of a doubt, that a slight mistake had been made, and after all they -had electrocuted the wrong man.” - -“Yes, a little error of that kind will occur, you know,” said Doane, -unfeelingly, “but then it only removed another of these filthy, foreign -paupers. We have too many of these cattle on hand now. Not that I have -any very great respect for the native toiler.” - -“What is your objection to him?” said Salmon. - -“I like the laboring man well enough in his way,” said Doane, “but I -wish he would take a bath once in a while. There is too little sweat on -his brow and too much on his hands to suit me.” - -“Yet your paper parades the fact,” said Salmon, “that it fights his -battles.” - -“I admit that,” said Doane, with a wink, “we need readers and a -circulation to justify us in raising advertising rates. This is -business versus sentiment.” - -Just then Mr. Wayland, the stock broker, entered, and, as he took -an easy chair, said, “I’ll wager that Doane has just said something -biting. There is on his face a smile of derision.” - -“No, I have been making practical suggestions; that is all. Have been -talking about the Plebeian herd, and must have a quart of champagne -with which to cleanse my tongue.” - -A button within easy reach is touched; a waiter appears; takes the -order, and soon returns with the wine. - -“It shall be on me,” said Wayland. “I can afford it. I made a fortune -today.” - -“How?” said Doane. “Did you bankrupt another railroad?” - -“No; like Joseph I cornered wheat, and made a million. Will you help me -spend it?” - -“Yes. Buy a newspaper, and employ Salmon there. He’s a most expensive -luxury,” said Doane. - -“What reason have you for always jumping on me?” said Salmon. “Did I -not safely escort you through seven libel suits last year?” - -“Yes, and how much of our stock do you now hold in the way of fee?” - -“Let’s cease this merriment,” said Wayland, in either real or assumed -sadness. “I am in mourning. The City of Hamburg has just arrived, and -brings the news that ‘La Petite Goldie’ died at sea, and was buried -beneath the cruel waves of the unfeeling Atlantic.” - -“Another $50,000 you will have to credit to profit and loss,” said -Doane. - -“Was that another of Gould’s operative speculations?” asked Salmon. - -“Yes, gentlemen, she was, and truly I am awfully cut up over the -matter. I liked the girl very much, and besides, she had great talent.” - -“She died of what ailment?” queried the lawyer. - -“That’s the puzzling thing,” said the broker. “Some dreadful, -mysterious ailment, the germs of which floated up from the steerage. -The confounded steamer should have been quarantined. The first thing we -know New York will be scourged.” - -“A few thousand useless cattle will be killed off,” said Doane. “A good -thing.” - -“It might lay its heavy hand on you,” said Salmon. - -“No,” replied Doane, “I am too wicked to die. Satan would refuse me -entrance to hell for fear I’d rival him for his kingdom.” - -“Anyhow,” said Wayland, “I intend to wear crape for a year.” - -“Bah,” said Doane, “the next pretty face will cure you. You’ll get no -sympathy from us.” - -“See here, Doane. I bought that bottle of wine as a bribe for sympathy, -and I shall engage Salmon here to prosecute you for obtaining it under -false pretense.” - -“This possibility of some mysterious epidemic in New York annoys me,” -said Doane. “I shall take occasion in tomorrow’s paper, to rake the -health officers sharply over the coals,” and for some cause or other, a -sickening shudder passed over his frame. - -“Does it trouble you, Doane?” said Wayland, “if so, let’s go abroad.” - -“No, personally I do not fear,” said the editor. “I have looked pistols -in the eye; have been a war correspondent, with bullets flying about -like hail; and, have in addition, faced an angry husband or two. A -little disease--bah! There are a hundred doctors who would serve me for -the asking. Give me another drink,” and as he held the glass aloft, he -offered a toast: “Here’s to grim disease,” he said, “may it kill off -ten thousand”--he did not finish; the wine glass fell upon the floor -and was cracked in many particles, while Doane tottered, fainting in -the arms of Salmon. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE CURSE FALLS. - - -The vague fear which outlined itself in the mind of the club men, had -taken shape, and New York was in the grip of the most dreadful epidemic -that had ever scourged the Metropolis. The curse of Heaven seemed to -have laid its heavy hand upon the people. Hundreds dropped, day by day, -into the very jaws of death. War may have had its terrors, but it could -not be compared to the ravages of this frightful visitation. It came -in the night time, touched its victim, and ere dawn, he sinks into the -tomb. Preachers, nurses, doctors, have fled before its grim approach. -The preachers who fled, did not do so _out of cowardly fear_, but -because God needed them, and they did not feel like disappointing Him -by taking chances on death. The sick take care of the dying, and the -dead rot, become putrid and stink before the undertaker’s cart rolls -around. The city looked a good deal like Paris did during the Reign -of Terror. There were several persons whose lives were interwoven in -this story, who stayed bravely at their respective posts of duty. Ouida -Angelo, immediately upon the outbreak, had joined the Red Cross forces, -and had done work of almost divine mercy and gentleness. Horatio -Nugent, while full of pity for the human suffering which the epidemic -had brought in its train, reveled in delight at the opportunity it -gave him for noble and glorious work. Mr. Connors, stepping down from -his proud place as a statesman, had done herculean work by the side -of Olivia Winters, who had furnished the inspiration. Thus this great -public misfortune had afforded hundreds the opportunity for nobility of -conduct, whose lives before had been selfish and proud. - -During the very maddest part of the ravages of the curse, Olivia -Winters met Mr. Connors on one of her tours. - -“I am so comforted to meet you here,” she said, and the thought in her -mind was, that she rejoiced to see him still alive. “I have just seen -the last of Doane, the editor. His death was frightful. Dr. Simpson -attended him. Doane, under the influence of the fever, had an idea -that it was within the power of the doctor to save his life. Whining -like a cur, he said: ‘I must have my life, good doctor,’ and then he -shrieked, ‘I cannot die--I must not die--I’ll give you $50,000 cash, if -you will but save my life.’ Then, with a look of agony, he fell back -upon his pillow, exhausted, panting like a thirsty dog. Through the -day he incessantly kept up this cry; sometimes laughing in defiance, -again sobbing. Then, when the doctor left, he muttered to himself: -‘I’ll fool this cunning Æsculapius. Just let me live; I’ll not give -him a cent.’ Each mad, despairing outbreak tended only to exhaust his -small remaining strength. When Dr. Simpson returned, he felt death -near at hand. Doane evidently saw reflected in the doctor’s eye, his -own fatal condition, and with almost superhuman strength, he lifted -himself upright in bed. ‘Will I die, doctor?’ came rattling from his -parched throat. ‘There is no hope,’ said the physician. ‘Then bring me -pen and paper,’ he said. His wish was complied with. ‘I will write,’ -he said. ‘It shall be the bitterest screed that ever wounded quaking -souls. I’ll sing a song of iron bitterness; a dying legacy to the sons -of men. O! I cannot hold a pen within my grasp. I cannot see; all grows -dark around me. So this is death.’ There was a sickening gurgle in his -throat as he fell back dead.” - -“Horrible! horrible!” said Connors, his heart full of fear and pity for -this woman, so brave and strong. - -“Heaven deliver me from such another experience,” said Olivia. “I shall -hear his wild laughter, the death rattle in his throat; shall behold -his gleaming, glaring, glazed eye balls to my dying day.” - -“I may be considered uncharitable,” said Connors, “but it is better -that the world is rid of such a venomous spirit.” - -“That may be true, but you know, my dear Mr. Connors, that while he lay -in that condition, one could not consider his character, only that he -was a sufferer,” said Olivia. “But did you ever see this great city in -such a plight before?” - -“Never,” he replied. “I don’t know what will become of us.” - -“One thing has happened, that almost makes me glad of our great -calamity.” - -“In the name of Heaven,” he said, “what can that be?” - -“For the opportunity it has given Horatio Nugent to regain his good -name.” - -“Indeed, you are right, and he has redeemed himself,” he said. “How -glad I am that you and I did not desert him in his hour of need.” - -“Just as a few years ago,” said Olivia, “the world rang with the -story of their shame, so now does it smile and bow over their heroic -conduct.” - -“Public opinion,” said the statesman, “begins to disgust me more than -ever. It is as fickle as the wind, and it is not what you are that -governs, but that which you appear to be. I shall bow to it no longer.” - -“Yet, remember what befel our friends for their defiance of this thing -you now despise,” said Olivia. - -“You spoke of Horatio Nugent a moment ago,” he said. “Let me tell you -about Ouida.” - -“Go on,” she said, “but quickly, for I have much work before me.” - -“From time to time,” said he, “I heard of the deeds of a sweet and -saint-like creature, that quietly flitted to and fro among the -desperate wretches of your sex, who had fallen into the lap of sin. -I heard of shop girls who, tempted by the lust of man, and who were -about to fall, snatched from the very jaws of ruin. I heard of extreme -poverty being relieved in hundreds of cases. I heard of reading rooms -being established for poor working girls. I heard of some mysterious -angel going forth upon these varied missions of mercy and humanity. -When I investigated, to find out who this was, lo! and behold! Ouida -Angelo. And then my heart leaped for joy.” - -“Her redemption and absolution is complete,” said Olivia. “She has gone -through the valley of the shadow of death, almost, in the course of -this fight with herself.” - -“And now,” said Connors, tenderly, “is there any hope for me?” - -Her heart leaped for joy, but she still brushed aside the hope that was -as dear to her as to him. There was no false modesty about her, and her -open countenance revealed the delight that quickened her soul. - -“If,” said she, “we live through this ordeal, I’ll come myself, -willingly, and bring the answer, woman though I am.” - -“Did you know that Paul Strogoff was stricken down today?” said Connors. - -“Is it so?” she said, in utmost sadness. “Death loves a shining mark.” - -“Good-bye,” said Connors. “God grant we soon may meet again, under -happier and safer conditions.” - -They separated, each filled with mighty anxiety for the other, but each -too truly great and noble to allow personal longing to interfere with -the stern duty of the hour. But it was not many months before their -unselfishness was rewarded with a happiness of pure and gentle nature. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -THE LAWYER SURRENDERS. - - -Among those who felt the touch of the awful disease was Edward Salmon, -the lawyer. For days it had its strong clutch upon him, but he battled -bravely, and Marie and Milton were tireless in their tender care and -solicitude. Most of the time he lay in fevered unconsciousness, not -recognizing those by whom he was surrounded. Often death approached -so near at hand that Marie shuddered in dread, and Milton was full -of grief on her account. At length, however, the struggle ended in -victory, and Edward Salmon lived. - -When consciousness had become fully restored, and the danger was over, -Marie had Milton go away. She had resolved upon her course of action. - -One day when Mr. Salmon, in his smoking jacket, weak and pale, sat -thinking, Marie, cuddled up to him, and stroking his hair. He knew -something was coming, for, like her dear, dead mother before her, that -was the girl’s way. - -“Father,” she said, “you have been ill, very ill, but thank God you -have been spared.” - -“Yes,” said he, “and through your noble devotion.” - -“We did the best we could,” she said, slyly. - -“We,” he said, “what we? Did you have help?” - -“Yes, in your fever, you did not know, but it was Milton who braved all -danger, and with me, sat up night after night, watching your slightest -movement.” - -“And I hated him so,” said Salmon. “He has heaped coals of fire upon my -head, and has nobly shamed me.” - -“Father, believe me, the eye of love cannot be deceived,” appealed the -girl. “You have misjudged Milton.” - -“Perhaps,” said he, “my darling, I have. I surrender!” - -In a moment, for joy, she was sobbing on her father’s breast, and he, -too, could not restrain a silent tear. - -“Bring Milton to me,” said Salmon, “he shall not outdo me in -generosity; if he will but love and cherish you as I have done, I’ll -ask no more.” - -But a brief period elapsed and a happy trio were in conclave at the -lawyer’s residence. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -PAUL FOLLOWS CHRIST.--THE END. - - -Paul Strogoff had developed a peculiar philosophy since Ouida had sent -him into grief. Though singularly fortunate as far as this world goes, -though young, though of lusty strength, though possessing the ability -to gratify every desire, he loved not life, but death. He had come -to the conclusion that what a man gets in life is not by any means -sufficient compensation for the struggle through which he goes. If he -could have folded his arms quietly and passed out of human existence, -he would not have murmured, but with perfect resignation accepted his -fate. He was neither a physical nor a moral coward. His whole life -had been marked by bravery, therefore he could not commit suicide. -His fortune was being expended in private charities, and many boys, -struggling up from the gutter, wondered at his generosity. They would -not have done so, if they had seen Paul’s early battle with the dog. - -When the scourge visited the city, Paul remained, not so much for the -reason that he might reach death as that he saw opportunities for good, -useful, and above all, absorbing work. Like many others he for a time -labored assiduously, and was spared, but at length his turn came, and -he, who had worked with such devotion for others, lay sick and dying, -almost bereft of attention and care. - -At length, his servant, an old Russian retainer of the family, managed -to procure the attendance of Dr. Simpson. As soon as he saw Paul, the -doctor shook his head ominously. - -“How is my master?” said the Russian. - -“In the very extremity of the fever, sir.” - -“Is there no hope?” asked the servant. - -“None,” said the doctor, unhesitatingly, “he will be dead within the -hour.” - -The patient stirred uneasily. Wild dreams were flitting over his sick -vision. - -“Is she here?” the sick man muttered. - -“Who?” said the doctor. - -“The idol of my life,” said Paul in his delirium. “I deeply wronged -her, to put my shadow on her life. She, so far above! A star -unreachable! I may not die until my eyes shall rest upon her form -again. Oh, Ouida, come!” - -“The height of pathos,” said the doctor, softened, though he had -witnessed before, misery untold. “Oh, for a nurse to soothe his dying -hours!” - -And, as if in answer to the doctor’s prayer, there came a gentle knock -at the door, and Ouida Angelo entered. - -“I heard there was a patient here,” said she. “I am a volunteer nurse. -Can I be of service?” - -“Yes,” said the doctor, and Ouida approached the couch of the dying -man, and as she looked upon his wasted face, and saw death’s mark -there, her face turned white as marble. She forget the doctor’s -presence, forgot all the world, save that this was the completion of -her punishment, the wages of her sin. - -“Paul!” she said. - -“I hear her voice,” said the patient, looking up and instantly -recognizing her. Her voice had brought him out of his delirium. “I knew -I would not die until she came.” - -“Do not speak of dying,” she said, and her voice was mellow and -soothing. “You shall live.” - -“How good of you to speak of hope,” said the dying man, “but it cannot -be; it is useless. I cannot shake off the icy hand of death. Pray, -forgive me that I crossed your life. I loved you well. You did not -know, but now I kiss your hand and die.” - -“Forgive you,” she said, “that is mockery. Upon my bended knees, I ask -your forgiveness,” and the woman, her pride all gone, sank upon her -knees by the bedside of the husband she had so deeply wronged. - -“If this be your wish,” he gently said, “my dying soul confers the -gift. Is there not near some man of God, to offer up a prayer for me?” - -“You need no mediator,” she said, lifting up her head, “your life has -been a constant prayer.” - -“Procure a minister, if possible,” said the doctor, addressing the -servant, who disappeared, and, as good fortune would have it, shortly -returned, having accomplished his mission. Fate had directed the -servant to Horatio Nugent! - -Ouida was startled beyond expression to see him, but her manner was -calm. - -“This dying saint,” said Ouida, “requests a prayer in his behalf to -God.” - -The preacher approached the couch of death, but when his eyes beheld -Paul, his soul was wrenched with agony. - -“Paul!” he exclaimed, “I am not fit to pray for him.” - -“Give me your hand,” said the dying man to Horatio, “and yours, Ouida.” - -Across the death bed he joined their hands. - -“This is my revenge,” said Paul. “I love you both. Be happy, for my -sake. I forgive you. Death, thou hast no sting for me; no terror hath -the yawning grave. I die in peace!” - -And as he breathed his last, a seraphic smile lighted his whole -countenance. The preacher’s eyes were raised to God, his soul was -wrapped in prayer, while Ouida sank to the floor, her head bowed in -utmost reverence. - - - - -A MODERN HERCULES - - -_THE TALE OF A SCULPTRESS_ - - -... BY ... -MELVIN G. WINSTOCK -OF THE -_LEADVILLE BAR_ - -[Illustration] - -AUTHOR OF - -“_A Western Politician_,” “_The Fatal Horoscope_,” -“_A Virginia Romance_,” _Etc._ - - -Price : 50 Cents - - - - -The Colorado Midland Railway.. - - -[Illustration] - - -Double Daily Train Service.. - -BETWEEN - -DENVER - -and - -COLORADO’S MINING CAMPS, - -Salt Lake City... - -and the West. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN HERCULES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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Winstock</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<table style='min-width:0; padding:0; margin-left:0; border-collapse:collapse'> - <tr><td>Title:</td><td>A Modern Hercules</td></tr> - <tr><td></td><td>The Tale of a Sculptress</td></tr> -</table> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Melvin G. Winstock</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: May 11, 2021 [eBook #65318]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN HERCULES ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/title.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h1>“A MODERN HERCULES,”</h1> - -<p class="bold2"><span class="smcap">The Tale of a Sculptress</span>,</p> - -<p class="bold">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">MELVIN G. WINSTOCK,</p> - -<p class="bold">OF THE</p> - -<p class="bold">LEADVILLE BAR.</p> - -<p class="bold">AUTHOR OF<br />“A Western Politician,” “The Fatal Horoscope,”<br />“A Virginian Romance,” Etc.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p class="bold">Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1899, by Melvin G.<br /> -Winstock, in the office of the Librarian of Congress,<br />at Washington, D. C.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p class="bold">Herald Democrat Print.<br />Leadville, Colo.<br />—<br />1899.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE.</h2> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hotel Vendome</span>, <span class="s6"> </span> }<br /> -<span class="smcap">Leadville, Colo., October 31, 1899</span>.}</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">To the Public</span>:</p> - -<p>This City, surrounded by snow-clad peaks pointing to and almost losing -themselves in the bosom of the Supreme Intelligence, has inspired -my effort. The volume is dedicated to “Ouida,” radiant also with -inspiration. She lives. The novel is written from my play of the same -title.</p> - -<p>The clergy at first may condemn the <i>morale</i> of my story, but upon -reflection I think they will realize the injustice of such a course. -There is no religion that does not preach that though men sin, true -redemption may be accomplished by honest repentance and noble effort. -My hero and heroine go through the valley of the Shadow of Death to -cleanse themselves of impurity, and the story of their lives is a -living, breathing sermon in itself.</p> - -<p>I have published my story here for the reason that the generosity of -Leadville citizens has made it possible for me to place my work before -the public. I trust it will meet with such success as it merits and no -more.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Melvin G. Winstock.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - -<p class="bold2">“A MODERN HERCULES.”</p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER I.</span> <span class="smaller">“THE NUDE IN ART.”</span></h2> - -<p>Two things caused the great heart of New York society to throb with -unusual excitement. One was a marvelous work of sculptural art, where -boldness in design and utter fearlessness in execution had almost -affronted, and yet had won the plaudits of the cultivated of the -Metropolis. Ouida Angelo, a woman in “A Grecian Temptress,” had dared -to wring from men an absolute tribute to and acknowledgement of her -genius and power. The second event was the announcement that Horatio -Nugent, the great pulpit orator, would preach a sermon on “The Nude in -Art.”</p> - -<p>The wealth and fashion of the city sat spell-bound beneath the -eloquent tongue of the great divine. The sad face of the Madonna, in -the painted window of Geneva, grew sadder still as she looked down -upon the favored multitude. There were present there, men who headed -every published list of charity, who paid thousands for pew rental, -in this great official residence of God, yet who had no compunction -about wrecking a railroad and thereby indirectly spreading ruin among -hundreds. In the front row sat a bank president, who knew that on -the morrow his financial institution would be in irretrievable ruin, -yet who for months had been a pillar of the church and had some of -the congregational funds in his rapacious clutch. A poor wash woman -or window<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> cleaner, probably attracted by the magnetic tones of the -stupendous organ, had dared to wander in. In simple ignorance she -had probably imagined that Christ’s boasted friendship for the poor -meant something to modern dogmatists, and had taken a seat high up -among these mighty lordlings of this majestic world. The congregation -held its breath in amazement, and could not have been more shocked if -the yellow fever in disguise had paid its fatal visit. This magnetic -indignation communicated itself to an usher in full dress. He came -forward and whispered something to the woman. She slowly rose and went -up into the gallery. <i>God had sold out all the down-stair seats to -the rich!</i> The Madonna sighed in pity and was angry. The congregation -breathed a sigh of relief. The church itself cost half a million. It -had no reading room, free bath, employment bureau or lunch counter -attached to it. It was open for about nine months each year on Sundays, -and when a millionaire wanted to get married, or his heirs wanted to -bury him, so they could get up a sensational will contest and make -newspapers sell. Not far away from the church was a series of alleys, -where poverty held supreme sway, and where the grim specter of want, -filth and misery, stalked, dealing death, crime and agony, winning each -moment recruits for the devil’s army in hell.