Democratic Sentinel, Volume 13, Number 21, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 June 1889 — TRUE TO THE TEST. [ARTICLE]

TRUE TO THE TEST.

“There u one reason, my dear boy, why you and I cannot marry for the present. 1 have been brought up to do nothing but play the piano, entertain company, and try and look pretty, and I should only be a drag on you. Artists, you know, have no time to bother with wives.” In such language did I, Julian Vancourt, receive my dismissal from Elizabeth Shinstone, whom I had been engaged to for three years and fondly hoped to marry. That I wasa painter whose pictures did not sell was true; when I got home and thought the matter over I even saw that she was right and concluded I would try a new tack, for I couldn’t give her up. 1 had a friend, an old college chum, Fred Denbigh, a royal good fellow, freehearted, open-handed, and as royal as a Scot. Putting aside my brushes, I sought Denbigh; then we dined together, and soon afterward I returned to my rooms alone. Late that evening, when I went out again, I could have met my principal creditor and safely Jelled the danger of recognition. I had sacrified my beard—that profusely flowing beard which, if somewhat untidy, was also of that picturesque kind most affected by artists. I had sacrificed it with a pang, and by so doing had completely destroyed my own identity, In point of fact, I was now a tall, well-built, and clean-shaven young fellow, not altogether bad looking, and certainly attired with the most scrupu ious regard to neatness and refinement. Nor was I Julian Vancourt—l was plain John Warner, and I was to start at midnight for the West, commissioned by Denbigh to look after certain claims in which he had an interest Two weeks later I read in a New York paper a long account c" the mysteri us disappearance and s pi osed a dcideof Julian Vancourt, an artist of recognized ability, who bad attained an enviable position in his pro session and bade fair to become one of. the greatest historical painters of the uge. I laid aside the wiper with a curious sort of shiver; 1 felt like a man might fee! who has just seen his own tombstone. But, then, I was de:/ you know—legally so, at least. A letter from Denbigh followed close upon the paper. Here is an extract:

"The pictures went off like wildfire. Each brought a fabulous price. EverIhing is sold, and Col. Shtnstone brought rour ’Jeptha's Daughter’, because it relembles bis daughter, I suppose. At any •ate he has it. lie was at the sale, look- • Ing grimmer and sterner than ever. I have beard that —— is ill. No one seems io see much of her, and her friends say tome spi eful things about her and the lead man, poor girl!” In a few years, having accumulated a forth e by had labor, 1 hurried back to New York and at once sought ray old iriend, Denbigh, in his studio. He seemed rery changed, I thought. “And Elizabeth?” I had questioned as jur bands met. "She is weil,” ha r turned, briefly. '“And not married yet," he added, anwering the eager inquiry in my eyes. "Well, I shall see her presently; but Irst we will dine together, my boy, you lad I,” For a moment Denbigh was silent, then le suddenly exclaimed; "Julian, we can never break bread together again. I have been false to my ■rusts. God help me, I love Elizabeth Ihlnstonel" •» ‘‘You love Elizabeth Shinstone?” I repeated. "You?” "Could I help it? Was Ito blame? Am I more than a man? And the wrongloing was yours—yours alone! An angel tood in your path, and, blind fool that you were, you turned aside from it. An ragel, I say! Oh, Vancourt, old friend, rill me if you will, but don’t look at me ike that. Before heaven I swear that I lave fought . against this thing, but—’ "And I interrupted. "I have never breathed a syllable to ler that you might not have heard. You <ee, there are still greater depths of treachery than I have reached. No, I have not Old it to her, ” "Then you must tell it to her.” Denbigh’s haggard eyes met mine quesioningly. "Go to her,” I continued. "Tell her ind hear her answer.” "Are you serious?” "As if I stood upon the threshold of iternity. If site is what I bclive her to oe I need not fear: If she is not, well, -wen then 1 shall know it at once. Go!” "Julian, surely you love her still?” "Yes, I love her, but the woman I narry must come to me without the 4hadow of a doubt to cross our lives. 3o! but remember this: Say nothingof my ’eturn, not even if—if all is as you wish t!” So I waited‘there in Denbigh’s studio vhile he went to win the one for whom J, in earnest faith and true loyalty, had worked so long and so patiently. How •hose three weary hours of my solitude dragged on I cannot tell; but ah! what ender memories, what frightful forebodings, what glimpses of heaven, what tortures of the nether world were mine! Had I but known her better, known her is she was, a weak, vain, frivolous crcatire! Ah, had I been less of a fool! A fool? Ay, yes, thrice sodden, for who hut a fool would have exposed the woman he loved to such a temptation? At last there came a step upon the itairs, a hand upon the door-latch. 1 irose. It was Denbigh’s servant, and he jave me a sealed envelope. I tore it ypen and read: "Go to her. She does not know you ire here. Do not wait for me. Go at tmee.” And ao at once I went the way I had

to often dreamed of going. It was tlmost night and the gray ghosts of houses loomed up like spectral shapes in the long white streets. Ixroking back at it all now, it seems like a dream just as It seemed then, when at last I stood in Cob Shinstone’s drawing room and some one was coming toward me with a wondering in her beautiful eyes. Not a pale, unhappy, simply attired creature. That I detected at the first keen glance. Not a nun, a recluse, a sweet, sad saint, but a girl in all the flush and glory of early womanhood, whose rich attire seemed but the fitting frame for such radiant beauty. My heart gave a great bound, but I took courage and called to her: Elizabeth!’’ She sprang to me with a glad litte cry. Ah, yes my beloved was in my arms. 1 felt her warm breath upon ray cneek and felt her eager hands were clasped about my neck, while away behind us—far. far behind us—fed all the ugly shadows of our lives. “I have come for you,” I said. "And I have waited for you,’’ she answered. "Ah my dear, my own, own dear! Ido not know what you have been doing all this while away from me, but I am sure that it is something great and noble. Well, she is mine at last; My sudden disappearance and long absence were plausibty explained to the public and I am bound to acknowledge that the critics were quite kind. They retracted nothing of all they had written in my favor. Still, I cherish a firm conviction that they are only awaiting their opportunity to fail upon and demolish me; hence I am exceedingly wary. Let me add that my wife came without a penny. It was my will and hers, a p well. And oiu home is like heaven. I suppose that is the -eason why when, whenever the old fever seizes me, I paint angels onlyangels that look like Elizabeth, every one of them.