</p> - -<p>I’ll not allow that rich woman over there to plead not guilty, upon -the ground of ignorance of these conditions. She knows all about it, -and yet to get those latest diamonds that sparkle on her breast, she -made her husband sell the farm, whereon his honest old rustic parents -were buried. Over there sits a woman, who is unfaithful in heart to her -marriage vows, and who yet lacks the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>courage to follow the bent of her -intense longing, for fear of what her small world would say. In all of -this artificial brilliance, there are masks and faces as false as many -of the hearts which rich attire conceals.</p> - -<p>Notwithstanding all this, there was every inducement for real -inspiration. The architectural beauty of the interior of the church was -artistic to the nature, and soft and alluring to the eye. The place -was decorated with beautiful pots, plants and flowers. Through the -stained windows a mellow light gilded rich carpets and soft cushions. -The trained choir sang divinely while the organist thundered forth not -only the wrath of the Deity, but promised mercy, like the whisper of an -angel, through the organ’s pipes. As the notes of the grand instrument -died away in the distance, softly, like a summer sigh, a man of noble -face and figure stood in the pulpit.</p> - -<p>It was the preacher!</p> - -<p>He was young. His eyes were boldly black and brilliant. They sparkled -like pure diamonds with feeling, comprehension and intelligence. His -head had the shape of a Roman God. His shoulders were square. He looked -the very physical and intellectual giant that he was. His voice was -flavored with magnetism that always distinguishes the eloquent orator -from the mere word absorber. He ran his long, shapely fingers through -his dark hair, shook his head like a lion, and plunged like a blooded -courser into the very meat and marrow of his subject.</p> - -<p>“Christ was insulted on Sunday last. This church was empty at service -time, and all had forsaken Him to pay tribute to a woman’s vindictively -immoral work. You who have built this religious palace to the glory of -a mighty and eternal God, betrayed Him for the devil.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> For hark me, -I tell you, that he who so prostitutes true art, be it man or woman, -pandering to the depraved tastes of modern society, is but an agent of -the King of Hell!</p> - -<p>“‘A Grecian Temptress’ was, or is, its theme. A woman of form almost -divine, enticing a youth of purity to voluptuous sin, while in the -veiled background stands a Satan, holding sway over the temptress, -while she is but serving her Master in alluring souls to the regions of -perpetual darkness.</p> - -<p>“All true art leads to God. The tree, the earth, the sparrow, the -eagle, the wheat, the stars, the beasts, man, are parts of a great and -mighty network of machinery. All false art leads to God’s enemy, and -sin, selfishness, voluptuousness, temptation and passion, carry with -them and in them the seed of their own punishment. How dare these bold -and brazen creatures, under the name of art, lay before the multitude -chapters from their own devilish and inconsistent lives? <i>Yet the sin -is not theirs alone.</i> You who hear me are equally guilty, because you -encourage them by your countenance and patronage to continue in their -base course of debauching the public taste. We seek in vain for purity -and find it swiftly fleeing, while in its place there is rising up a -craving for sensationalism which is even reaching the pulpit itself!</p> - -<p>“Why should we follow ancient Greece? As long as the Athenian was -stalwart, patriotic, full of rugged simplicity, the influence of Greece -was all powerful in shaping the thought of the world and in moulding -its history. But when its brave warriors, orators and poets sank -into luxurious excesses, succumbing to vice, vying with each other -in the mere promotion of enjoyment, its influence waned, its people -degenerated, until today it is a memory<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> only serving to teach the -world, that its people as a nation were unfit to survive. And when -Grecian methods permeated Rome and Judea, these nations, too, became -practically blotted out. Shall we permit American valor, patriotism -and healthful vigor to have engrafted upon it these ideas so fatal to -Greece, Rome and Judea? Shall we permit, by such an education of public -morals, a gradual loss of respect of all those pure ideals taught by -Him, who preached the sermon on the mount?” He paused here, but no one -stirred.</p> - -<p>“But this is not all. These Bohemian rebels, who create and produce and -publish these things do worse than this. They make their own universe, -enact their own laws, defy mankind, and yet society grovels at their -feet and elevates all such so-called gifted creatures to a pedestal -high above the church itself! They are worshiped, and Christ, who made -for man the most agonizingly sublime sacrifice of which the mind can -conceive, is insulted, neglected and made a common mockery!</p> - -<p>“This woman Ouida Angelo, who gave to the world ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ -who is she? A luring siren whose devotion to all that is voluptuous and -sensual, reveals in her work only that which characterizes her ignoble -life. She should be driven forth from achievements, that alike disgrace -herself, art and humanity. Instead of worshiping her with idolatrous -affection, we should freeze her with a monstrous condemnation.”</p> - -<p>Again he ceased and staggered almost out of the pulpit as though filled -to the quick with some strange emotion.</p> - -<p>A rustling gown with a queenly woman under it arose from a cushioned -pew and majestically stepped down the aisle to the door. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> - -<p>She was Ouida Angelo, the sculptress!</p> - -<p>Just then a startling crash was heard, and the pane of glass, upon -which had been exquisitely done the face of the Madonna, fell and broke -into countless pieces.</p> - -<p>The sermon on “The Nude in Art” had done its work, and Monday’s papers -were full of it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER II.</span> <span class="smaller">FROM POVERTY TO WEALTH.</span></h2> - -<p>Ivan Strogoff was a Russian nobleman at the University of St. -Petersburg. Together with many of his noble colleagues, he imbibed -radical theories concerning freedom and the abuses practiced by the -imperial government. Added to this, he married a pretty but poor -Polish girl, who died in giving birth to a son, Paul. Ivan one day was -arrested, secretly tried and condemned to Siberia. He, however, bought -his freedom from corrupt public officials, and fled to New York with -his son. Then he began a battle with the world in which starvation and -misery constantly held the upper hand. Nothing succeeded with him. He -could gain no foothold. His nature, naturally honest and bright, became -soured, until at times he actually hated even his son, Paul. The latter -was a noble specimen of physical humanity, and apparently seemed to -thrive on the hardships which both father and son seemed compelled by -cruel fate to endure. This continued until Paul was about 10 years -old. Then it was that Ivan brought home one night a long envelope,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -and while Paul slept in their garret in the slums, Ivan, his father, -sat long into the night, until the candle burned out in the socket, -reading documents with long, gold seals on them. It was a promise from -an influential Russian official, toward a restoration of Strogoff’s -estates, if the exile should return and swear anew his allegiance to -the Czar. Now Strogoff’s vain struggles in the new world had sobered -him. Many of the wild dreams of youth had disappeared, and he was ready -and quite prepared to accept good fortune again, even if it meant a -sacrifice of those poetic dreams that had caused the misfortunes of his -earlier days.</p> - -<p>He had but enough money left to barely get back to St. Petersburg -alone, and the great question was: What could be done with Paul? He -finally saw the keeper of the lodging, and received every assurance -that Paul would be cared for until his father could send for him. -So Ivan kissed the sleeping boy, and ere the sun had started on his -course, was on the broad Atlantic, his brain busy with teeming projects -for the newer and noble future that seemed to spread out before him.</p> - -<p>Politics in Russia, however, are even worse and more complicated than -in New York under Tammany. By the time Ivan reached the seat of Russia -government, his friend had lost imperial favor. The plots against the -life of the Czar had rendered a restoration to wealth and power of -great difficulty, and almost an impossibility. Then began a struggle -which slowly but surely sapped the vital energy of the returned exile. -Each day brought forth fresh complications. Three times during a period -of ten years the poor devil was compelled to fly to save himself from -the enforcement of the old sentence, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> like the sword of Damocles, -hung over him. But with a perseverance worthy of all admiration, he -persisted, and something he could not define, would not let him die. -To add to his misery, Paul had apparently been swallowed up, and never -again while life remained, did the doubly unfortunate man ever hear of -the boy he had abandoned to the cold charity of the New York lodging -house keeper.</p> - -<p>At length the great day came! Ivan Strogoff was ushered into the -presence of the Czar, kissed the imperial hand, and once again trod his -ancestral halls. But the struggle was too hard. All vitality had been -sapped up in the battle, and the exile died before he had had time to -enjoy his return to prosperity.</p> - -<p>Upon his bed of death he gathered to himself that trusty friend who -had been faithful, and conjured him to search out Paul and in some way -compensate him for the terrible injustice inflicted upon the abandoned -boy. “Seek him out in poverty or shame, and win from his lips my -forgiveness, or I shall not rest in Heaven or in Hell.” Consoled by the -sacred promise of his friend so died he, and nature was gracious to vex -his tired soul no more, for truly had the man endured an undue share -of the mortal grief. But so is the world, and no man can measure the -amount of agony he can live through. He who fears death is a criminal -and a coward. A man should so live his life that death is the most -welcome gift of nature.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER III.</span> <span class="smaller">PAUL BECOMES A THIEF.</span></h2> - -<p>The next morning after Paul’s father had gone, the lad arose, dressed -himself and waited for breakfast, of course in vain.</p> - -<p>“Come, boy,” said the lodging house keeper, “eat with me.”</p> - -<p>“Where is my father?” said Paul.</p> - -<p>“Gone.”</p> - -<p>“Gone where?”</p> - -<p>“Far away, boy; even over the ocean. He will send for you.”</p> - -<p>Paul said nothing. He did not even shed a tear, as many a lad would -have done. There was the blood of the Cossack in his rugged nature. -Even at his small age he did not and would not wear his heart upon his -ragged coat sleeve. But he was full of bitter thought. He became a -miniature stoic. He munched his humble breakfast in silence.</p> - -<p>At first he was treated with a fair degree of kindness by his rough, -rude and miserly guardian, but when days, weeks and months came and -with them no remittance from the struggling father in Russia, the -guardian of the lad became sour, morose, vindictive and cruel. One day -he beat the boy, and became greatly enraged because he could not make -Paul cry or show by word or sign that the beating gave him pain. Paul -stood the abuse like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> dog, but he grew. One day, feeling within his -loins the strength of a lusty young giant, he arose and whipped his -persecutor like David did Goliath, and fled out into the fathomless -streets of New York.</p> - -<p>That night he avoided the police and slept in a dry goods box in an -alley. He awoke cold and shivering. His stomach ached with hunger. -Health, youth and vigor conferred on him a monstrous desire to eat. As -he sat in his alley he heard the growl of a dog. Looking up, he saw a -plate full of meat scraps. The dog growled with satisfaction at his -contemplated feast. Now, it seemed a strange and unjust thing to Paul -that a dog should enjoy plenty, while he, a human being, had nothing. -So with the instinct of the barbarian, he proceeded to dispute the -dog’s right to the whole of the tempting banquet. So the boy and the -dog fought desperately for the food. The boy won. But even then Paul -was too honest to appropriate it all. He fairly and justly divided with -his late foe. So if Paul was a thief, he differed from the common kind. -The banker and stockbroker steal on a large scale, for the excitement -afforded in legalized robbery. The boy stole from necessity. He and -the dog in silent sympathy became friends, and went out in the world -together.</p> - -<p>That night they slept in a boat, and in the morning were out at sea, -their craft having been attached to a schooner. They were discovered -and taken on board, where Paul was put to work. He, however, got back -to New York. He never parted with the dog. They had a great time in -starving together. Paul held horses, blacked boots, sold newspapers, -carried satchels, and, in spite of all hardships, privations and -miseries, grew up tall, muscular and of wondrous physical beauty. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> -never was a thief but once, and had spent some years of devotion in -paying his victim for the theft.</p> - -<p>One day Paul was passing a great brown stone palace. A man was carrying -in huge blocks of marble. He called on the boy to help him. Paul -readily assented.</p> - -<p>In one of the rooms stood a majestic woman. When Paul’s eyes fell upon -the vision he dropped his burden, and as it crashed upon the floor he -stood like one transfixed. To his starving, neglected, hungry soul it -seemed as though some goddess had dropped to the earth from the stars, -and the woman looked at him with uncommon interest.</p> - -<p>In a voice that thrilled him with unknown, undefinable, undreamed-of -longings, she said, “I want you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, as in a dream.</p> - -<p>Thenceforth Paul Strogoff entered the household of Ouida Angelo, the -sculptress, as a model. For the first time in his life, he felt that he -was human.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE GREAT SENSATION.</span></h2> - -<p>Monday’s papers were full of Dr. Nugent’s sermon, and its sensational -termination. Tongues wagged fierce concerning the artistic creation, -its creator, and the fearless, the eloquent divine.</p> - -<p class="center">[<i>New York Herald.</i>]</p> - -<p>“The sensation of the season has arisen out of ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ -by Ouida Angelo. Only crude,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> narrow and dogmatic opinion condemns. -The liberal and artistic world welcomes the work and its producer, -and New York is to be congratulated upon the priceless possession of -a genius who has obliterated sex in the grandness of her conceptions, -in the boldness of her execution and in her wondrous grasp of poetic -imagination. Dr. Nugent has made a fearful mistake, and his attack -upon the work and the woman in his pulpit yesterday, was the pursuit -of a course altogether at variance with his usual conservatism. He -has, if possible, defeated his very object by the bitterness of his -denunciation. For it is a known fact that New York breaks its neck to -see anything which is even nastily described, and ‘A Grecian Temptress’ -will now be viewed by thousands who, but for the preacher’s invective, -would never have known of its existence. The learned doctor of divinity -in future would do well to confine himself to biblical subjects, and -leave artistic discussion to those who can appreciate.”</p> - -<p class="center">[<i>New York Post.</i>]</p> - -<p>“New York has the greatest things of any city in the world, and we -have added to our proud possession in the shape of Dr. Nugent, whose -courage has won the admiration of all classes of the community. Some -years ago an adventurous and audacious creature established a studio in -this city, and has since palmed off upon certain hysterical newspaper -men and old maids sighing for excitement, some vulgar carvings, and by -pandering to depravity and licentiousness, has contrived to secure a -certain idolatrous following. Dr. Nugent, in the face of her admiring -adherents, many of whom are members of his own congregation, has had -the courage to read New York a much-needed lesson. In an age when so -many preachers speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> to please their rich constituencies, it is indeed -refreshing to find one man who preaches his convictions, regardless of -consequences. ‘A Grecian Temptress,’ by Ouida Angelo, is a dangerous -work of art, because of its very seductive quality. To the youth of -our land it is suggestive of pernicious evil. The Society for the -Prevention of Vice would do well to spend less time in hindering the -Turkish dance, and more effort in the prevention of the prostitution of -pure marble to such ignoble ends. The <i>Post</i> appreciates Dr. Nugent’s -honest efforts in the cause of public decency. We have recently been -cleansing the political atmosphere. Let us second every honest effort -to purify public morals.”</p> - -<p class="center">[<i>Puck.</i>]</p> - -<p>“A great clown has appeared in the pulpit arena, and he shows every -Sunday at a great and fashionable church. True, the audience does -not laugh aloud. They do it in their sleeves; nor do any swallow the -medicines prescribed by this theological quack. The listening folk wait -till they get out. They then sneak around the corner and devour the -forbidden fruit. Churches are fast adopting the methods of the circus, -and we may soon look for the deacons to hire space on bill boards, and -there, in all the colors of the rainbow, we will see pictures of hell, -heaven and many other strong features of the regulation religious bill -of fare. Suppose Ouida Angelo wants to carve a pretty woman’s leg. -Don’t we know that such things exist, even though sometimes the shape -is not real? Shame upon you, Dr. Nugent! Have you not a large enough -task to look after the morals of your own flock, that you must forsooth -hold up to public ridicule,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> the greatest genius which New York has -seen for a century?”</p> - -<p class="center">[<i>New York Journal.</i>]</p> - -<p>“Ouida Angelo should now die happy. She has been outrageously -criticised by the scribblers of a subsidized press until they have -absolutely won for her a niche in the temple of fame, and now, to -cap the climax, she has at length antagonized the church. A noted -preacher has set all tongues wagging, and blood-tingling murders, -shipwrecks, are forgotten in a universal discussion over a piece of -marble statuary. The learned doctor says the artist is sensational, and -yet he proceeds to undignify the church by bettering her instruction. -He says she is vulgar, yet he vulgarizes a noble theme by becoming -offensively personal. No one can quarrel with his right to say what he -pleases about a work which has become public property. But he has no -more right to discuss what he pleases to term her private life, than he -has to attack the character of the richest member of his congregation. -Who authorizes him to set himself up as a judge and executioner of -the character of his fellows? Among people of all classes there is a -growing disrespect for the mere ecclesiastic, and such sermons are -aiding to bring the church into public contempt. This is gravely to -be regretted, especially in this instance, as Dr. Nugent was rapidly -forging to the front as a liberal and intelligent public speaker, and -this ill-considered effort will undoubtedly tend to lessen his great -influence as a public speaker.”</p> - -<p>The preacher sat alone in his study, a prey to many conflicting -emotions. He had read all the journalistic comments on his sermon, -and was filled with mighty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> discontent. For months he had known the -woman he condemned, and in his inner being there had been aroused for -her, a strange interest. To him, she had unfolded many of her artistic -dreams, but he did not comprehend, for he had been nurtured in a narrow -school, and had embraced in his smooth and successful career, but few -of fierce experiences. Nor was he completely assured of the sincerity -of his motive. A dim, shadowy belief was slowly forcing its way through -his consciousness that he had spoken for other purposes than the mere -desire to uplift and purify public taste. He had learned to realize, -inconsistent as it may seem, that the woman was really noble of heart -and character, but his education and environment made him believe that -she was debasing the noble gifts with which Nature had endowed her, and -he was preaching as much to the individual woman as he had apparently -been preaching to the public mind. The complex nature of his attitude -to the great question troubled him, and a furrowed brow and anxious -eye told a tale of mental agony. Now that he had spoken, he was filled -with a grave doubt as to the righteousness of his conduct, and he was -paying the penalty of all men who are sensitively moulded. Then the -thought came to him that he was using his pulpit, not for mankind but -for himself, and he questioned his right to such a course of action. He -could not, and would not, deny to himself that the artist possessed for -him an enormous attraction. A vague dream had often come to him that -he could breathe into her soul nobler and purer dreams, but he put it -away each time with a weaker struggle against the passion that slowly -made its inroads into his soul. She was a Bohemian. She broke all links -in the chain of custom and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> established precedent. She exhibited a -reckless freedom in the comradeship of men, that maddened and frenzied -him, yet he was speechless. He would crush this out of her, drive her -from this insane, voluptuous life, and uplift her to his higher sphere, -where her true nobility of character might be exercised, freed from -the Bacchanalian influences of her mad life. Gradually, as he thought, -he was ashamed to think how much of personal longing had crept into -a sermon which should have been delivered in the honest work of his -sacred profession.</p> - -<p>He awoke from his fevered self-examination, and buttoning his great -coat around him, went out upon his daily visits to the poor, for, -though he was accounted a great and fashionable preacher, he stole -out daily to haunts where misery dwelt, and the greater part of a -magnificent salary went annually to places unknown to organized and -official charity, and he was almost afraid that people would find it out!</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER V.</span> <span class="smaller">SATAN REBUKING SIN.</span></h2> - -<p>Among the many great houses in this metropolis, none were more -artistically and voluptuously arranged than the mansion of Ouida -Angelo, the sculptress. There were parlors and drawing-rooms, a study, -a library, dining room in exquisitely carved oak, while the boudoir of -the artist was a perfect dream. She had costly paintings and pieces of -marble statuary for which a monarch would almost give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> his crown, and -all arranged and placed with perfect artistic and poetic taste. Ouida’s -boudoir was palatial with its tiger skin rugs, couches, mirrors and -jeweled cases. Her sleeping couch was draped in richest silks, and was -as soft and as alluring as ever enticed to sleep the troubled head of a -queen.</p> - -<p>On leaving the church, Ouida had entered her carriage, in which, by -an imperious wave of the hand, she had been driven quickly to her -residence. There, with the assistance of her sweet-faced maid, she -had disrobed and was quickly attired in a soft and clinging negligee -apparel, which women delight in, and which men cannot describe. This -done, pointing to the door, she almost fiercely said: “Go!”</p> - -<p>The little maid stood a moment, amazed, for never before had her -mistress been so harsh, but slowly she turned and silently moved toward -the door. Ouida, quickly shamed into atonement, said: “Lucile!”</p> - -<p>Quickly and gladly the joyous girl bounded back, and almost tearfully -said: “Is my mistress angry with me?”</p> - -<p>“Child,” said Ouida, “I angry with you!” The great creature stooped and -kissed Lucile’s forehead. “I am troubled with the nasty world.”</p> - -<p>Left alone, the artist paced the floor of her boudoir like a lioness -from whose breasts her cubs had been rudely torn.</p> - -<p>“I hate them all. None can be trusted. This one seemed nobler than the -rest. I revealed more of the woman in me to him than to any creature -born. See how he repays me, my art. I could forgive him who preaches -against my life, for I have given the world the right to talk; but when -he attacks true art, the Goddess at whose<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> shrine I worship, when he -ridicules my religion, I feel as though my heart would crack with rage.</p> - -<p>“Bravery, thou art extinct, and there is a premium placed on public -cowardice. He attacks me from a safe place, behind the battlements -of the pulpit. I indulged in the vain hope of having won the respect -of one honest man, among the contemptible puppies by which I am -surrounded, and I find that he, too, has a narrow, putrid soul. He -wants to enhance his reputation at my expense. A vulgar woman would -horsewhip him. I cannot so commonize myself. A barbarous woman would -kill him, a bold woman would insult him. My vengeance upon him shall -not be commonplace.</p> - -<p>“A fool, too, he is. There is no wisdom in him. Does he think he can -rob me of the affection of New York? What idiotic nonsense! Not a -thousand sermons could do that. My place in art is greater than his in -the church.</p> - -<p>“Ah, I have it! I’ll make him supremely ridiculous. I’ll make the city -laugh at him. I’ll carve a work with him as central figure, and I’ll -christen it ‘Satan Rebuking Sin.’”</p> - -<p>Like a woman, she laughed at the cleverness of her conceit, dressed and -took a fierce drive through Central Park.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VI.</span> <span class="smaller">A LAWYER’S STUBBORNNESS.</span></h2> - -<p>Edward Salmon was one of the brilliant and successful lawyers of New -York. His office contained family secrets that would tear wide open -the very vitals of society, if he but chose to speak. But he was oily -and discreet, and maid, matron, and millionaire as well, knew that -what went into that massive safe and into Salmon’s wily brain, never -came out again unless it was proper. That was the reason of his great -success. Mr. Salmon was a great success. He had a wondrous practice, -a splendid library, a rich and lovely home; but he had a daughter, -Marie, who had seen fit, as young girls will do sometimes, to fall in -love without parental consultation, and the result was that both father -and daughter were very unhappy. She would not yield to his wishes, and -he would not consent to the man of her choice. Now, Milton Royle, the -sweetheart of Marie, was a noble fellow, but twenty years prior to the -commencement of this story, Royle’s father and the lawyer had a great -difficulty over a law suit, and Salmon had never forgotten or forgiven -what he had always alleged, was the betrayal of Royle’s father, and -he had sworn that he would rather see Marie go wifeless to the grave, -rather than that she should marry a man in whose veins flowed the blood -of the elder Royle. In all other respects he was an indulgent parent, -and was particularly tender to Marie, as the girl had lost her mother, -and was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> almost alone in the world, not liking or indulging in the -usual frivolities of society and fashion. Her life was spent in art, -and among artists. She was a great friend and admirer of Ouida, and it -was at the studio of the latter, where she had met young Royle, who was -one of the students much favored by the great sculptress.</p> - -<p>Salmon was in his office dictating a number of very important -communications to his stenographer. Happening to glance out of the -window overhanging the street, he saw something that evidently caused -him great annoyance. A moment later there was a quick, nervous rap at -the door, and a young girl exquisitely dressed, entered, and coming up, -threw her arms around the lawyer’s neck and kissed him. He received the -embrace with coldness.</p> - -<p>“Why, father, what is the matter?” said Marie.</p> - -<p>“Matter? It is ridiculous for you to ask such a question. I saw you -just a moment ago on the street, part company with Milton Royle. You -know you always displease me by your association with him.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t help it,” said the girl, her voice tinged with unutterable -sadness. “I make no concealment of my love for Milton. I like to be -with him, and am with him whenever he can spare the time from his -studies.”</p> - -<p>“And yet you know it angers me beyond expression.”</p> - -<p>“And, I think, sir, without reason. You have not a word to say against -Milton’s character, and because you had trouble with his father before -we were born, you want to make us miserable.”</p> - -<p>“Now, Marie, you know that is not all. I want you to marry a man worthy -of you.”</p> - -<p>“Then let me have Milton,” she pleaded. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I want no artist in my family,” he sternly said; “they are all a -shiftless and unreliable lot, and one was never known to make a woman -happy. Their attachments are as fleeting as their artistic conceptions.”</p> - -<p>“Such argument will not move us. You know, father, I have some of your -blood in my veins, and our race has always been stubborn.”</p> - -<p>The old man looked on his daughter with admiration, and going over to -where she sat, he kissed her tenderly.</p> - -<p>“Now you are like the dear old dad you used to be.” She gently stroked -his gray hair, and fondling him softly, said: “And you won’t be angry -with my Milton any more?”</p> - -<p>“You sly puss; just like your mother was,” and the hardened man of -the world breathed a touching sigh, in the memory of a past that was -fraught with delicious happiness, but which had gone forever.</p> - -<p>“Not meaning to change the subject, my dear girl, but about a month ago -I received a large mass of legal documents from Russia, which conveyed -information of a very valuable character to a Russian lad, whose -father had abandoned him here in New York City. I have had a horde -of detectives employed, and they have been unable thus far to locate -him. The last news is contained in a report today, that a person of -that description was employed somewhere in an art studio. Now, you get -around among this class of cattle quite often. His name is Paul—”</p> - -<p>“Paul Strogoff?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. Do you know anything about him?”</p> - -<p>“Yes. He is employed by Ouida Angelo as a model.”</p> - -<p>“Good. The fee in the case shall be yours.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Cash?” cried out the mercenary little wretch.</p> - -<p>“Yes, cash,” said the delighted father, and he forthwith went into the -safe and brought a roll of bank notes, which he gave to Marie.</p> - -<p>“Do you desire a receipt for this,” she said, with a smile.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Salmon, “but you might tell your old dad what you are -going to do with so much money.”</p> - -<p>“No, I cannot do that,” she replied, with assumed fear.</p> - -<p>“Going to waste it on your staff of paupers?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“New dress?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Pray, what then?”</p> - -<p>“Going to buy Milton a birthday present,” as in a mocking fit of -laughter she skipped through the door and vanished from the office.</p> - -<p>“The little devil has tricked me,” he said, but there was no anger in -his tone.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VII.</span> <span class="smaller">OUIDA WILL NOT BE INTERVIEWED.</span></h2> - -<p>When Ouida returned from her drive through Central Park, she found in -waiting, Olivia Winters, special writer for the Daily Tattler. Now, -Miss Winters was one of the most brilliant women of the New York press. -She it was whom the World had sent to be knocked down by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> moving car, -so that the new style fenders might be properly described. The girl -had also taken a balloon ascension, and written it up for her paper. -She at one time spent three months as an inmate of a mad house, and as -a result, had written such an exposure of the methods of the place, -that the State Legislature had passed a new law for the government of -such institutions. One of the girl’s crowning achievements, however, -had been to interview the President of the United States at a time and -upon a subject upon which other writers had tried, in vain, to get an -expression of opinion. The only thing she had ever failed in, was in -getting Ouida to talk, nor did she ever press the great artist, for -she really liked her. Ouida had told her many things, but had always -requested her to refrain from using them in the paper, and Olivia had -always respected the confidence reposed in her, by keeping her word. No -true writer will ever break faith under similar circumstances.</p> - -<p>Ouida did not keep her visitor long in waiting. A rap at the door was -heard, and upon being bid, Olivia Winters entered the apartments of -Ouida.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said the sculptress, “I am indeed glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>“That gives me hope,” said the writer.</p> - -<p>“Of what?” exclaimed Ouida.</p> - -<p>“That you will break the silence you have maintained for years.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, dear girl, there you, no matter how delicately, have approached -forbidden ground.”</p> - -<p>“Have I offended you?” said Miss Winters.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Ouida, “if any one could have probed the mystery of my -life, it would have been you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I thank you at least for that slight evidence of your confidence and -esteem—”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Ouida, interrupting, “I have taken Disraeli’s advice.”</p> - -<p>“And pray, what was that?” inquired Olivia.</p> - -<p>“A young man, ambitious to succeed in public life, approached the great -English statesman, and said: ‘Mr. Disraeli, to what one great thing do -you attribute your success in public life?’ The wonderful Englishman -grew thoughtful for a moment, and said: ‘Well, sir, when I started out -in public life, I resolved never to reply to what the newspapers might -say about me.’ ‘Good,’ said the young man, ‘I will follow your advice,’ -and he started to depart. ‘Hold! young man,’ cried Mr. Disraeli, ‘let -me finish my story.’ Continuing, he said: ‘But on one occasion the -London Telegraph came out with an accusation against me of so monstrous -a character, that I felt constrained to deny it. And what do you -suppose the damned rascally newspaper editor did? Why, he proved it.’”</p> - -<p>Both women laughed merrily over the tale, which the Winters woman -declared was in Ouida’s usually happy and clever vein.</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Ouida, I came to see what you had to say about Nugent’s -sermon.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Absolutely nothing, my dear girl. If Mr. Nugent preaches against me, -my art, it is because texts are scarce and he wants to draw a crowd.”</p> - -<p>“But, my dear Ouida, his personal, direct attack on you—you owe it to -yourself to speak.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No, I shan’t help him advertise himself.”</p> - -<p>But even as she said it a cloud of vexation passed over her stately -brow.</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Winters, appealingly, “nothing I can say will urge you to -speak?”</p> - -<p>“No, Winters, don’t try to make me deviate from that silent course I -have from the very beginning mapped out for myself.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I must go. But rest assured, our columns are yours at any -time you desire to speak.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks! By the way, call at my box tonight at the opera. There will -be a lot of fools in attendance, and I will need the exhilaration of a -chat with one like you.”</p> - -<p>“Au revoir.”</p> - -<p>“Until tonight.”</p> - -<p>And as Olivia Winters departed, her heart was filled with sympathy for -the big-souled, independent creature she had just left, and she felt -for her a deeper love and affection than for any other woman breathing -the breath of life.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER VIII.</span> <span class="smaller">PAUL HEARS GOOD TIDINGS.</span></h2> - -<p>The very day upon which the Winters woman called on Ouida, in her -unsuccessful attempt to secure an interview, Paul Strogoff, the model, -paid a visit to the office of Edward Salmon, the shrewd and wily -lawyer. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>The young Russian gazed with awe on the great array of books and files, -and wondered what could possibly have been the reason why any lawyer -should have requested his presence.</p> - -<p>After a while he was ushered into the presence of Mr. Salmon, and stood -rather fearingly waiting for what was coming. He was rather like a dog -at bay. He had had such an amount of silent agony throughout his life, -that he was in that passive frame of subjected mind, that he was ready -for and could bear almost anything.</p> - -<p>“Take a seat, sir,” said Mr. Salmon.</p> - -<p>Paul dropped into the first chair, and still spoke not.</p> - -<p>“I am a lawyer, sir,” said Mr. Salmon.</p> - -<p>“So I saw by your letter head; but how does that concern me? I have no -lawsuits.”</p> - -<p>“That may be true, but strange things come to us at times.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Paul, growing somewhat restless, “why have you sent for -me?”</p> - -<p>“Before I can entirely tell you, I must ask a few questions, to which I -must have frank and truthful answers.”</p> - -<p>“Having nothing at stake,” said Paul, “I have no inducement to lie.”</p> - -<p>“You are a Russian by birth?”</p> - -<p>“I am.”</p> - -<p>“Your father abandoned you in this city years ago, returned to Russia, -and you have not heard from him since?”</p> - -<p>Paul jumped up. “How do you know all this?”</p> - -<p>“Sit down and calm yourself,” soothingly said the man of law. “I mean -you naught but good.”</p> - -<p>“Well, go on,” said the impatient fellow. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He returned to his native land in the hope of recovering his ancestral -estates, and was grievously disappointed, tricked and hounded for -years. At last he won the great battle, and died.</p> - -<p>“I suppose I should weep,” said Paul, “but I am no hypocrite. I cannot -forget these years of cruel abandonment and misery.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said the lawyer, by way of consolation, “your future is full of -promise and brilliance. There is absolutely not a single obstacle in -the way of your complete enjoyment of a noble name and wealth.”</p> - -<p>“That may be true,” said Paul. “Fate has played him a scurvy trick to -my advantage, but I have become bitter, my heart is sour with evil -neglect. I have known starvation of body and soul; I have craved love, -sympathy, affection, and only a dog licked my hand. Nothing can move -me.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t blame you, my boy, but your future is more than bright.”</p> - -<p>“A new experience for me,” said Paul, who already felt as though a -burden had been dropped upon his young life.</p> - -<p>“There are many complications likely to arise, in which you will need -legal advice. May I consider myself retained in your behalf?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about these things,” said Paul, “but do for me -whatever is necessary.”</p> - -<p>“By the way,” said Salmon, looking at Paul shrewdly, “perhaps you need -an advance of money. If so, I can supply you.”</p> - -<p>Paul laughed. “Me, money? Why, man, I have learned the lesson of -starvation so thoroughly that I need nothing.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are a happy philosopher,” said the lawyer, and with a wave of the -hand the interview ended.</p> - -<p>Paul departed in a more than reflective mood.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER IX.</span> <span class="smaller">DECIDED BY LOT.</span></h2> - -<p>It was evening, and three of the most prominent men of New York City -confronted each other at the residence of the sculptress. Milton -Wayland, a noted stock broker, Edmund Connors, a successful politician, -and Iago Doane, an editor, formed the trio.</p> - -<p>“I trust,” said Wayland, “we may now and forever settle the question of -superiority at whist.”</p> - -<p>“I did not come here to play whist tonight,” said Connors, frankly and -boldly.</p> - -<p>“Pray, then,” said the editor, with ill-concealed sarcasm, “what -brought you here?”</p> - -<p>“Are you my father confessor?” said the politician.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Doane, “I have enough agonies of my own; nor would I like -to hold in my soul the knowledge of all your evil deeds.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think a politician is worse than an editor?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Frankly speaking,” said Doane, “no. The difference in our deception of -the public lies in the method only.”</p> - -<p>The men were evidently ill at ease, but all laughed at Doane’s -boldness. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - -<p>“We poor monied men,” said Wayland, “seem to be altogether out of -consideration.”</p> - -<p>“How so?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Because in this day and generation,” said Wayland, “thanks to Doane, -the newspapers have killed our trade by exposing our tricks.”</p> - -<p>Connors looked on in grim satisfaction at the contest between money and -printer’s ink, and quietly said: “I am not so sure that newspapers are -just what they should be.”</p> - -<p>“What’s the complaint against us?” said Doane, in mock fear.</p> - -<p>“There is as little honesty in journalism as there is in the world of -finance,” said Wayland.</p> - -<p>“Nothing truer was ever said,” chipped in Connors. “The ordinary -newspaper of today but reflects the cowardice of wealth. There is -little of the sincerity of conviction which prevailed in the days of -Horace Greeley.”</p> - -<p>“They always cram Greeley down our throats,” cried Doane.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Connors, “wasn’t he a pretty bold and fearless man?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll admit all that,” retorted Doane, “but I never did worship at the -shrine of any journalistic God.”</p> - -<p>“But,” said Wayland, apparently realizing that the argument was growing -somewhat intense, “we have wandered some distance from the original -query.”</p> - -<p>“And that was?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“The real object of our presence here,” interposed the editor. “Come, -now, what brought you here, Connors?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I must yield,” said Connors, “since the moulder of public opinion -implores the mere politician to tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>“Be careful,” said Wayland, “sensations may be at a premium.”</p> - -<p>“Bah,” said Doane, in real anger, “I never mix shop with social -intercourse.”</p> - -<p>“Now,” said the wily politician, “don’t let us lose our tempers.”</p> - -<p>“I did not intend offense,” said Wayland.</p> - -<p>“And now,” said Connors, “since my friend has made the <i>amende de -honorable</i>, I will state frankly that I came here to take Ouida Angelo -to the Italian opera.”</p> - -<p>“And so did I,” said Wayland.</p> - -<p>“That also was my purpose,” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“Well,” sighed Wayland, “it would be no fun for all of us to go -together.”</p> - -<p>“Nor,” said Connors, “can we very well divide the lady into three -separate existences.”</p> - -<p>“I suggest,” said Wayland, “that we draw lots.”</p> - -<p>“There,” said Doane, “again breaks out his natural spirit of -speculation and chance.”</p> - -<p>“No intention to talk shop,” sarcastically retorted Wayland.</p> - -<p>This proposition finally proving agreeable, a simple plan of -lot-drawing was indulged in by these favorites of fortune, the result -of which was a victory for Doane.</p> - -<p>“Doane always wins,” complained Wayland.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if he plays fair,” spoke up Connors.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Doane, evidently gratified by his success, “don’t -weep. Allow me to console you. She really cares for neither of us. -Now, you are young,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> vigorous men. I am a free lance. I sleep all day; -work all night. You may have the hope of some day wedding decent, -commonplace wives. Just the creatures to be the safe and proper mothers -of your children. What matters it, if I, who hate everybody, and whom -everybody hates, am swallowed up in the mad vortex of passion? Society -loses nothing, and gains a dainty bit of gossip to chew on for a month.”</p> - -<p>Ouida majestically burst upon them at this juncture.</p> - -<p>“So,” she cried, “you have been making me the subject of chance. Pray, -what excuse dare you offer for such a profane proceeding?”</p> - -<p>“And, Ouida, you should have heard of the consolation he offered, as he -gloated over his victory.”</p> - -<p>Without giving the sculptress a chance to ask, Doane quickly said: “I -told them, madame, that you would marry neither of them.”</p> - -<p>“Did you insinuate that it was possible that I might marry you?”</p> - -<p>“No, but here, publicly, I proclaim the fact, that my newspaper and I -are yours at a moment’s notice.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, your perpetual offer at times grows somewhat wearisome,” said -Ouida, “but, seriously speaking, Doane, get a law passed which will -allow marriage for a limited period, renewable at the option of the -parties, and I will try you for a brief period. The thought of being -forever tied to one man appals me.”</p> - -<p>“But,” remonstrated Connors, “you forget, dear lady, that sometimes -offspring follows marriage.”</p> - -<p>“Bah,” said Ouida, passionately, “they ought to be throttled ere -conceived. There are too many carelessly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> reared brats in the world -today. It would be a good thing to stop pro-creation for a generation.”</p> - -<p>“There is really some sense in that,” thoughtfully reflected Wayland -aloud.</p> - -<p>Ouida continued: “The Romans were wise. They killed children not -physically perfect. Pharaoh sacrificed the first born of the Jews. -I see no cruelty whatever in the idea. But I will not continue this -discussion. I am too full of anger.”</p> - -<p>“Because I won?” said the editor.</p> - -<p>“Partially so,” replied Ouida. “I was not consulted, and I refuse to be -bound by such a silly arrangement. Think you that one sour, dyspeptic, -gossipy editor, would for an entire evening suffice me, especially at -the opera, where one who listens to the music, is entirely out of the -fashion?”</p> - -<p>“But—” the editor started in on a protest.</p> - -<p>“I shall not listen to you,” cried Ouida, as she imperiously stamped -her shapely foot, “I will settle this matter by inviting you all to -occupy seats in my box. I shall take no vote upon the matter, for well -I know your acceptance is unanimous.”</p> - -<p>“But, madame,” protested Wayland, “this is most unkind; you should not -treat us as though we were children.”</p> - -<p>“I would you were as innocent,” bantered the lady of the house.</p> - -<p>“What do you know about us?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I don’t get some compensation for allowing Doane among my -intimates?” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>“So he gives you the news, does he, before the dear public gets it?” -said Connors. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A truce to this nonsense,” said Wayland. “Gentlemen, what shall we -do—accept the polite invitation of her royal highness?”</p> - -<p>“Accept,” said Ouida, in breathless indignation, “accept? Is there any -doubt of it? Oh, well, there need not be. I withdraw it—”</p> - -<p>“Seriously?” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“I’ll give a railroad,” said the stock broker, “to make my peace with -her.”</p> - -<p>“Now understand me,” said Ouida, imperiously, “I am not offended at -anything any one has said. This, above all other places, is Liberty -hall. Law, ordinary social rules, have long been banished, but as we -were talking, I was seized with a monstrous, overwhelming inspiration. -I must be alone tonight. I felt as though I might carve the boldest -stroke of ‘A Modern Hercules.’ Go! nor stay upon the order of your -going.”</p> - -<p>No protest prevailed, and the trio left; nor did they stop on the -street to offer consolation to each other.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER X.</span> <span class="smaller">A LOVERS’ QUARREL.</span></h2> - -<p>While this most interesting affair was taking place between Ouida and -her three admirers in one part of the house, another scene was being -enacted in the studio, no less absorbing to the participants. Marie -Salmon and Milton Royle, the art student, so objectionable to her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> -father, were engaged in the most serious conversation of their young -lives.</p> - -<p>“So,” said she, “you could not content yourself at Harvard?”</p> - -<p>“No. The restraint imposed by the set rules of college was slowly -sapping up and killing my ambition. So I came here to realize my -artistic dreams.”</p> - -<p>“Your leaving the university, Milton, has seriously displeased me.”</p> - -<p>“In what way, dearest Marie?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t attempt to mollify me by endearing terms. Now, you know that you -had been selected on the boat crew, and the girls have whispered all -around that you were afraid to stay.”</p> - -<p>“And does my little sweetheart,” said he, with infinite patience, -“believe that silly story?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” she confessed, “of course I don’t exactly believe it, but the -talk of the crowd hurts me. Then again, could you not study your art -from a man?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” said Milton, thinking to himself that if jealousy was at the -bottom of his sweetheart’s apparent anger, surely he could scent -trouble ahead.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you answer?” she said.</p> - -<p>“I was thinking.”</p> - -<p>“You have no right to think. That is—I—well, I am almost beginning to -hate Ouida Angelo.”</p> - -<p>“Why, that is really absurd, little one.”</p> - -<p>“Milton, I hate all things that seem to lead you from me.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, and no one, can do that,” said Milton.</p> - -<p>“You are with her hours and hours; I almost forget how you look, I see -you so seldom these days,” complained the girl. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sweetheart, you are unfair. I am but working for that proud future -which you shall share with me.”</p> - -<p>“I should like more of present joy and less of future hope.”</p> - -<p>“Is not the future,” said Milton, “worth a sacrifice?”</p> - -<p>“I am like a miser with his gold. I can spare nothing of that which is -mine.”</p> - -<p>Milton seized her hand, raised it to his heart, and swore that his love -was completely and fully hers.</p> - -<p>“Do you wish me,” he said, “to abandon my profession? Say but the word, -and I will.”</p> - -<p>“Would you do that for me?” almost whispered Marie.</p> - -<p>“As surely as I live,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“And do you think I would accept such a sacrifice?”</p> - -<p>“Then my dear must not agonize me with these constant suspicions. They -are unworthy of you.”</p> - -<p>“Then you do not love Ouida?”</p> - -<p>“I love the glorious art of which she is the mistress. I appreciate her -because I grasp much from her cunning and deft craftsmanship. But you -(clasping her to his breast) are the one woman whom Nature has sent for -mating. Enough of this now. You do, you must, trust me.”</p> - -<p>She let her head sink gently on his breast. The struggle was over, and -the tear-dimmed eyes that looked into his had no doubt in them, for -they were lighted up by a faith eternal.</p> - -<p>Arm in arm they went into Milton’s work-room, where for some time he -delighted her with an exhibition of his work, the progress he was -making, and he poured into her willing and sympathetic ear, the story -of his future<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> dreams and aspirations, so that she saw more clearly -than ever, that the only mistress beside herself which Milton had, was Art.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XI.</span> <span class="smaller">A PREACHER’S PASSION.</span></h2> - -<p>The departure of the editor, politician and broker left Ouida in a very -reflective mood. Strange to say, her mind wandered to Paul, the model, -as it had often done of late. “I’ll soon call my Herculean model forth. -Paul, the perfect brute! Yet, often when he thinks I am not observing, -there comes into his eyes a look that makes me tremble, though I know -not why. Can it be that I, who have a dozen mighty men, as this world -goes, crawling at my feet, am falling captive to a coarse-grained -beast, that sleeps and feeds from day to day throughout the year, -without a thought or hope beyond the common cattle of the field?”</p> - -<p>At this moment a card was handed Ouida, the reading of which filled her -eyes with an almost devilish gleam of satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Show the gentleman up,” was her swift command.</p> - -<p>It was but a moment when Horatio Nugent, the great preacher, appeared -before the sculptress!</p> - -<p>“By admitting me to your presence, may I hope there is a truce between -us?” he almost humbly said.</p> - -<p>“Neither peace nor courtesy moved me to see you,” was her -unsatisfactory answer. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then why your apparent graciousness?”</p> - -<p>“I desire,” said Ouida, “to declare a never-ending war.”</p> - -<p>“Will you not,” appealed the preacher, “even listen to what I have to -say?”</p> - -<p>“No. Your course admits of no explanation. Let me tell you now, you can -never creep again within the circle of my friendship.”</p> - -<p>“If you could but dig beneath the surface,” he audibly sighed, “and see -why I preached my sermon against the nude in art, ’twould be <i>you</i>, not -<i>I</i>, seeking pardon.”</p> - -<p>“I seek your pardon after that which you have done? Listen,” said the -woman, “you played the part of a friend. You sought <i>me</i> out. To you I -unfolded my dreams, my conceptions. You said they were divine, and yet -when I attended your church, you thundered forth invectives against -my art, and hold me up to public ridicule. You would attempt to win a -public applause as fleeting as the dew upon the morning rose. If I had -loved you, I would hate you for this act.”</p> - -<p>“I will explain,” he said, with vehemence and commanding power before -which, even for a moment, this imperious creature quailed. “I am not -like the vain flatterers that follow in your train. I will speak, even -if the hate in you, like a dagger, shall stab me in a vital spot.”</p> - -<p>“Speak then,” said she, with resignation. “Courtesy compels me to -listen to one who has honored my humble roof with his august presence.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, hear me Ouida. The knowledge, sudden and fierce, has forced itself -upon me, that I love you with all the strength of my nature!” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And you have selected this novel way of showing it!”</p> - -<p>As Ouida said this, she laughed with such chilling scorn, that it made -the preacher shudder with agony.</p> - -<p>“That we will not discuss,” said he, as the echo of her scorn died -away. “Your life, your Bohemian instincts, your defiance of social -laws, has maddened me. I would drive you from this unreal existence, so -that in your despair you would turn to me. Then I should uplift you to -my grand sphere.”</p> - -<p>The idea of Horatio Nugent’s condescension struck Ouida with wondrous -merriment, and she laughed again, the laughter growing more intense -each moment, until it developed into an indignation almost boundless.</p> - -<p>“Your own grand sphere!” she cried. “Drive back the Atlantic surf; lift -valleys over mountain tops; throttle Vesuvius, and then come to me with -a hope of tearing me and my art apart. I would not exchange an eternity -in hell and my work for Paradise with the crude, narrow, dogmatic -officialism of your hypocritically pious life.”</p> - -<p>“I have less quarrel with your art than with your life,” continued he. -“These Bacchanalian revels, this freedom with men so maddening to me. -These are the things from which I would save you.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said she, with supreme dignity, “my life is my own. Society did -nothing for me. I have with these hands carved out my fame. You and -your kind no more understand art, than you do the voice of Nature. I -have sat nude beneath a master’s brush, without an impure thought. -I have painted men as naked as the new-born babe, without a quicker -pulse beat, wrapped in a dream. My art shall live when churches shall -crumble, and preachers’ bones shall mingle with the dust. Divinity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> -touches the brow of genius, and art becomes the heritage of generations -yet unborn.”</p> - -<p>A goddess could not have looked more divine than this woman did, as she -poured forth the inspiration of her swelling, throbbing soul. There -was silence again between them. But he at length recovered speech, and -renewed the attack.</p> - -<p>“Ah, Ouida, you are noble and good; why not economize this worth for -grander and purer aspirations?”</p> - -<p>“Purer aspirations?” she echoed. “Ah, sir, I am bursting with the -fullness of rage. Who are you, that gives you the almost divine right -to preach against a thing you know not of? You have not looked on life; -you have tasted no agony; you have not walked through the blazing -furnace of passion.”</p> - -<p>“God alone knows what my battle has been since the knowledge came to me -that I loved you.”</p> - -<p>“Your passion, sir preacher, moves me not.”</p> - -<p>“Then, pitilessly, you will send me out into the gloomy world without a -ray of hope?”</p> - -<p>“Did you not seek to make the earth for me a place without sun or -light?”</p> - -<p>“But I have made my atonement, and come now to crave pardon for my sin.”</p> - -<p>“You cannot think thus to move me,” said the woman, firmly.</p> - -<p>“Can nothing soften your heart of stone?” he appealed.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, sir. I hate you strongly. If these were the days of Lucretia -Borgia, without compunction I would have you killed. The world can do -without you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And yet,” said he, softly, as though consoled by the thought, “I have -given up all for you.”</p> - -<p>“I have seen nothing that you have done,” she said, sternly, “and more, -I ask nothing of you, save that you walk your way, and leave me in -peace to go mine.”</p> - -<p>“You know, Ouida,” said the man of strength, “that I, too, am -ambitious; that men and women showered upon me their plaudits; that I -had won a strong place in this great city. I have given up my church!”</p> - -<p>She started in breathless amazement! “Sacrificed your wondrous future, -and for me?”</p> - -<p>And simply he said: “The price of my sin to you.”</p> - -<p>Then a deeper silence than ever before fell upon these two, and again -there was no speech between them.</p> - -<p>“Now,” at length, he said, “I am ready to be sent forth with your cruel -scorn, following me even to the end of time.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot bid you go thus,” she said, moved to pity. “Does the world -know of this?”</p> - -<p>“Of the resignation, yes; of the reason, no.”</p> - -<p>“Then I abjure you, reveal nothing. Leave me!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“And may I come again?” eagerly he pleaded.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, the power of resistance gone, “when I have had time to -think.”</p> - -<p>He left with a sense of mighty triumph in his soul.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XII.</span> <span class="smaller">OUIDA PROPOSES MARRIAGE.</span></h2> - -<p>Even the preacher’s passion, the knowledge of his awful sacrifice, -did not rob the artist of her inspiration for work. Proceeding to the -studio, filled with treasures of brush and mallet, she found Paul, the -model, and Milton, the student.</p> - -<p>“Any commands for me,” said Milton, with deference and respect.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ouida, “you may assist in arranging the pose.”</p> - -<p>Milton, for a few moments, attempts to place the model in the attitude, -consistent with the conception of Ouida.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” reflected Ouida, aloud, “if I can but tonight imprint on stone -the image that long has haunted me, I’ll wring from men the unwilling -confession that truly in my veins flows the blood of Michael Angelo.”</p> - -<p>Her unconscious talk was interrupted by Paul, who almost sullenly said: -“I do not care to work tonight.”</p> - -<p>“Hush!” said Ouida, “breathe not. I would not have had you fail me -tonight for a brace of kingdoms.”</p> - -<p>She then crosses over to where Paul and Milton stood, saying to the -latter: “Nay, not thus. Let him stand and look as though with mighty -power he bears the weighty earth upon his massive shoulders. There, -that is better. Go. Leave me, Milton; I would be alone with him.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then, like a tigress, rapidly she set to work with mallet and chisel, -and while Paul stood motionless, scarcely daring to breathe, the idea -that filled her brain and soul began to take living shape from the -block of stone. At some length, however, she dropped her tools. They -fell upon the floor with a dull thud. She crosses over to the model; -then irresolutely retraced her steps, and threw herself upon a divan -or sofa, as in a dream. There she lies motionless, save for a heaving -breast.</p> - -<p>Paul thinks she sleeps, and leaving his station, goes to the couch -whereon she lies, and gazes upon her with strange emotion. She still -seems unconscious of his presence.</p> - -<p>“Had I Svengali’s power, I’d mould her to my will.” Paul clenches his -hand together, gazes passionately at the reclining figure, and slowly -moves back to his place. She arose.</p> - -<p>“Paul, come near me,” she said, with a voice as seductive as that of a -luring siren, “and sit upon this low stool.”</p> - -<p>This request was made by her following a flashing, unaccountable mental -freak, that filled Paul with pleased astonishment!</p> - -<p>“I am your willing slave,” he said, as he did her bidding.</p> - -<p>“Do you love any woman?” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>“I dare not answer,” said the model.</p> - -<p>“Dare not answer? Have I not asked you? What do you fear?” said the -sculptress.</p> - -<p>“Myself,” said Paul.</p> - -<p>“He who cannot master himself is like the beast of the field.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s what I am. What right have I to feeling, emotion?” said the -model.</p> - -<p>“Have you no hope for the years that are to come?”</p> - -<p>“If I have, I hide it so that none may see. I had one hope, but it was -like reaching out after a star. Do not question me concerning it. It -shall never be revealed.”</p> - -<p>“Paul,” she said, “what think you of these men who crowd about me, like -moths about a candle, their tongues quick with the hollow mockery of -modern insipidity?”</p> - -<p>“They are false as Judas. They drink your champagne, and then, when -drunk, tell lies about you. I’d like to cut their throats, if you but -speak.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll let you, in a way,” she said, looking into his black eyes with a -boldness that made him breathe with a mixture of fear and delight.</p> - -<p>“How?” said he, with almost breathless quickness.</p> - -<p>“Paul,” she replied, “come nearer to me. You are a strong-limbed brute. -You are base born. You are poor.”</p> - -<p>He shuddered, and was about to acquaint the woman with the story which -Lawyer Salmon had told him, but some power which controls fate and -destiny, restrained him, and he remained silent upon the point.</p> - -<p>“If all you say is true,” he uttered, “What then?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Paul, you are so different to the mere puppets that cringe around -and flatter me.”</p> - -<p>“If I were like these weaklings, I would not care to live.”</p> - -<p>“The very contrast attracts me,” said Ouida, dreamily.</p> - -<p>“My God!” said Paul, the truth at length dawning upon him, “can it -be possible that you condescend to give me more than a mere passing -reflection?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is, Paul. Can you not see that I adore you?”</p> - -<p>In a moment their bodies were in close embrace, he enfolding her within -his mighty and powerful grasp. After a moment, however, he put her -gently from him, and said: “You but mock me by showing me a view of -Paradise, only to snatch the entrancing picture from my eyes.”</p> - -<p>“No,” she said, exalted through the intensity of her artistic emotion, -“I feel a strange, uncontrollable desire to own you, body and soul.”</p> - -<p>“I fear, I dream, I dream,” said Paul, but Ouida hurried on:</p> - -<p>“You are a giant. You could take any one of these pigmies that flutter -and buzz about me, in your arms, and could crush life completely out. -I hate them all. I would throttle, and at the same time strangle, the -indignation of society. I would bitterly enrage these dogs who fawn on -me.”</p> - -<p>“And use me as the instrument? What, then, shall become of me?” said -Paul.</p> - -<p>“You? Why, Paul, you shall be the central moving figure,” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>“What care I? Use me as you will. ’Tis enough for me to know that you -but reach your hand.”</p> - -<p>“Come to my arms then again,” she cried in the ecstacy of this novel -and entrancing emotion. “Let us revel in delight, you pauper! You dog! -You base born thing, to whom vile society would scarcely throw a crumb!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the delight,” said Paul, “of spurning these little creatures. A -month of such sweet vengeance, and you may have my life.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll dress these mighty limbs of yours,” she cried. “I’ll flaunt your -very baseness in their eyes. I’ll make them crawl to you for the price -of a smile from me. They shall pay in deepest humiliation for the -privilege of adoring me from afar. We, Paul, you and I, will richly -repay society for its wrongs to us.”</p> - -<p>She seemed now exhausted from the intensity of her feelings.</p> - -<p>“Go now,” she said, tenderly; and without question Paul went away from -her, exalted, bewildered, astonished, uplifted, amazed, but happy, and -inwardly rejoicing at the wondrous change which had taken place in his -fortunes. Poor fool! From his dizzy height he saw not the chasm yawning -in greediness below.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIII.</span> <span class="smaller">A RICH MAN’S BALL.</span></h2> - -<p>A great social leader of the Metropolis had given a ball, to which had -been invited not only the “Four Hundred,” but a large proportion of New -York’s Bohemian Colony as well.</p> - -<p>Olivia Winters had been sent by the city editor of the Daily Tattler to -get an account of the affair for her journal. Her reflections as she -sat waiting to see the hostess, or some one in her behalf, were neither -pleasing nor flattering. “All the world’s a fake,” she thought, “and -the men and women merely fakirs. Within a stone’s throw of this place -there is a collection of miserable huts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> From what I have seen so far -here, at least $15,000 has been spent on flowers, that will before -tomorrow night have lost their fragrance. How many mouths would that -feed, in this great, cold, heartless city, throbbing with the agonies -of thousands! Ah, well, why should I moralize? I wish to heaven I -could write this thing up as I feel, but to do so would be affronting -fashion, and anything original regarding modern New York society, would -mean my journalistic death.”</p> - -<p>Her reflections were interrupted by the entrance of Marie Salmon, who -extended her hand graciously to Miss Winters, and said: “You are the -representative of the Tattler?”</p> - -<p>“I am,” said Miss Winters.</p> - -<p>“The hostess of the evening presents her compliments to you, and begs -that you will excuse her personal presence. She has delegated me to act -for her in giving you what you desire for your paper.”</p> - -<p>“She could not have selected a substitute who would have better pleased -me,” said Olivia, with perfect grace and self-possession.</p> - -<p>“You are very good to say so,” said Marie. “Here you will find a -list of the invited guests. In this package is a cut of the host and -hostess, as well as a picture of her diamonds. She informs me that she -has already sent photos of some of the more striking decorations. In -this envelope will be found a complete description of the costumes of -the ladies. The number of carriages you will be able to procure from -the ushers as you go out. She thinks it not advisable to say anything -specific about the enormous amount of money spent on the affair, owing -to newspaper talk about the terrible poverty prevalent in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> city. Is -there any other information you desire? If so, I shall be glad to give -it to you.”</p> - -<p>“Have you given this matter out to any other paper?”</p> - -<p>“No. Our hostess said she would give it exclusively to you, as your -paper had been the fairest in mentioning the affair in advance,” -replied Marie.</p> - -<p>“Thanks; that is very good. You know we newspapers always adore a -scoop,” said Olivia, and she smiled in satisfaction.</p> - -<p>“Why, what in the name of goodness is a scoop?” queried Marie.</p> - -<p>“When we print a good thing that other papers fail to get, we call it a -scoop.”</p> - -<p>“Thanks for the information. May I not,” said Marie, “order some -refreshments?”</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said Winters, with modest dignity, “I only accept -hospitality under certain conditions.”</p> - -<p>“Be that as you wish,” said Marie, with equal dignity, “I had no desire -to offend.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure of that, my dear young lady; yet even newspaper women have -their scruples.”</p> - -<p>“Then I can serve you no further?”</p> - -<p>“In no way save to assist me in getting out quickly and unobserved.”</p> - -<p>“Then follow me,” said Marie.</p> - -<p>Olivia Winters followed her guide, and was soon in the office of the -Tattler, pegging away, while Marie returned to assist the hostess in -entertaining the numerous guests.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIV.</span> <span class="smaller">AN ANGRY FATHER.</span></h2> - -<p>There were many brilliant women at the great social function, but the -only feast for the eyes of Milton Royle was Marie Salmon. But she was -very much in demand. The hostess apparently had a mortgage upon the -young girl’s time and attention. At length, however, Milton could -endure it no longer. He marched down upon his victim, captured her, -and forcibly led her to a quiet and secluded spot in the conservatory, -determined to hold her captive until he should have accomplished his -purpose.</p> - -<p>“I shall not see you again before my departure for Europe, so, my -darling, I shall have to bid you good-bye here.”</p> - -<p>“I could be completely happy, dear Milton, if it were not for dad’s -frightful opposition to you.”</p> - -<p>“He forbid me the house,” said Milton, sadly, “but such a course only -makes me more determined than ever.”</p> - -<p>“You cannot imagine what a hard time I will have while you are gone. It -was only yesterday dad told me that it would greatly please him if I -would consider young Clafton as a suitor for my hand.”</p> - -<p>“What! That brainless ape?” said Milton, indignantly.</p> - -<p>“Now don’t get angry, dear; you know very well if he were the last man -on earth, I would not consider him for a moment,” she made haste to -say. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I tell you what it is, Marie,” said Milton, “I think I will alter my -plans and remain in New York, until we get this thing settled.”</p> - -<p>“And I tell you,” said the girl, firmly, “you shall do nothing of the -kind. Such a course on your part would make me think you had no faith -in me.”</p> - -<p>“But it looks cowardly,” said he, “for me to go abroad and leave you to -fight this thing out alone.”</p> - -<p>“I am not a bit afraid. Besides, I am more than anxious that you should -go to Rome and finish your studies. Nothing must be allowed to hinder -that great and glorious future which must, which shall, be yours.”</p> - -<p>“Now you are my brave darling.” He embraced her fondly, just as Mr. -Salmon appeared upon the scene, an angry scowl disfiguring his usually -calm and placid brow.</p> - -<p>“I had hoped, sir, that your sense of honor would have prevented you -from encouraging this young girl in a disobedience of her father.”</p> - -<p>“Father, dear, I pray you refrain from speech of that kind to Milton. I -love you, sir, with deep affection; but I also love Milton, and I tell -you now, as I have told you before, that if I live, and he still wants -me, I shall marry him.”</p> - -<p>“Marry, girl!” said the aroused father. “I tell you that you will never -have my consent to marry him.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said the girl, “I shall marry him without it.”</p> - -<p>“I regret, sir,” said Milton, with utmost deference and respect, “that -trouble with my father, almost before I was born, should tinge and -shape your opinion of me. It is most unjust.”</p> - -<p>“Frankly speaking,” said the lawyer, “I do not like you. I do not want -an artist in my family.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are her father, sir,” said Milton, with suppressed anger, “and -that shields you from the answer that rises within me.”</p> - -<p>Marie interposed at this point, and said: “You are both dear to me, and -I beg you, in the name of the love you have for me, do not quarrel.”</p> - -<p>“I obey your wishes, my darling,” said Milton.</p> - -<p>“This is no place for discussion of this kind, anyhow,” said Salmon. -“Come, Marie, Mr. Clafton was looking everywhere for you.”</p> - -<p>“I do not wish to see him, father. Good-bye, Milton.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, Marie. May angels guard you everywhere.”</p> - -<p>And there the lovers parted. The lawyer was full of anger, but he had -no chance at that time to show it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE LOVERS CLASH.</span></h2> - -<p>Among the guests were Horatio Nugent and Paul Strogoff, each madly, -devotedly and passionately, at a distance, watching the Goddess, at -whose shrine they worshiped. The preacher, in a rage of despair; Paul, -in secret consciousness of his advantage over all others, despite -appearances. Each held his secret well before the world, but in the -breast of each was a raging volcano, liable to burst forth at any -minute. Had any one suspected the preacher of the possession of so -strange a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> secret passion, his story would have been discovered by the -hungry, famished look of his eye, which followed the sculptress and her -every movement. Strange to relate, Paul exhibited more control over -himself.</p> - -<p>Fate threw these two strongly-contrasted characters together, the flint -and the steel. Horatio Nugent plunged at Paul boldly and fiercely, -saying: “I would study you.”</p> - -<p>“Why?” asked Paul.</p> - -<p>“Because you hold a secret power I would give my life to know.”</p> - -<p>“And that is?”</p> - -<p>“The power of winning her regard.”</p> - -<p>“I would not yield it up for a thousand lives, mine included,” said -Paul.</p> - -<p>“So you are a victim, too?” said the preacher.</p> - -<p>“Nay, not a victim,” proudly said Paul.</p> - -<p>“She loves you?” said the preacher, eagerly.</p> - -<p>“I did not say so.”</p> - -<p>“And yet I think my words are true.”</p> - -<p>“Your opinions do not concern me,” said Paul.</p> - -<p>“They may,” said Horatio Nugent, throwing discretion to the winds, “for -I love her, too, and if you stand in my way—well—it will do you no -good.”</p> - -<p>“You are like the rest of your kind—boastful,” said Paul, conscious of -his own power, “but in me there is no fear.”</p> - -<p>“Do not, I pray you, urge me beyond control,” said the preacher, “or -you will be made to feel there is something beyond mere brute force.”</p> - -<p>“This masterly tone,” said Paul, “must cease. I have no liking for you, -sir; you hang about the lady’s skirts too much.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And what is that to you? Are you her protector?”</p> - -<p>Ouida approached, having from a distance observed that a clash had -occurred between these two men.</p> - -<p>“There comes the lady,” said Paul; “let her answer.”</p> - -<p>“I am heartily ashamed of you both,” said Ouida. “You have selected a -most inappropriate place, as well as subject, for discussion.”</p> - -<p>The preacher looked ashamed of himself, but Paul, now thoroughly -aroused, was almost bursting with defiance; but Ouida had him -absolutely under control, and when she commanded him with decisive -voice to bring her an ice, he went, submissive like a dog.</p> - -<p>“And you, sir,” turning to the preacher, “what right have you to give -way to vulgar differences with Paul?”</p> - -<p>“I have no excuse to offer, save my adoration of yourself,” said he, -humbly.</p> - -<p>“Why vex your soul?” said she filling up with wondrous pity for the -man. “Your torment of yourself is useless. I am further from you today -than ever before.”</p> - -<p>“How is this, madam? Is there absolutely no hope for me?”</p> - -<p>“None, sir. The barrier between us can never be broken.”</p> - -<p>“And what is that barrier?” he said, a mighty despair getting its grasp -upon him, for he noted the deadly earnestness of her speech.</p> - -<p>“The obstacle is Paul,” she confessed.</p> - -<p>“Your big-limbed model?” He would not believe it.</p> - -<p>“Even so,” said the woman, as she bowed her head.</p> - -<p>“And how is he in my way? Would you stoop to him?”</p> - -<p>“Stoop, sir,” she said, her pride returning, “I have sworn to marry -him.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> - -<p>He staggered with a nameless fear.</p> - -<p>“But you do not love him,” he said. “You cannot blind me.”</p> - -<p>“I have no desire to do so. I simply tell the truth.”</p> - -<p>Nor could he fail to be deeply impressed with her simple dignity.</p> - -<p>“Listen, woman, I care not whose heart I break, you love me! Deny it if -you can!”</p> - -<p>“If I did, what would be the difference?” said Ouida. “I have sworn to -wed him. I led him on. He did not dream of me, until I made him drunk -with the promise of my life. He has done no wrong. I must bear the -grief.”</p> - -<p>“Then all I have given up is naught to you? You will break my heart and -crush my life without a tear?” said he.</p> - -<p>“Rather yours than his. Come, be a man; wound me no further,” she -pleaded, earnestly.</p> - -<p>“I cannot break a single link in the awful chain of fate,” and he bowed -his head in silence.</p> - -<p>“Do with me as you will.”</p> - -<p>“Have you still the power to marry?” she asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have given up my church, not the ministry.”</p> - -<p>“Then will you do me one last favor?” she appealed.</p> - -<p>“Be your fate what it will,” said he, “I am still your slave.”</p> - -<p>“Marry Paul and me,” she pleaded, as though upon the answer depended -her life or death.</p> - -<p>“Dare you ask this of me?”</p> - -<p>“I do, and pray you ask me not why.”</p> - -<p>“I have not the courage nor the strength,” said he, suddenly, filled up -with a great weakness.</p> - -<p>“Have I naught to suffer?” she said, in great grief. “Will you compel -me to go through it all alone?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’ll do it,” said he. “I cannot enter deeper into the vale of -suffering than I am now. You have stolen from me the power of -resistance. Now, I pray you, let me go.”</p> - -<p>As the preacher passed from her, Paul returned, looking dark and gloomy.</p> - -<p>“There is your ice, Ouida,” said Paul, striving to control himself. -“Would that my heart were like it, so that you might devour it. I do -not like that man.”</p> - -<p>“Why, Paul?”</p> - -<p>“He comes too often to you. Nay, do not deny it. He loves you, but you -do not love him,” he fiercely said.</p> - -<p>“I—I—” hesitated Ouida, for a moment losing her self-possession, -under the influence of Paul’s questioning.</p> - -<p>“But you do not love him,” he repeated again, as he seized her arm, -almost roughly. “If I thought you did—well, you know the blood of the -Cossack is in me, and—”</p> - -<p>“You will kill him?” she passionately uttered, and she clung to Paul as -though holding him from the accomplishment of such a purpose.</p> - -<p>“Now, by my life,” he said, looking searchingly at her, “this sudden -interest almost makes me think you do care for him.”</p> - -<p>Again her complete mastery over his simple nature exhibited itself.</p> - -<p>“Paul,” she said, in that alluring tone which always brought him to his -knees, “you are beside yourself. You have naught to fear of me with -him. He has just promised me to marry us tomorrow night.”</p> - -<p>“So you have fixed the time at last,” said Paul, exultingly. “This is -noble, oh, so good of you. This joyous news compensates me for a world -of agony and doubt. Would to God tomorrow night were here,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> he, -completely satisfied. “Come, let us to the ball room. I heard your -editorial friend, Doane, swearing a moment ago that you had promised -to waltz with him, but that you had secreted yourself to escape his -clutches.”</p> - -<p>“True, I had almost overlooked that. I wish I could educate Doane once -in a while to say a kindly thing, but I fear the task is a hopeless -one.”</p> - -<p>She was much relieved that the trying scene had ended, and with no -disastrous results.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVI.</span> <span class="smaller">PAUL COMPLETES A STORY.</span></h2> - -<p>Despite the difference in their dispositions, something usually brought -Doane, Wayland and Connors together. So about midnight, at the grand -ball, this trio found themselves together in one of the apartments of -the great mansion.</p> - -<p>Connors, the politician, started to talk. “If Sarah Bernhardt were -here,” he said, “she’d take a bath in the wine we have wasted tonight.”</p> - -<p>“The frail Sarah has much faith in this method of preserving health, -as did old Ponce de Leon, in the long-sought-for fountain of immortal -youth.”</p> - -<p>“By the way,” said Doane, “did you hear the story they tell on the -actress, while on her late Western tour?”</p> - -<p>“No,” they exclaimed, “let us have it.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Well,” said Doane, in great relish, for he did love to tell a story, -“when she played at Seattle, she expressed a desire to have a vivid, -real live hunt. An old trapper near by had some tame bears, and the -newspaper boys put up a job on the fair French woman. She dressed -herself up in a male attire, went out into the woods, a perfect nimrod. -She was hauled over logs and creeks, and finally, in a moment of -ecstacy, she was permitted to kill a bear. She was the happiest woman, -for a day, upon whom the sun ever shone.”</p> - -<p>They had a hearty laugh.</p> - -<p>“I saw in your paper the other day, that some fool out West had -attempted to dramatize Victor Hugo’s ‘Les Miserables.’”</p> - -<p>“If you saw it in my paper,” said Doane, “be careful. I missed a train -a few days ago by depending on the accuracy of my own journal.”</p> - -<p>“But what do you think of the idea?” queried Connors.</p> - -<p>“In these days,” said Wayland, “when managers are crazy for a new idea, -it seems to me that a clever stage story of Jean Valjean would make a -certain hit.”</p> - -<p>“You might as well try to dramatize the clouds, the great rugged -mountain peaks,” said Doane, scornfully, “as anything Victor Hugo -wrote. No man under forty can grasp the real philosophy of Hugo. How, -then, can the unintelligent masses hope to comprehend him? Connors, -you are a great politician, but you are not overburdened with dramatic -knowledge.”</p> - -<p>“I wrote a play once,” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Was it produced?” asked Wayland.</p> - -<p>“Yes, for three consecutive nights.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<p>“And what became of it then?” laughed Doane.</p> - -<p>“The fourth night,” said Connors, sorrowfully, “the leading man did not -appear. He afterward explained that he could not stand the forcible -appreciation of the admiring gallery.”</p> - -<p>The trio talked, smoked and sipped champagne for quite a while. -Suddenly it occurred to the editor that it was about time for him to -fill an engagement in the ball room.</p> - -<p>“By the way, I promised, after considerable persuasion, to dance with -Ouida,” said Doane, “and even my gout shall not deprive her of that -pleasure.”</p> - -<p>“The conceited wretch,” said Connors. “He talks as though he conferred -a favor.”</p> - -<p>“I do,” said Doane, as he went off in search of his partner, “there are -but few women in this world I would really dance with.”</p> - -<p>He returned in a moment, mad as a March hare. He had been too late, and -fifty had pleaded for his place upon her programme of dances.</p> - -<p>“A most remarkable woman,” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Peculiar, isn’t it, how a person like her could so have mastered -the world?” observed Wayland. “I have heard that but a comparatively -few years ago she was the most common and obtainable creature on the -streets of New York.”</p> - -<p>“I care not what may have been her past,” said Connors, with -comparative warmth, “today she is verily a mistress of her art.”</p> - -<p>“She is now putting the finishing touches,” said Doane, “on ‘A Modern -Hercules,’ a work which, in my judgment, compares favorably with that -of the ancient Italian artists.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> - -<p>“By the way,” said Wayland, “did you hear of her scrape with Cardinal -Beppo, at Rome?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Doane, “but tell it for the benefit of Connors.”</p> - -<p>“You see,” said Wayland, “Ouida spent some time in study at Rome. For -a few months she worked hard, and behaved herself quite well, but -one sunny day she captivated the Cardinal, and so complete was his -adoration, that he lost all discretion, and Rome rung with the open -story of his mad infatuation. Finally the officers of the Vatican -made known to her, that the sacred city could exist without her. She -suddenly left her dear prelate, who, since that time, has been beyond -consolation.”</p> - -<p>“A capital bit of romance,” said Connors, somewhat skeptical, “but who -vouches for its truth?”</p> - -<p>“I had it almost direct,” said Doane, “from the Secretary of the -American Legation, who was home last year from Rome on a visit to his -people. But that story is tame, compared to what she did to Demas of -the Comedie Francaise.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s hear it,” said Wayland, eagerly, “you never mar a poor tale in -the telling of it.”</p> - -<p>Wayland was about to go, having heard all that he desired, but Doane -restrained him, and he reluctantly was almost forced to listen to a -style of gossip which, in his opinion, was good enough for the sewing -circle, but little fitted for intelligent men.</p> - -<p>“Ouida,” said Doane, “was more than intimate with Demas, known to you -all by reputation. But she fooled him, as she has every man who has -thus far been lured into the magic circle of her regard. One night -Demas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> was playing Falstaff in ‘The Merry Wives of Windsor.’ He was -of ordinary size, but made himself up as the ‘huge hell of flesh,’ -by a rubber apparatus, which was nightly filled with air. This night -the cork came out which held the air in the rubber affair, and almost -in the twinkling of an eye, he dwindled to his normal size, while -his clothing hung about him like the folds of a collapsed balloon. -The audience broke into a roar. The curtain was rung down, and it -was fully fifteen minutes before order was sufficiently restored to -allow the performance to proceed. Next day Demas was found dead in -his apartments, a bullet wound in the temple. The press said it was -chagrin. The real truth was that Ouida had led him on and on, until he -thought she loved him. That night the fatal knowledge came to him that -she was a heartless jilt, and he simply took the pistol route, with -which to end his misery.”</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen,” said Connors, “you astonish me. I have heard of -such creatures as you paint this woman, but never before had the -distinguished honor of a personal acquaintance. I do believe that a -grain or two of discount on such stuff would be wise and just to her.”</p> - -<p>“And yet,” said Wayland, “what a following she has, despite all this. -Go into the ball room, and see New York at her feet.”</p> - -<p>“New York is the greatest city in the world,” said Doane, “yet it is -the most easily duped.”</p> - -<p>“People, in their wild desire to be entertained,” said Connors, “pick -and choose queer idols for worship.”</p> - -<p>At this juncture, unobserved, Ouida, accompanied by Paul, enter at the -rear, but are partially concealed by large and rich portieres. Ouida -had been searching for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> Doane, in order to soothe his wounded feelings, -although not at fault herself. She heard herself as the subject of -Doane’s conversation, but hardly thought it would take the shape it -did. She intended, in the midst of it, to burst in and turn it into -something amusing at Doane’s expense.</p> - -<p>“The most astonishing part of it all,” said Doane, “is her well-known -life here in New York. At twelve, Ouida, who was the natural daughter -of a woman of the town and Albert Angelo, was a child of the street. -How she lived, she hardly knew herself. Lovers she had by the score. -She became a model. She would just as willingly sit nude, as attired in -silks and satins. One day Warde discovered that she possessed talent, -nay, genius, of a high order. She was inspired to uplift herself out of -base conditions. She was sent abroad, where, between her scrapes and -love affairs, she studied. The power of art dowered her with wondrous -victories. One or two conceptions a year brought her a fortune. She -became rich enough to gratify every whim. She came here three years -ago, having lost none of her Bohemian characteristics. Society has -opened its arms; as you see, it worships her.”</p> - -<p>Paul breaks away from Ouida, and confronts Doane, anger and contempt -leaping from his eyes.</p> - -<p>“A wonderful story! Is it fully told?” said Paul. “Do these gentlemen -know all?”</p> - -<p>“All!” said Doane, “all, man? Why, could more possibly be crowded into -the life of one woman?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, slanderous cur,” thundered Paul, as he slapped Doane’s face with -his glove. “Give them the finish. She marries me tomorrow night.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVII.</span> <span class="smaller">AN UNCANNY WEDDING.</span></h2> - -<p>The night of this strange and almost unnatural marriage had arrived. -Ouida had very sensibly invited but few guests. Some of them were -assembled in her mansion. Thence, it had been arranged, they should be -driven to the quiet and unostentatious church, where Horatio Nugent -would pronounce the simple words that would mate forever Ouida Angelo -to Paul Strogoff.</p> - -<p>“I don’t like this marriage,” said Mr. Salmon, the lawyer. “Paul is a -fool, to marry Ouida Angelo. She is a great artist, but no creature for -wife to any man.”</p> - -<p>“They love each other,” said Marie, indignantly. “I don’t see why they -should not marry.”</p> - -<p>“Of course,” replied the father, “a young girl always looks into the -romance of the case. My experience in marriage settlements, and in the -divorce courts, teaches me that a marriage of this kind never turns out -well. By the way, how are you and young Clafton getting along?”</p> - -<p>“Splendidly,” said Marie.</p> - -<p>“That’s good. Now you are my own sweet child.”</p> - -<p>“I am helping him court my cousin, Georgie. He likes her better than -you ever thought he cared for me. You see, father, I have never ceased -to truly love Milton. Pray, forgive me, but I thought the best way to -rid myself of Mr. Clafton’s attentions, was to have him fall in love -with Cousin Georgie. He has entered into the trap <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>beautifully, and I -am spared much annoyance. Dear old dad, you are not mad?”</p> - -<p>“I ought to be,” said Mr. Salmon, “but I cannot help admiring your -professional method in outwitting the old gentleman. Your scheme -was clever, even if I am the victim. But think not that I will ever -withdraw my objection to Milton.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t expect you to,” said Marie with a deep sigh.</p> - -<p>“Then you will give him up?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said she, “I won’t ask your consent. We’ll slip off quietly some -day when he returns, and your newspaper friend, Doane, will, in his -journal, record an elopement.”</p> - -<p>“Never worry,” said Salmon, much annoyed, “your Milton will never come -back. He’ll get tangled up in Rome with some Italian beauty, and she -will keep him abroad. These stone cutters always act that way.”</p> - -<p>“Father,” said the girl, almost in tears, “you are most unkind and most -unjust,” and she left the room, looking for consolation.</p> - -<p>Paul entered about this time, for the purpose of having an interview -with Mr. Salmon, who was his lawyer.</p> - -<p>“These are the papers which the lady requested me to present to you. -She settles her entire fortune upon you, giving you full power to make -such disposition of the same as you see fit. In fact, she is most -liberal,” said Mr. Salmon.</p> - -<p>“Are these the papers?” said Paul, as he took them from the hand of the -lawyer.</p> - -<p>“Yes, they are all pinned together.”</p> - -<p>Paul sat down and glanced over them. When he had finished their -perusal, which did not take long, he tore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> them up and threw the pieces -in the fire, where they were quickly devoured by the flames.</p> - -<p>“What have you done?” said the startled lawyer.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” simply said Paul. “I refuse any gift of property from her. -On the contrary, you know exactly how my affairs stand. Convey to her, -by proper deeds and instruments, the full one-half of my fortune. The -cash transfer to her credit at the Chemical Bank.”</p> - -<p>“But, sir—” said Salmon.</p> - -<p>But he was interrupted by Paul, who said: “No buts, sir. This is my -will. Either carry out, with as little delay as possible, my expressed -desire, or I will be under the painful necessity of securing the -services of another lawyer.”</p> - -<p>“I shall do as you desire, and—”</p> - -<p>“Remember,” said Paul, as he left the lawyer’s presence, “not a word to -her. I must leave you now, to prepare for the ceremony.”</p> - -<p>A few more guests had arrived by this time. Mr. Connors came, and -at about the same time Olivia Winters, the journalist, put in an -appearance in the room, accompanied by Marie.</p> - -<p>“A queer wedding,” said Olivia, “and yet it may turn out well.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad to see you, Miss Winters. It appears that we alone, of all -New York, have been honored by an invitation to the wedding.”</p> - -<p>“And you, my dear Connors, were invited because, when Doane was -exuding, about Ouida, that venom which he cannot cut out of his nature, -you alone spoke up for her and her noble art, and the fame she had -justly achieved.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is entirely immaterial to me,” said Mr. Connors “what she may have -been. I know only this, that, in my judgment, she is today the grandest -artist of the modern world, and as such, is entitled to my homage. As -far as this marriage is concerned, she is her own mistress. She can -marry whomsoever she fancies. There are many men in New York today, who -would sell their souls for her.”</p> - -<p>“Are you one of them?” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“I decline to answer so leading a question,” said Mr. Connors, but not -ungraciously.</p> - -<p>“I received my summons so hastily,” said Olivia, “that I am entirely -ignorant of particulars. Where will the ceremony take place, and who -will tie the knot?”</p> - -<p>“Dr. Nugent,” answered Marie, “and at the church around the corner.”</p> - -<p>“I thought,” said Olivia, “that Dr. Nugent had quit the ministry?”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Mr. Connors, “but almost the same. He has resigned from the -pulpit of the First Church.”</p> - -<p>“I have understood,” said Salmon, “that he promised to wed them at the -request of Ouida.”</p> - -<p>Connors, joining in again at this time, said that he had heard, that at -one time Dr. Nugent had fallen a victim to the fascinating charms of -the sculptress.</p> - -<p>“Some of the blackmailing sheets so reported,” chipped in Olivia, “but -no reputable journal fathered such a libel. One thing is true, this -wedding will eclipse all sensations of the year.”</p> - -<p>“I wonder how Doane will take it?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Badly, I think,” said Olivia. “He was hit hard in that direction. -Ouida’s is the only picture I have ever seen grace his sanctum.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Nonsense,” said Salmon, the practical, “what would Doane do with a -wife? He has been wedded to journalism so long that he’d forget his -matrimonial bonds.”</p> - -<p>“Men who are not journalists think such a course in fashion these -days,” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Doane said to me the other day,” remarked Mr. Connors, “that New -York was getting very dull and commonplace; that men were beginning, -actually, to fall in love with their own wives.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t men always love and respect their wives?” asked Marie.</p> - -<p>“Your arcadian simplicity is really refreshing,” laughed Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Pray, wise one,” said Mr. Salmon, “don’t endow her with your superior -wisdom. I prefer my daughter as she is.”</p> - -<p>“That’s the one great mistake made in our land today, in the rearing of -children. They are allowed to grow up in utter ignorance of the things -which, if they knew, would save them untold misery.”</p> - -<p>“Right you are, Miss Winters,” said Mr. Connors. “If I should ever be -fortunate enough to marry, and be blessed with a boy, I should show him -around and acquaint him with life myself.”</p> - -<p>“Say and think what you will, ladies and gentlemen,” said Marie, with -firmness, “I shall never marry a man unless I love him and he loves me, -and it will be my fault if I do not retain his devotion.”</p> - -<p>“Hold fast to that sentiment, my child,” said Connors, solemnly, “and -may faith in it never forsake you.”</p> - -<p>“Our carriage is below,” said Salmon, “let us hasten to the church,” -and the company departed from the house.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE WEDDING IN THE CHURCH.</span></h2> - -<p>There are but few people who are not familiar with the little church -around the corner. It is not only quaint in appearance, but its history -is unique in the extreme. Those who paid but little attention to God -and religion in life, were always well treated here, in death, and -prince and pauper were alike welcome to its use.</p> - -<p>The bridal party arrived, and there was little of that absurd delay -which usually characterizes the fashionable wedding. Soon after, the -organist played one of the stock wedding marches, and as the bridal -party appeared before the altar, the preacher, paler than any one had -ever before seen him, ascended the pulpit.</p> - -<p>He looked down upon Ouida and Paul, and as he did, a mournful glance -of recognition and understanding flashed between the preacher and -the bride. Apparently, no one observed them. The organist ceased -his touching of the keys, and the sound of the music died away in -the distance. Dr. Nugent made an effort to begin the ceremony, but -something hindered him, and he had the sympathy of all, because they -thought him ill. They little knew his agony. At length, by a supreme -effort, he mastered himself.</p> - -<p>“Will the bride and groom join hands?” he said, and the silence seemed -full of pain.</p> - -<p>“Will you, Ouida Angelo, take as husband, Paul Strogoff, and, forsaking -all others, cleave unto him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> honor and obey him, as long as you -shall live, and until death shall part you?”</p> - -<p>And the woman said, softly: “I will.”</p> - -<p>“Will you, Paul Strogoff, take as your lawful wife, this woman, Ouida -Angelo, and love her, comfort, support and protect, and, forsaking all -others, cleave unto her as long as you shall live, and until death -shall part you?”</p> - -<p>And the man said, boldly and proudly: “I will.”</p> - -<p>“If any here present know aught why this marriage should not take -place, let him speak now, or forever hold his peace,” and just as he -spoke these words, the preacher himself, knowing of the empty heart the -woman was bringing to the man, was about to speak, but his objection -was registered only in his own soul. There was no spoken objection.</p> - -<p>“Then I pronounce you man and wife.”</p> - -<p>As the preacher uttered the words which united his rival to the woman -he loved, he tottered feebly from the pulpit. Mr. Salmon sprang to his -assistance, but was waived away, the minister saying: “I am not well -today.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XIX.</span> <span class="smaller">THE BRIDAL CHAMBER.</span></h2> - -<p>When Dr. Nugent left the church, which he did quickly, his breast -was filled with emotions of a conflicting nature. Reason seemed to -have been displaced with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> a mad, ungovernable rage. Why should this -ignorant, low, base-born son of a Russian exile possess this goddess? -What moral right had this usurper to loll at ease in her chamber, -barring out his betters of all the world? He knew that he possessed all -her mighty love, and yet he saw the fruit of it slipping away forever. -He was seized with a strange, overmastering desire to prevent, at all -hazards and at any cost, the actual consummation of the marriage. He -struggled, wrestled, tried to fight it down, but his feet carried him -toward her house. He reached it before the bridal party had arrived, -and, being familiar there, he ascended into the bridal chamber, and -there secreted himself.</p> - -<p>“Like a thief,” he said to himself, “I steal into this now sacred -apartment. Over my being creeps a determination so desperate, that I -shudder at the spectacle of my own deformity. I have suffered more -than mortal agony. There in the church, my much-abused spirit almost -departed from me. Where was the artist to tear aside the flesh and -paint the hearts as they really were? Paul, radiant and happy; Ouida, -serene in the consciousness of self-imposed beauty, while I was -burdened with the deepest sorrow of them all.”</p> - -<p>He waited, and soon Ouida entered, and threw off her veil and wraps.</p> - -<p>“The deed is done,” she murmured, “and yet I would it were undone. The -marriage vows have been exchanged, and yet Paul is as far from me as I -am from Paradise. Strange paradox am I. I know that Nugent’s love has -in it the sting of guilt, yet, through its scorching rays, I clearly -see myself. Oh, what a madcap freak, to rouse the slumbering passion -of my ‘Modern Hercules,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> and yet the fault is all my own. And I must -pay the penalty; must tread the path of sorrow to the end. This is a -rude awakening of my dream. I once had thought to greet my lord with -gleaming eyes, with passion, strong yet tender. Tonight he comes, and I -am full of fear and trembling.”</p> - -<p>She heard a slight noise.</p> - -<p>“Is that you, Paul?”</p> - -<p>Instead of Paul, Horatio Nugent stepped out from the darkness. His eye -was full of strange, unnatural brilliance, but his face was drawn, -pinched and haggard. At his appearance, Ouida’s heart almost ceased -to beat; she was so full of horror and despair. She expected Paul at -almost any moment. She knew his nature when once aroused, and she was -ashamed within herself to confess that she feared a collision between -the two men, more for the sake of the preacher than for her now -lawfully wedded husband.</p> - -<p>When Ouida asked if it was Paul, the preacher said: “No, it is I, whose -death you seal tonight.”</p> - -<p>“My God! what brings you here?” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>“You will not let me live,” said he, “so I have come to end existence -at your feet.”</p> - -<p>“And I,” commanded the woman, with wondrous dignity, “pronounce against -such base-born cowardice. You build your grief up mountain high, and -then make oath you stand alone.”</p> - -<p>“I will not argue this thing with you. I am determined on my course.”</p> - -<p>“Unhappy man,” she said, with mighty pity, “do you think you bear all -the agony of this dream? I, too, am full of sorrow as deep and black as -night.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then all the more reason,” said he, desperately, “that we should end -it all together.”</p> - -<p>“Agreed,” said Ouida, and as she spoke, she handed him a jeweled -dagger. “Waste no time,” she urged. “Plunge this deep into my heart, -then draw it forth and join me in eternity.”</p> - -<p>He quickly seized the proffered weapon, raised it high in the air, and -was about to sink it into her bared breast, when they heard Paul’s -footsteps approaching. The dagger dropped from his nerveless hand. He -covered his face with his hand, exclaiming: “Shame upon me, that I, in -unmanly weakness, should have entertained so hideous a resolve!”</p> - -<p>“Quick,” said Ouida, “to the inner chamber, and there remain until I -can let you out unseen.”</p> - -<p>He got out not a moment too soon, for upon the very instant of his -disappearance, Paul entered the chamber of the bride.</p> - -<p>“Come, Ouida,” he said, “let me fold you to my breast, for tonight you -have enthroned me in the kingdom of love.”</p> - -<p>“I have fulfilled my oath, that is all,” said Ouida, wearily, and not -responsive to his enthusiasm and passion.</p> - -<p>He threw upon her a questioning glance.</p> - -<p>“How changed you are,” said he. “It seems but an hour agone to me, -when you, with the very ecstasy of passion, awoke the slumbering fires -within me. Tonight, when you should greet me with a smile of joy, you -seem a block of ice, whose coldness chills me with the grip of death.”</p> - -<p>“Do not upbraid me,” she pleaded. “I shall strive,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> with all my might, -to be faithful, grateful for your fidelity and love.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I see it all now,” cried Paul, delight and hope again springing up -in his simple soul. “You think I am low and base-born, a pauper, and -you despise yourself for having lifted me to the high plane you occupy.”</p> - -<p>She was about to speak, but he gave her no chance to break the current -of words which flowed from his lips.</p> - -<p>“Oh, do not speak; hear me out. The very day you made of me a God, -because you said you loved me, it was made known to me that I was -of gentle birth, rich beyond all imagination. I am not the dog, the -pauper, the base-born wretch, but am equal in birth, in wealth and -power, to any man who might aspire to honorable marriage with you.”</p> - -<p>He paused, breathlessly, expecting Ouida to melt in delightful surprise -at their good fortune. But no such thing happened. In his intensity, he -did not observe her gathering anger. When he finished his story, she -said:</p> - -<p>“So, sir, you knew all this the very day I spoke to you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but would not then have told it to you to save a tottering -throne.”</p> - -<p>“Then thus boldly and shamelessly,” she thundered forth, “you confess -deception?”</p> - -<p>“What man alive would not have remained silent,” said Paul, “when -speaking meant so deep a loss? Will you not forgive me?”</p> - -<p>Even then he thought she would relent, and he approached her. She -waived him off, contemptuously.</p> - -<p>“Away! Approach me not. You madden me,” she said, with frightful -vehemence, “I thought that you were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> baser clay than the dull-witted -fools that gathered round. I sighed for the pleasure of attiring those -mighty limbs of yours, of decking you with jewels, rich and rare. I -deemed you poor, that I might lavish gifts upon you. I thought you -nameless, that I might envelop you with the mantle of my own fame and -genius. You knew the motive, and yet, by the false pretense of silence, -you tricked from my freakish lips that hasty declaration. Be gone! Let -me not look upon your face again!”</p> - -<p>The pallor of death overspread his face, and he exclaimed, almost -piteously: “I do confess my sin; yet, does it merit the punishment of -exile? A life that’s worse than death?”</p> - -<p>“Go,” she said, in tones that left no room for hope, “I’ll not unsay a -single word. Since you are other than I thought you, this marriage bed -shall know you not. This is no place for such a husband.”</p> - -<p>She pointed to the door, and slowly Paul turned, and gradually his -feet bore him away from her presence. When the sound of the departing -tread of Paul had passed away, Ouida, with a glance at the inner room, -wherein waited her lover, she sank with a sigh upon the floor. Her -brain reeled, and consciousness for a period completely abandoned her being.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XX.</span> <span class="smaller">THE METROPOLIS FROWNS.</span></h2> - -<p>After the nuptial night, Paul disappeared from the knowledge of men. -Ouida and Horatio Nugent took up their lives together. New York society -indulged in a spasm of virtuous indignation; became monstrously -shocked; entered a vigorous protest; and pronounced upon the guilty -pair the judgment of condemnation. This mattered not to the lovers. -They could see, feel, comprehend, appreciate nothing but themselves, -their love and devotion to each other. The outside world was naught to -them. They builded their own universe, peopled with the inhabitants of -their own imagination, and well satisfied and pleased, existed in it. -But New York’s frown, in time, practically meant much to them. It meant -the withdrawal of art commissions to Ouida, and the absolute banishment -of Mr. Nugent from the practice of his profession. As time relentlessly -rolled on, their affairs grew complicated. She was compelled to -sacrifice her art treasures, her valued property, her jewels, and -still they awoke not from their fevered dream. The day came at last -when poverty and want crept in and found them in rude, uncomfortable -lodgings in a back street. By a strange fatality, of all her glorious -possessions, Ouida had alone retained “A Modern Hercules,” that piece -of statuary done from the form of her discarded husband.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXI.</span> <span class="smaller">DOANE’S EXQUISITE VENGEANCE.</span></h2> - -<p>One day shortly after Ouida and Nugent had taken up their residence in -the slums, Mr. Connors, who had now become a power in directing the -political destinies of the country, met Mr. Doane, the editor, in the -vicinity of Ouida’s home.</p> - -<p>“This is a queer place,” said Doane. “It rather surprises me to see you -here.”</p> - -<p>“Not more so than I am to see you in such a locality,” said Mr. Connors.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we newspaper men go everywhere.”</p> - -<p>“And we politicians, too; but honestly, what are you doing here?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Doane, rubbing his hands in grim satisfaction, “I don’t -mind telling you; a little private vengeance.”</p> - -<p>“Upon whom?” queried Connors.</p> - -<p>“Ouida Angelo. You were present when I received that insulting blow on -her account?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and by heavens, you brought it on yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind that,” said the editor. “I feel the sting yet, and while I -cannot pay her back in kind, I can twist and probe her pride, and I’ll -do it, too. She lives in that miserable hovel over there,” pointing to -the place. “I am going to visit her.”</p> - -<p>“You astound me,” said Connors. He himself was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> bent upon the same -mission, yet was not inspired by so ignoble a purpose.</p> - -<p>Doane continued: “She has become an object almost of public pity. When -the haughty creature abandoned her husband, almost at the altar, and -began a life of shame with her lover, even rotten New York society -rebelled and frowned her down.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it is but too true. The world, when once aroused, is cold in its -judgment. But I did not know that she had been so frightfully reduced.”</p> - -<p>“She has lost her fame, and everything,” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“All,” asked Connors, “her jewels, carriages, works of art?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, all except the ‘Modern Hercules.’ So far, nothing has induced -her to part with that. I have kept track of her affairs, awaiting my -opportunity.”</p> - -<p>“Doane,” appealed Connors, seriously, “I think there is true nobility -yet in the character of that woman. Forego your vengeance.”</p> - -<p>“Not I,” said the vindictive writer. “I am going to tempt her to sell -the thing to me.”</p> - -<p>“This is the very refinement of cruelty,” said Connors, in disgust. -“You should have been a Spanish Inquisitor. You would have stood well -with Torquemado.”</p> - -<p>“Wouldn’t you like to share the treat with me?” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“No,” said Connors, and the men parted, Doane going over in the -direction of the place where Ouida lived. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>The once proud and queenly sculptress sat alone, all pale and haggard, -in her humble, ill-furnished abode, a prey to emotions that scorched -her soul.</p> - -<p>“Society never pardoned me,” she thought, “my genius and fame, and when -passion enslaved me and my back was turned, the cruel jade stabbed me -in a fatal spot. I thought I could offer defiance to custom’s rigid -rule. I dreamed I was a queen, to whom the world owed obedience. I -awoke, and found I was a woman, strong only in passionate devotion. -Yet, could I turn back the hand of time, I would not change. Eternal -poverty, exposure, shame, disgrace with him, is better than Paradise -without. I have had pointed at me the finger of scorn, and yet upon his -aching breast, I have found a consolation so deep and sweet, that it -gave oblivion to the taunts without.”</p> - -<p>Her reverie was disturbed by a knock at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in,” she said.</p> - -<p>Doane entered.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said he, placing his glass to his eye, “can it be? Do my eyes -deceive me? Ouida Angelo!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “and what can you want with me?”</p> - -<p>“You surely believe me,” he said, in exquisite irony, “when I tell you -that I did not expect to find you here?”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said she coldly, “you will have no objection to making your -stay as brief as possible. You see, I am not in a position to properly -entertain so distinguished a visitor.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t let that worry you,” said he, with cool impudence. “I’ll -take a seat; you don’t mind, do you?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have no way of relieving myself of your presence,” said Ouida, “save -by invitation, as this is the only apartment at my disposal. I presume -I shall be compelled to hear what you have to say.”</p> - -<p>“I was seeking curios,” said Doane, whose malicious smile revealed -the fact that he was lying, “and a neighbor of yours informed me that -a lady, once proud and rich, had a very fine piece of statuary for -sale. I called to see it, not knowing who the owner might be, and was -dumbfounded to find it was you!”</p> - -<p>“Mistaken, sir, as you usually are,” said Ouida, “mistaken in all your -facts. There is no lady here; only a woman of sorrow, one acquainted -with much grief. I have nothing to sell, or give away.”</p> - -<p>“I see a marble figure there,” said he, pointing to the one work of art -that lent radiance and dignity, even to that humble abode. “Is that -your work?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” was the curt reply.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” he said.</p> - -<p>“I will not tell you.”</p> - -<p>“I know, so you might as well.”</p> - -<p>“If you know,” she said, “then there is no necessity for me to give you -any information.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s throw deception to the winds,” said he, unmasking himself. “It -is ‘The Modern Hercules.’ I came to buy it of you.”</p> - -<p>“It is not for sale.”</p> - -<p>“Not for sale!” he said, “when the price I’d pay for it would enable -you to hold up your head in the world again?”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said she, filled to the quick with indignation, “I want neither -your gold, sarcasm, advice nor presence.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<p>“A little of each would do you good.”</p> - -<p>“You are a coward, sir,” the woman flashed out, “to say things to -me here that you would not have dared to utter when wealth, power, -position, all were mine.”</p> - -<p>“No, dear lady, not a coward, but one who enjoys telling the truth, -even if it bites and wounds. Will you sell that piece of stone to me?”</p> - -<p>“Not for the wealth of Vanderbilt,” she replied. “I’d rather give it to -a pauper whom I respected, than to sell it to you for enough to buy the -golden opinion of all men.”</p> - -<p>“Such a resolve shows delicate sensibility, artistic temperament, but -a minimum of common sense. I saw your—” (here even he could go but -little further) “I mean Mr. Nugent, a few days ago, and if you still -possess your romantic attachment for him, his pinched cheeks and sunken -eyes, would induce you to make some little sacrifice for him.”</p> - -<p>The interview was becoming beyond endurance to Ouida, when, -fortunately, the subject of the latter part of Doane’s talk—Horatio -Nugent—entered the room. He had heard the editor’s allusion to -sacrifice.</p> - -<p>“Who are you,” he cried, “that dare talk to her of sacrifice for me? -The world should weep for her. She has, upon the altar of her affection -for me, sacrificed a glory, which before, no woman had ever achieved -upon the American continent.”</p> - -<p>Doane laughed, and Nugent, growing desperate, crossed over toward him, -with threatening attitude.</p> - -<p>Ouida clung to him, begging him, for their mutual sake to be calm.</p> - -<p>“Oh, don’t restrain him,” said Doane, provokingly, “he’ll cool down bye -and bye.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I know you now,” said Nugent, “You are from the upper world, a -fair representative of the classes who set themselves up in judgment -over common men.”</p> - -<p>“No,” said Doane, assuming an injured air, “only an editor, whose -kindly intent has been met here by rude insult.”</p> - -<p>“Take your intent and presence away,” said Nugent, “and at once. We -want neither. You and your kind stand well in the eyes of the world, -but we refuse to bend beneath your judgment.”</p> - -<p>“Yet,” said the editor, “you set up a tribunal of your own.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Ouida, “the tribunal of conscience, where we have had our -trial, pronounced sentence, and for years have been paying to justice -the penalty we owed.”</p> - -<p>“You refuse my aid?” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“It was not sought; we will not accept it,” said Nugent. “We prefer -starvation to your pity.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” said Doane, “let it not be pity, but a pure matter of business.”</p> - -<p>“We desire none with you,” said Ouida. “This lodging is poor, but it is -our own. Go, vent your spleen where it may be felt. We are beyond it. -We have passed through the vale of agony. No shaft of scorn or ridicule -can wound us more. Leave us, we would breathe the untainted air.”</p> - -<p>And as Doane went away from the presence of his intended victims, it -crept through his narrow brain, that he had not accomplished much.</p> - -<p>“I could not pierce the armor of their pride and devotion. I am an -ass,” said Doane to himself, and the next day’s editorials were -permeated with great bitterness.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXII.</span> <span class="smaller">OUIDA’S WELCOME VISITORS.</span></h2> - -<p>Mr. Connors, while awaiting Doane’s departure from the house of Ouida, -happened, accidentally, to brush into Olivia Winters.</p> - -<p>“My friend, the politician,” she said, shaking hands. “I am glad to see -you.”</p> - -<p>“I echo the sentiment,” he said. “Where have you been? I missed you -lately from your usual haunts.”</p> - -<p>“The Tattler knows me no more. I have a magazine of my own.”</p> - -<p>“And doing well, I sincerely hope,” remarked Mr. Connors.</p> - -<p>“Largely experimental yet,” said Olivia. “I fear I shall have to -educate the public up to the point of appreciating fearlessness. I am -the freest lance today in the whole of New York.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad of it,” said the politician. “Society needs a mirror in -whose sharp reflection it may know itself.”</p> - -<p>“People at first,” said Olivia, “were pleased, then amazed; now they -are mad. But they read every line, and from the remonstrances I note in -other quarters, I am satisfied that my object is being accomplished.”</p> - -<p>“Where are you going?” said he. “May I accompany you, so that we may -finish this delightful chat? You attract me. Now don’t imagine I am -paying you some silly compliment. We both know too much for that.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> But -there is something exceedingly refreshing in your society, especially -for one who, like me, has run the gauntlet of ambition and emotion.”</p> - -<p>“One good turn deserves another,” remarked his companion. “I frankly -admit that your society is agreeable to me. While you are a politician, -you never fail to admit the truth. But I cannot let you go with me. I -am on a mission of mercy.”</p> - -<p>“That spoils all of good you previously said,” insisted Connors. “Do -you think that in the whirl of politics, I have lost all heart, and so -am unfitted to be your companion, upon a deed of goodness?”</p> - -<p>“No, I do not think so ill of you, but I am going to see one whom we -both knew when the world was at her feet. To see us together might -bring deeper pain to her troubled soul.”</p> - -<p>“Your mission,” he said, with deep interest, “is no secret to me. I am -here on the same errand. I just met Doane, who was bent on visiting -her, with the idea of vengeance.”</p> - -<p>“Then you may go with me,” she assented, “and perhaps together we may -smooth over the roughness of Doane’s contemptible behavior. But you -must agree in advance to back up all I say. Come, we will go together.”</p> - -<p>As they approached the house of Ouida, Connors began to think very -seriously that Olivia would make a charming life companion, and -resolved, then and there, to further cultivate so sweet and strong a -personality.</p> - -<p>They entered the lodging together, and were more than cordially greeted -by Ouida and Horatio. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Welcome to you both,” said Ouida, “and you especially, Olivia, for -you are one of the only two women in New York whose hand I clasp in -friendship.”</p> - -<p>“This is indeed good of both of you,” said Horatio.</p> - -<p>“And I offer you both my complete attachment,” said Mr. Connors.</p> - -<p>“In affluence,” said Ouida, “we would not have prided ourselves in the -devotion of kings. Today, when stripped of all, save humiliation, your -proffer is a consolation preciously dear.”</p> - -<p>“Would to heaven, my dear Ouida,” fervently said Olivia, “that I could -impregnate you with some of the bubbling pleasures of my life.”</p> - -<p>“Too late,” said Nugent, “we ourselves have spun a web of fate, that -fast imprisons us. We cannot break the chain.”</p> - -<p>“You must not say that,” said Connors. “There is no mistake beyond -retrieving.”</p> - -<p>“Pardon me,” said Ouida, with a slight impatience, “I have no faith in -such a sentiment. You, who have won the fight, forget the weary rounds -of ambition’s ladder.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Nugent, in echo of Ouida’s thought, “we do not bare our -souls to the insane multitude, but to you, dear friends, we say, that -we feel that further effort to rise from out the pit, is vain.”</p> - -<p>“May I change the subject?” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“You certainly have my permission,” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>“I met young Wald, the sculptor, a few days ago, and he inquired as to -your whereabouts. I evaded him, but he strongly hinted that discovery -of you by him would be to your advantage.”</p> - -<p>“The dishonest wretch!” exclaimed Ouida, angrily, “what do you think he -would have had me do?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I don’t know, but I have had a very poor opinion of him ever since I -knew that his father paid Doane $5,000 for a flattering critique of his -‘Goddess of Progress,’ a thing of no real merit. But what did he want -of you?”</p> - -<p>“To create, model, carve, and in his name.”</p> - -<p>“I had no idea,” said Connors, “that there was such corruption in art -circles. It is needless for us to ask your answer.”</p> - -<p>“We have sunk,” said Nugent, “to what you behold, but Ouida and I will -cut our throats, ere she shall thus prostitute her divine genius.”</p> - -<p>“May we not help you in some way?” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“Not with ostentation,” quickly spoke up Connors. “Not even for -yourselves, if you will have it so, but for the world, that should not -be deprived of Ouida’s masterly creations.”</p> - -<p>At this, Ouida wept, nor was she ashamed of her tears.</p> - -<p>“I have not heretofore, through all my misery, shed a single tear,” -said Ouida, “till this delicate offer of your sweet sympathy, and yet I -cannot allow you to interfere with fate.”</p> - -<p>“I have withstood the bitter hate of men,” said Nugent, “nor trembled -once, but your kindness makes me weak, like a child. Do not be -offended, but I must leave you. You will excuse me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Connors, “if you so desire.”</p> - -<p>“Kind friends,” said Ouida, “take your leave now. Your visit has left a -ray of sunshine, which Horatio and I will bask in long after you wend -your way from this place, out into the busy world. Leave us alone, to -work out our own salvation.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Will you, dearest Ouida,” pleaded Olivia, “thus drive forth two -earnest, loving friends, who desire no higher privilege than to stand -by your side?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, my dear Ouida,” said Connors, “I am not without some power. The -strongest effort of my life is yours, absolutely, to command.”</p> - -<p>“No, friends, go your way. With ourselves alone we must conduct this -mighty strife. If we should fail, all I ask is that, when we have -shuffled off this mortal coil, paint us as we really were, not as -biting tongues, tinged with malice, have told the story of our sin.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Mr. Connors,” said Olivia, “it would be sinful, upon the rough -rack of this world, to longer vex the proud spirit of our friends.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, dear friends,” said Connors, almost with affection, “and as -we say au revoir, let me breathe the earnest prayer, that the Supreme -Intelligence will lift you out of the valley of the shadow of grief, so -that from the hill tops, you may behold the dawn of a new and nobler -life.”</p> - -<p>They left Ouida together, admiring, yet regretting, that marble pride -which prevented Ouida from accepting their proffered sympathy and aid. -But a contemplation of the history of Ouida and Horatio, drew them -closer together, though no word of love was spoken between the two. -Their mutual interest in the fate of their friends provided a bond of -sympathy between the two, that bid fair to develop into a deeper and -holier connection.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIII.</span> <span class="smaller">LAWYER SALMON MEETS DEFEAT.</span></h2> - -<p>The day on which Doane and the two sweet friends visited Ouida was -a fateful one. On that same day Lawyer Salmon had a most eventful -conversation with his daughter Marie. They also met near Ouida’s place.</p> - -<p>“My dear child,” said he, “it is foolish for you to pine your young -life away in grief over Milton.”</p> - -<p>“Father,” said she, “it is easy for you to speak thus, but I cannot -root out of my soul the love and faith therein enshrined.”</p> - -<p>“He has forgotten you.”</p> - -<p>“I will not believe it,” said she stoutly.</p> - -<p>“How long,” persisted the father, “has it been since you have heard -from him?”</p> - -<p>“About six months, but he may be ill. There must be some cause,” said -Marie, fighting every inch of ground.</p> - -<p>“Stuff and nonsense,” said he, “why don’t you admit to yourself the -truth. He has abandoned you. I always thought you had more pride than -to throw yourself into the arms of a man who seems so utterly to have -forgotten you.”</p> - -<p>“Father,” said Marie, a tremor in her voice, “you wrong Milton. I fear -you do not love me, or you would not so wound me.”</p> - -<p>“There, daughter, you are unjust to me. You may deem me hard, cold, -unromantic, but I know these Royles.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> His father was as treacherous as -an Indian, and I believe in heredity.”</p> - -<p>“And I in love,” said Marie.</p> - -<p>“And I shall be silent henceforth on the subject. Stern though I seem, -I love you, my darling child, and your happiness is my one aim in life.”</p> - -<p>“Then withdraw your opposition to Milton, for I will only be completely -happy when you shall admit him to your heart as a son.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well,” said Salmon with a sigh, thinking of the girl’s dead -mother, “I will think upon it. I must now go in to see Ouida. I will -not be long detained. Remain without until I return.”</p> - -<p>“I will yet win him over. God alone knows how I have worried over -Milton’s long and extraordinary silence.”</p> - -<p>A moment and right upon the street, she felt warm arms around her, and -a heart breathing next her own.</p> - -<p>“Marie,” was all that Milton said.</p> - -<p>“Milton!” she exclaimed, “what a surprise to father. Your name has -just left my lips. My father and I have just been indulging in another -portion of our perpetual quarrel over you. Why have you been so long -silent?”</p> - -<p>“Silent, dearest,” said he in surprise.</p> - -<p>“I have not received a line from you in six months.”</p> - -<p>“Then my mail must have been miscarried, for I wrote almost as -frequently as usual.”</p> - -<p>“Almost? Why not just as often?” she said, rather piqued.</p> - -<p>“For the last few months I have been more than absorbed in my work, for -the annual competition at Rome, and moments were golden.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Did you succeed?” she asked in breathless suspense.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my darling,” said Milton proudly, “I won the first prize, and -hastened home to lay the laurels at your feet.”</p> - -<p>“I am proud of you, and I rejoice in your success. Now father shall -come over to us,” said Marie.</p> - -<p>“What’s the news?” asked Milton. “I just disembarked from the Germania, -jumped into a cab at the wharf, drove to your residence, learned that -you had started for this place, followed, and once again behold your -beloved face.”</p> - -<p>“Strange things have happened since you went abroad. You have heard -about Ouida?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Milton, “and it almost broke my heart. I owe so much to -her.”</p> - -<p>“I am no longer jealous of her, and, dear Milton, if you can in any way -help her I will love you more than ever, if possible.”</p> - -<p>“I need no inspiration to that end,” said Milton, “my own gratitude -would urge and compel me to serve her.”</p> - -<p>“You are always generous, Milton, and I appreciate you all the more for -it.”</p> - -<p>“I care not what the world may say,” said Milton, “but humanity needs -her, and she shall no longer be buried beneath the weight of a sin for -which long ago she paid the awful penalty.”</p> - -<p>“I share your opinion with all my heart,” said Marie.</p> - -<p>Just about this time Mr. Salmon, having accomplished the mission which -had called him to Ouida’s house, returned, and his first glance lighted -upon the happy pair, who were totally oblivious to his presence. He -turned down another street, with a sigh, and left them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>undisturbed. -<i>He had met with defeat.</i> The girl’s faith had triumphed. He felt he -ought to succumb, yet he was proud and stubborn, and even yet there was -opposition in his soul.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIV.</span> <span class="smaller">SALE OF “THE MODERN HERCULES.”</span></h2> - -<p>Almost immediately after Olivia Winters and Mr. Connors had departed -Horatio Nugent returned to Ouida’s presence.</p> - -<p>“I have just seen Marie Salmon and Milton Royle,” said he.</p> - -<p>“Milton Royle,” she said, “so he has returned from abroad?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and radiant with victory. He has won the first prize at Rome, and -was most anxious to offer his gratitude to you, but I knew you were -weary with the trials of the day, and begged him to come some other -time.”</p> - -<p>“I am glad you did so. The sight of his beaming face would have -recalled memories that would have made me doubly sad.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the period of your triumphs before I cast my dark and grim shadow -over the sunshine of your life. Woe is me!”</p> - -<p>“And do you think,” said Ouida, with infinite tenderness, “that I -regret you?”</p> - -<p>“That is the very thought that sears my soul. I know my wrong to you. -Yet through it all your brave smile<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> remains. Oh! for the power to blot -out the past; to dower you with the past.”</p> - -<p>“I would refuse the gift,” said Ouida, “if I could not share my life -with you. You seem fevered tonight, love. Any good results today?”</p> - -<p>“No, dearest, only added torment,” said he, sadly. “You remember last -week I left my manuscript with Dixon & Company, the publishers? Their -reader told me to call today. I did, with large hope and expectations. -I was ushered into his office, furnished with artistic taste. ‘Your -work,’ said he, ‘is clever and original, but I have made some inquiries -about you. You are Nugent, the preacher, are you not, who was concerned -in an escapade with Ouida Angelo?’ I could not and would not deny my -connection with you. ‘I like your work,’ said he, ‘but our house cannot -afford to insult society, which it certainly would do, if we fathered -anything from your pen.’ With a careless nod he handed me my bundle of -papers and dismissed me. And as I left, my heart almost bursting with -indignation, I wished you again upon the very throne of art, that you -might tear out my soul, and use it as a model for a creation, ‘The -Agony of Despair.’”</p> - -<p>“Come, Horatio, lay your head upon my knee and let me soothe your -aching brow.” He gladly complied with her sweet suggestion. There was a -brief silence, when, looking up into her face, he suddenly said:</p> - -<p>“Do you not think, Ouida, that you and I have fairly tried the world?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said she, firmly, “and surely we have reached the end.”</p> - -<p>“Think you self-destruction is ever justified?”</p> - -<p>“Have you abandoned hope so completely,” she said, “that you let such -dark visions come into your mind?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am full of despair tonight,” said Nugent, gloomily. “I see naught -before me save the impregnable wall of fate. I can neither break -through its thickness, nor scale its height.”</p> - -<p>“True,” said Ouida, dreamily, “our lives have utterly failed, and if we -quietly sought oblivion, the world would wag its tongue for one brief -hour, then would speedily forget that we ever lived.”</p> - -<p>Horatio rose to his feet, and said with impressive solemnity:</p> - -<p>“I have thought that when two, through their love, pure in itself, -had gained but grief and tears, when they had reached that point when -starvation, both of body and soul, confronted them like a hideous -spectre; when their pride had been stung by pity; when love views love -with more than mortal agony, affording no hope; Oh, Ouida, beloved, I -have thought ’twere best to end it all with one bold stroke, and solve -the mystery of the fate beyond the stars!”</p> - -<p>“Your magnetic eloquence,” said the woman, “moves me beyond expression. -We cannot longer live together. Your agony each day kills me a million -times. Mine utterly unnerves you. Whatever course you deem best I’ll -share without a sob or tear.”</p> - -<p>“Then, since you are content, let us die together!”</p> - -<p>“I assent,” said Ouida, almost with joy.</p> - -<p>“No vulgar death of violence,” said her lover. “I could not stab you -with a knife, for the sight of your red, spurting blood, would rob me -of the strength to do the deed upon myself. To blow your brains out -with a pistol would be brutish. But see, here is a poison. This, in a -small quantity of water, will provide enough to send our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> souls hence -into the other world. Shall I prepare the drink?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and without delay. The morning sun shall shed its earliest rays -upon our soulless dust.”</p> - -<p>And Horatio Nugent, upon whose eloquence once hung breathless, -countless thousands, mixed the drink, with firm hand, that would -self-murder two human lives. When ready, said he:</p> - -<p>“The fatal distillation is ready for the taking. Farewell, my queen! -Would to God I had never crossed your life and dragged you to the dust!”</p> - -<p>He held ready the glass almost to his lips.</p> - -<p>“And you, my king, farewell! Let me drink first. I would not look upon -your rigid limbs, environed in the grip of death.”</p> - -<p>“Have your wish,” he said, “here is the cup.”</p> - -<p>She raised the small vessel to her lips, and was about to quaff its -fatal contents, when Edward Salmon, the lawyer, broke into the room, -and quickly seizing the horror of the situation, struck the cup from -her hand, and it fell with a crash upon the floor.</p> - -<p>“Thank God!” exclaimed the lawyer, “in time to save you both.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” said Horatio, “may we not be permitted to die in peace?”</p> - -<p>“You know not,” said Ouida, “the grief you have prolonged.”</p> - -<p>“You told me yesterday to sell ‘The Modern Hercules,’” said Salmon, -breathlessly. “I have found a purchaser.”</p> - -<p>“Then sell it,” said Ouida, “and dig our graves in decency.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Sell it rather,” said Salmon, in deepest sympathy, “and with the -proceeds begin life anew.”</p> - -<p>“Our lives have run their course. We can no longer hold up beneath the -world’s black frown,” said Horatio.</p> - -<p>“That is the talk of the moral coward,” said Salmon, boldly. “Come, I -know your story. Draw out your strength, your manhood. Fate brought me -here in time. You both shall live to look upon this hour with shame.”</p> - -<p>“He is right,” said Ouida, arousing herself with mighty effort. “Look -up, my love, we may yet wring from fortune’s grasp a noble fate. Where -is the purchaser?”</p> - -<p>“He awaits without. Would see the work, pay the price and go.”</p> - -<p>“Let him come,” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>Salmon retired for a moment, and when he returned, brought with -him—Paul Strogoff, the sinned against!</p> - -<p>He only said: “I come not in anger, nor in vengeance; only in sorrow, -to crave your pardon, that I live.”</p> - -<p>“Would that I had died ere this,” said Ouida.</p> - -<p>Horatio bowed his head in shame and humiliation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXV.</span> <span class="smaller">THE BEGINNING OF REDEMPTION.</span></h2> - -<p>Paul Strogoff’s sorrow had ennobled him, and, though the opportunity -came to him to humiliate those who had wronged him, no man, born of -woman, could have acted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> with rarer delicacy, than he did upon the -trying occasion of the purchase of “The Modern Hercules.”</p> - -<p>His behavior at that time produced marvelous results. It seemed to -have had the effect of tearing aside the veil which had blinded the -sculptress and her lover, to a realization of the enormity of their -sin. They resolved to be no less noble in sacrifice than Paul had been. -They had resolved to give each other up, and the separation had taken -place.</p> - -<p>Nugent at first applied to the organized churches for place, but -they would have none of him. So he began his work independent, and -alone. His field of operation lay among the poor, the forsaken, the -down-trodden of the slums. Many a time he had gone down into the gutter -to uplift the fallen and degraded creatures, who were abandoned by the -big churches to their fate. Gradually he won for himself a distinctive -place in the real affections of the common people. He became a familiar -figure in the humbler quarters, and often money came to aid worthy -causes from an unknown source. It came from Paul, but Horatio Nugent -never knew. He became such a character, that when he passed through -the crime infected portions of the city, every cut-throat, burglar -and petty larcenist took off the hat to him. They all felt that there -was some mighty secret locked up in his breast, and they respected -him and it. And what were the feelings within him? He had marked out -his course, and was rigidly pursuing it, and gradually there crept -over him, a peace, contentment, harmony of thought, that furnished a -complete compensation for the sacrifice which he had made. His moral -redemption was complete, but the struggle had been fierce and intent, -and the temptation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> to swerve in the earlier days of the battle had -often times been strong and almost beyond control. He had no friends, -save among the poor whom he served, and he led as simple a life as that -of a rustic shepherd.</p> - -<p>And what of Ouida? Her life and pursuit were equally as noble. She had -become a woman whose only object in life was to prevent others from -falling into the sad sin which had darkened her life. The sensational -newspapers had laughed at her for a while, but she bravely persisted, -and ridicule was soon transformed into respect and admiration. -Several times in the course of their philanthropic work they met, -but no thought had come to them concerning a renewal of their former -relations, and each, from afar, by magnetic sympathy sustained the -other in this newer and nobler life.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVI.</span> <span class="smaller">DOANE TOASTS DISEASE.</span></h2> - -<p>Doane, Connors, Salmon and Wayland were all members of the Union League -Club, and spent much of their time amid its comfortable, enticing -environments. There is a common opinion prevalent, particularly in New -York, that a society man may as well be dead as not to hold membership -in at least one of the fashionable clubs. You can eat there, receive -the billet doux of your lady friends, and if you want to gamble you -can be accommodated at any limit of the game. If you are convivially -inclined you can there get on a decent drunk, and perfect care will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> be -taken that you do not fall into the hands of the police. In fact the -club is a great protection to married as well as single men. Many a -husband, who likes a quiet time apart from domestic influences, has had -his shortcomings covered by the club. This sort of thing is not for the -poor man. He takes his drink in the groggery, and woe betide him if he -should stagger on the public highway.</p> - -<p>Doane, the editor, and Salmon, the lawyer, both sharp witted, were -seated in one of the private rooms of the Union League. It was shortly -after Salmon, apart from his usual custom in the profession, had been -victorious in a celebrated murder trial.</p> - -<p>“I congratulate you on your acquittal of Wilcox,” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“A hard case,” remarked Salmon. “He was convicted once, actually sat -in the electric death chair, but I got a new hearing, secured a second -trial, and now the accused is as free as you or I.”</p> - -<p>“A clever victory for you, but bad for society. The way murderers are -freed now only encourages desperate deeds. There would be more respect -for law if there were fewer lawyers,” said the editor.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it would be better,” said Salmon, “if we permitted the -newspapers to administer justice.”</p> - -<p>“How so?” said Doane, ignoring the covert sarcasm of his friend.</p> - -<p>“I will illustrate,” said the lawyer: “About a year ago, in this city, -a man was hacked to pieces. With him lived a Polish immigrant. He knew -but little of the language or customs of the country. A sensational -newspaper put its blood-hound-detective-reporters on the trail. They -convicted Skinoski, only to find a few months later, beyond the shadow -of a doubt, that a slight mistake had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> been made, and after all they -had electrocuted the wrong man.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, a little error of that kind will occur, you know,” said Doane, -unfeelingly, “but then it only removed another of these filthy, foreign -paupers. We have too many of these cattle on hand now. Not that I have -any very great respect for the native toiler.”</p> - -<p>“What is your objection to him?” said Salmon.</p> - -<p>“I like the laboring man well enough in his way,” said Doane, “but I -wish he would take a bath once in a while. There is too little sweat on -his brow and too much on his hands to suit me.”</p> - -<p>“Yet your paper parades the fact,” said Salmon, “that it fights his -battles.”</p> - -<p>“I admit that,” said Doane, with a wink, “we need readers and a -circulation to justify us in raising advertising rates. This is -business versus sentiment.”</p> - -<p>Just then Mr. Wayland, the stock broker, entered, and, as he took -an easy chair, said, “I’ll wager that Doane has just said something -biting. There is on his face a smile of derision.”</p> - -<p>“No, I have been making practical suggestions; that is all. Have been -talking about the Plebeian herd, and must have a quart of champagne -with which to cleanse my tongue.”</p> - -<p>A button within easy reach is touched; a waiter appears; takes the -order, and soon returns with the wine.</p> - -<p>“It shall be on me,” said Wayland. “I can afford it. I made a fortune -today.”</p> - -<p>“How?” said Doane. “Did you bankrupt another railroad?”</p> - -<p>“No; like Joseph I cornered wheat, and made a million. Will you help me -spend it?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes. Buy a newspaper, and employ Salmon there. He’s a most expensive -luxury,” said Doane.</p> - -<p>“What reason have you for always jumping on me?” said Salmon. “Did I -not safely escort you through seven libel suits last year?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and how much of our stock do you now hold in the way of fee?”</p> - -<p>“Let’s cease this merriment,” said Wayland, in either real or assumed -sadness. “I am in mourning. The City of Hamburg has just arrived, and -brings the news that ‘La Petite Goldie’ died at sea, and was buried -beneath the cruel waves of the unfeeling Atlantic.”</p> - -<p>“Another $50,000 you will have to credit to profit and loss,” said -Doane.</p> - -<p>“Was that another of Gould’s operative speculations?” asked Salmon.</p> - -<p>“Yes, gentlemen, she was, and truly I am awfully cut up over the -matter. I liked the girl very much, and besides, she had great talent.”</p> - -<p>“She died of what ailment?” queried the lawyer.</p> - -<p>“That’s the puzzling thing,” said the broker. “Some dreadful, -mysterious ailment, the germs of which floated up from the steerage. -The confounded steamer should have been quarantined. The first thing we -know New York will be scourged.”</p> - -<p>“A few thousand useless cattle will be killed off,” said Doane. “A good -thing.”</p> - -<p>“It might lay its heavy hand on you,” said Salmon.</p> - -<p>“No,” replied Doane, “I am too wicked to die. Satan would refuse me -entrance to hell for fear I’d rival him for his kingdom.”</p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” said Wayland, “I intend to wear crape for a year.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Bah,” said Doane, “the next pretty face will cure you. You’ll get no -sympathy from us.”</p> - -<p>“See here, Doane. I bought that bottle of wine as a bribe for sympathy, -and I shall engage Salmon here to prosecute you for obtaining it under -false pretense.”</p> - -<p>“This possibility of some mysterious epidemic in New York annoys me,” -said Doane. “I shall take occasion in tomorrow’s paper, to rake the -health officers sharply over the coals,” and for some cause or other, a -sickening shudder passed over his frame.</p> - -<p>“Does it trouble you, Doane?” said Wayland, “if so, let’s go abroad.”</p> - -<p>“No, personally I do not fear,” said the editor. “I have looked pistols -in the eye; have been a war correspondent, with bullets flying about -like hail; and, have in addition, faced an angry husband or two. A -little disease—bah! There are a hundred doctors who would serve me for -the asking. Give me another drink,” and as he held the glass aloft, he -offered a toast: “Here’s to grim disease,” he said, “may it kill off -ten thousand”—he did not finish; the wine glass fell upon the floor -and was cracked in many particles, while Doane tottered, fainting in -the arms of Salmon.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE CURSE FALLS.</span></h2> - -<p>The vague fear which outlined itself in the mind of the club men, had -taken shape, and New York was in the grip of the most dreadful epidemic -that had ever scourged the Metropolis. The curse of Heaven seemed to -have laid its heavy hand upon the people. Hundreds dropped, day by day, -into the very jaws of death. War may have had its terrors, but it could -not be compared to the ravages of this frightful visitation. It came -in the night time, touched its victim, and ere dawn, he sinks into the -tomb. Preachers, nurses, doctors, have fled before its grim approach. -The preachers who fled, did not do so <i>out of cowardly fear</i>, but -because God needed them, and they did not feel like disappointing Him -by taking chances on death. The sick take care of the dying, and the -dead rot, become putrid and stink before the undertaker’s cart rolls -around. The city looked a good deal like Paris did during the Reign -of Terror. There were several persons whose lives were interwoven in -this story, who stayed bravely at their respective posts of duty. Ouida -Angelo, immediately upon the outbreak, had joined the Red Cross forces, -and had done work of almost divine mercy and gentleness. Horatio -Nugent, while full of pity for the human suffering which the epidemic -had brought in its train, reveled in delight at the opportunity it -gave him for noble and glorious work. Mr. Connors, stepping down from -his proud<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> place as a statesman, had done herculean work by the side -of Olivia Winters, who had furnished the inspiration. Thus this great -public misfortune had afforded hundreds the opportunity for nobility of -conduct, whose lives before had been selfish and proud.</p> - -<p>During the very maddest part of the ravages of the curse, Olivia -Winters met Mr. Connors on one of her tours.</p> - -<p>“I am so comforted to meet you here,” she said, and the thought in her -mind was, that she rejoiced to see him still alive. “I have just seen -the last of Doane, the editor. His death was frightful. Dr. Simpson -attended him. Doane, under the influence of the fever, had an idea -that it was within the power of the doctor to save his life. Whining -like a cur, he said: ‘I must have my life, good doctor,’ and then he -shrieked, ‘I cannot die—I must not die—I’ll give you $50,000 cash, if -you will but save my life.’ Then, with a look of agony, he fell back -upon his pillow, exhausted, panting like a thirsty dog. Through the -day he incessantly kept up this cry; sometimes laughing in defiance, -again sobbing. Then, when the doctor left, he muttered to himself: -‘I’ll fool this cunning Æsculapius. Just let me live; I’ll not give -him a cent.’ Each mad, despairing outbreak tended only to exhaust his -small remaining strength. When Dr. Simpson returned, he felt death -near at hand. Doane evidently saw reflected in the doctor’s eye, his -own fatal condition, and with almost superhuman strength, he lifted -himself upright in bed. ‘Will I die, doctor?’ came rattling from his -parched throat. ‘There is no hope,’ said the physician. ‘Then bring me -pen and paper,’ he said. His wish was complied with. ‘I will write,’ -he said. ‘It shall be the bitterest screed that ever wounded quaking -souls. I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> sing a song of iron bitterness; a dying legacy to the sons -of men. O! I cannot hold a pen within my grasp. I cannot see; all grows -dark around me. So this is death.’ There was a sickening gurgle in his -throat as he fell back dead.”</p> - -<p>“Horrible! horrible!” said Connors, his heart full of fear and pity for -this woman, so brave and strong.</p> - -<p>“Heaven deliver me from such another experience,” said Olivia. “I shall -hear his wild laughter, the death rattle in his throat; shall behold -his gleaming, glaring, glazed eye balls to my dying day.”</p> - -<p>“I may be considered uncharitable,” said Connors, “but it is better -that the world is rid of such a venomous spirit.”</p> - -<p>“That may be true, but you know, my dear Mr. Connors, that while he lay -in that condition, one could not consider his character, only that he -was a sufferer,” said Olivia. “But did you ever see this great city in -such a plight before?”</p> - -<p>“Never,” he replied. “I don’t know what will become of us.”</p> - -<p>“One thing has happened, that almost makes me glad of our great -calamity.”</p> - -<p>“In the name of Heaven,” he said, “what can that be?”</p> - -<p>“For the opportunity it has given Horatio Nugent to regain his good -name.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed, you are right, and he has redeemed himself,” he said. “How -glad I am that you and I did not desert him in his hour of need.”</p> - -<p>“Just as a few years ago,” said Olivia, “the world rang with the -story of their shame, so now does it smile and bow over their heroic -conduct.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Public opinion,” said the statesman, “begins to disgust me more than -ever. It is as fickle as the wind, and it is not what you are that -governs, but that which you appear to be. I shall bow to it no longer.”</p> - -<p>“Yet, remember what befel our friends for their defiance of this thing -you now despise,” said Olivia.</p> - -<p>“You spoke of Horatio Nugent a moment ago,” he said. “Let me tell you -about Ouida.”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” she said, “but quickly, for I have much work before me.”</p> - -<p>“From time to time,” said he, “I heard of the deeds of a sweet and -saint-like creature, that quietly flitted to and fro among the -desperate wretches of your sex, who had fallen into the lap of sin. -I heard of shop girls who, tempted by the lust of man, and who were -about to fall, snatched from the very jaws of ruin. I heard of extreme -poverty being relieved in hundreds of cases. I heard of reading rooms -being established for poor working girls. I heard of some mysterious -angel going forth upon these varied missions of mercy and humanity. -When I investigated, to find out who this was, lo! and behold! Ouida -Angelo. And then my heart leaped for joy.”</p> - -<p>“Her redemption and absolution is complete,” said Olivia. “She has gone -through the valley of the shadow of death, almost, in the course of -this fight with herself.”</p> - -<p>“And now,” said Connors, tenderly, “is there any hope for me?”</p> - -<p>Her heart leaped for joy, but she still brushed aside the hope that was -as dear to her as to him. There was no false modesty about her, and her -open countenance revealed the delight that quickened her soul.</p> - -<p>“If,” said she, “we live through this ordeal, I’ll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> come myself, -willingly, and bring the answer, woman though I am.”</p> - -<p>“Did you know that Paul Strogoff was stricken down today?” said Connors.</p> - -<p>“Is it so?” she said, in utmost sadness. “Death loves a shining mark.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” said Connors. “God grant we soon may meet again, under -happier and safer conditions.”</p> - -<p>They separated, each filled with mighty anxiety for the other, but each -too truly great and noble to allow personal longing to interfere with -the stern duty of the hour. But it was not many months before their -unselfishness was rewarded with a happiness of pure and gentle nature.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXVIII.</span> <span class="smaller">THE LAWYER SURRENDERS.</span></h2> - -<p>Among those who felt the touch of the awful disease was Edward Salmon, -the lawyer. For days it had its strong clutch upon him, but he battled -bravely, and Marie and Milton were tireless in their tender care and -solicitude. Most of the time he lay in fevered unconsciousness, not -recognizing those by whom he was surrounded. Often death approached -so near at hand that Marie shuddered in dread, and Milton was full -of grief on her account. At length, however, the struggle ended in -victory, and Edward Salmon lived. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> - -<p>When consciousness had become fully restored, and the danger was over, -Marie had Milton go away. She had resolved upon her course of action.</p> - -<p>One day when Mr. Salmon, in his smoking jacket, weak and pale, sat -thinking, Marie, cuddled up to him, and stroking his hair. He knew -something was coming, for, like her dear, dead mother before her, that -was the girl’s way.</p> - -<p>“Father,” she said, “you have been ill, very ill, but thank God you -have been spared.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said he, “and through your noble devotion.”</p> - -<p>“We did the best we could,” she said, slyly.</p> - -<p>“We,” he said, “what we? Did you have help?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, in your fever, you did not know, but it was Milton who braved all -danger, and with me, sat up night after night, watching your slightest -movement.”</p> - -<p>“And I hated him so,” said Salmon. “He has heaped coals of fire upon my -head, and has nobly shamed me.”</p> - -<p>“Father, believe me, the eye of love cannot be deceived,” appealed the -girl. “You have misjudged Milton.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said he, “my darling, I have. I surrender!”</p> - -<p>In a moment, for joy, she was sobbing on her father’s breast, and he, -too, could not restrain a silent tear.</p> - -<p>“Bring Milton to me,” said Salmon, “he shall not outdo me in -generosity; if he will but love and cherish you as I have done, I’ll -ask no more.”</p> - -<p>But a brief period elapsed and a happy trio were in conclave at the -lawyer’s residence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span>CHAPTER XXIX.</span> <span class="smaller">PAUL FOLLOWS CHRIST.—THE END.</span></h2> - -<p>Paul Strogoff had developed a peculiar philosophy since Ouida had sent -him into grief. Though singularly fortunate as far as this world goes, -though young, though of lusty strength, though possessing the ability -to gratify every desire, he loved not life, but death. He had come -to the conclusion that what a man gets in life is not by any means -sufficient compensation for the struggle through which he goes. If he -could have folded his arms quietly and passed out of human existence, -he would not have murmured, but with perfect resignation accepted his -fate. He was neither a physical nor a moral coward. His whole life -had been marked by bravery, therefore he could not commit suicide. -His fortune was being expended in private charities, and many boys, -struggling up from the gutter, wondered at his generosity. They would -not have done so, if they had seen Paul’s early battle with the dog.</p> - -<p>When the scourge visited the city, Paul remained, not so much for the -reason that he might reach death as that he saw opportunities for good, -useful, and above all, absorbing work. Like many others he for a time -labored assiduously, and was spared, but at length his turn came, and -he, who had worked with such devotion for others, lay sick and dying, -almost bereft of attention and care. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - -<p>At length, his servant, an old Russian retainer of the family, managed -to procure the attendance of Dr. Simpson. As soon as he saw Paul, the -doctor shook his head ominously.</p> - -<p>“How is my master?” said the Russian.</p> - -<p>“In the very extremity of the fever, sir.”</p> - -<p>“Is there no hope?” asked the servant.</p> - -<p>“None,” said the doctor, unhesitatingly, “he will be dead within the -hour.”</p> - -<p>The patient stirred uneasily. Wild dreams were flitting over his sick -vision.</p> - -<p>“Is she here?” the sick man muttered.</p> - -<p>“Who?” said the doctor.</p> - -<p>“The idol of my life,” said Paul in his delirium. “I deeply wronged -her, to put my shadow on her life. She, so far above! A star -unreachable! I may not die until my eyes shall rest upon her form -again. Oh, Ouida, come!”</p> - -<p>“The height of pathos,” said the doctor, softened, though he had -witnessed before, misery untold. “Oh, for a nurse to soothe his dying -hours!”</p> - -<p>And, as if in answer to the doctor’s prayer, there came a gentle knock -at the door, and Ouida Angelo entered.</p> - -<p>“I heard there was a patient here,” said she. “I am a volunteer nurse. -Can I be of service?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said the doctor, and Ouida approached the couch of the dying -man, and as she looked upon his wasted face, and saw death’s mark -there, her face turned white as marble. She forget the doctor’s -presence, forgot all the world, save that this was the completion of -her punishment, the wages of her sin.</p> - -<p>“Paul!” she said. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I hear her voice,” said the patient, looking up and instantly -recognizing her. Her voice had brought him out of his delirium. “I knew -I would not die until she came.”</p> - -<p>“Do not speak of dying,” she said, and her voice was mellow and -soothing. “You shall live.”</p> - -<p>“How good of you to speak of hope,” said the dying man, “but it cannot -be; it is useless. I cannot shake off the icy hand of death. Pray, -forgive me that I crossed your life. I loved you well. You did not -know, but now I kiss your hand and die.”</p> - -<p>“Forgive you,” she said, “that is mockery. Upon my bended knees, I ask -your forgiveness,” and the woman, her pride all gone, sank upon her -knees by the bedside of the husband she had so deeply wronged.</p> - -<p>“If this be your wish,” he gently said, “my dying soul confers the -gift. Is there not near some man of God, to offer up a prayer for me?”</p> - -<p>“You need no mediator,” she said, lifting up her head, “your life has -been a constant prayer.”</p> - -<p>“Procure a minister, if possible,” said the doctor, addressing the -servant, who disappeared, and, as good fortune would have it, shortly -returned, having accomplished his mission. Fate had directed the -servant to Horatio Nugent!</p> - -<p>Ouida was startled beyond expression to see him, but her manner was -calm.</p> - -<p>“This dying saint,” said Ouida, “requests a prayer in his behalf to -God.”</p> - -<p>The preacher approached the couch of death, but when his eyes beheld -Paul, his soul was wrenched with agony.</p> - -<p>“Paul!” he exclaimed, “I am not fit to pray for him.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Give me your hand,” said the dying man to Horatio, “and yours, Ouida.”</p> - -<p>Across the death bed he joined their hands.</p> - -<p>“This is my revenge,” said Paul. “I love you both. Be happy, for my -sake. I forgive you. Death, thou hast no sting for me; no terror hath -the yawning grave. I die in peace!”</p> - -<p>And as he breathed his last, a seraphic smile lighted his whole -countenance. The preacher’s eyes were raised to God, his soul was -wrapped in prayer, while Ouida sank to the floor, her head bowed in -utmost reverence.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="front" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/ad.jpg" alt="The Colorado Midland Railway" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN HERCULES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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