Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 223, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 September 1915 — FATE'S OTHER FACE [ARTICLE]

FATE'S OTHER FACE

Sylvia Discovered When She Saw It That It Was Joy. , By JEAN DICKERSON. (Copyright. 1915, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Sylvia Lawton pinned on her straw hat and counting the rapidly diminishing contents of her little beaded purse, she left the dingy hall bedroom and sought the nearest dairy lunch.

Elver since she had lost her position as bookkeeper with the large importing house which had crashed to ruin with many other business, failures of the season, Sylvia had sought in vain for another position. There was no one at home to whom she might appeal for help; Aunt Susan, her only relative, had her stout heart and hands full bringing up a family of healthy boys and girls. Sylvia could not add to their burdens —and yet, what could she do? All morning Sylvia had personally answered advertisements culled from first editions of the newspapers. She was tired and disheartened. When her meager lunch was over ■he left the restaurant and walked toward the brilliant avenue which threads the duller cross streets. At the corner hung the sign of a well known art gallery. There was an exhibtion going on and Sylvia’s beauty-loving soul, craving something beyond the sordidness of her workaday life, prompted her to push open the plate glaBS doors and enter. There were few visitors at this hour and the girl gowned in shabby blue serge had the rooms to herself, save for the watchful presence of scattered attendants.

For an hour Sylvia reveled in the beauty that was spread on the walls. A catalogue gave bits of information concerning many of the paintings. There was one by an old master, whose history was world-renowned. It’s presence in the gallery was a nine day’s wonder.

Beyond this picture was another t>mt held the girl entranced by its suggestion of mystery. It was called “Fate’s Face,” and depicted the shrouded form of a woman with two faces. One face, turned away, was closely veiled; the other, darkly beautiful, looked out with sorrowful, tragic eyes.

“I wonder what is beneath the other veil?” thought Sylvia. “I would like to see Fate’s other face! This one oppresses me with its woe —as if it predicted what might happen to me.” Overcome with sudden dread of the uncertain future, Sylvia sank down on a cushioned bench and covered her eyes’ with her fingers.

So absobrbed was she in the harrowing cares that beset her that she did not hear quiet footsteps on the polished floor. Steps that hesitated as they neared her seat and then went forward to look at the picture of “Fate’s Face.’’ Presently a man’s cultivated voice, filled with concern, fell upon her ear. “Pardon me, I am afraid you are iIL” ' - Sylvia’s hands dropped and recovering herself with a great effort, she smiled through the mist of tears in her blue eyes. “Thank you, lam quite well —I was only thinking.” She arose and would have moved away, but he put out a hand to stay her. “Do not let me disturb you,” he said courteously. “I am going now. Have you seen this picture by Ruffen—The Old Peddler?” Sylvia nodded toward the masterpiece. "Oh, yes; but this one, Fate’s Face, attracted me—l was wondering what Fate’s other face looked like — the veiled countenance, you know.”

"It is rather tantalizing not to know,” he murmured. “I have heard that the artist could not And a model who embodied his ideal of Fate’s other face, and so he veiled it. Sort of a surrender to Fate* eh?” He laughed pleasantly. Sylvia glanced at her catalogue for the name of the artist. "August Everett Palmer,” she read. “Why,” she added with a delighted laugh, "he painted a Salon picture last year— Love’s Cowardice!”

“You know his work, then," remarked her new acquaintance, with a quick look from his dark, bright eyes. “I am not a patron of the arts, blushed Sylvia with her own mirthful laugh. “I love good pictures and the Sunday newspaper supplements are a great boon to poor art lovers.” At the moment an attendant approached Sylvia’s companion. "Mr. Chisholm would like to see you before you go, Mr. Palmer,” said the man. “Very well,” said Palmer turning back to Sylvia. He surprised a mingled look of fright and awe on her lovely face. , "You —you are August Everett Palmer?” gasped Sylvia. "Yes,” he smiled down at her. "Then, you should hnow Fate’s other face— tell me, please, do tell me what was your ideal?” Palmer’s strong face grew dreamyeyed and abstracted. He was looking at the veiled face of the picture as if he would paint in its features with glowing words. “My ideal? Tt was the opposite of that tragic face. How often do we believe that Fate is turning a harsh, forbidding countenance toward us when, after all, she turns her other tac* and we : discover it to be the face of love and happiness—realised l^oyia—mingled tears and laughter and hope always hope shinning through the tears That was my

ideal- -and i could nob And a nodal Who would fill that part. So 1 veiled the face and decided that 1 must wait.” "How strange l” murmured Sylvia thoughtfully. "And have you never yet found a model for Fate’s other face?" "Not until this morning." "Ah, and when it is painted I shall come here and see It,” said the girt, "Oh, 1 hope you will hurry!” she added impulsively. The painter laughed rather ly"l have found the ideal face for my picture but I am afraid that the young lady would not consent to pose for me—you see, I saw her quite by chance in the gallery here, and it would be presumptous of me to inquire of her.” There was no mistaking his meaning. Sylvia blushed hotly, but her tone was quite cool. "Do you mean me, Mr. Palmer?'’ “Yes," he said frankly. “You really believe that I could come near your—your ideal for Fate’s other face?” asked Sylvia incredulously “Yes, if you would be so condescending,” he said eagerly. “It would be an inspiration, you know. If you would pose for me, my sister, Mrs. Packard, will call upon you and make arrangements." “I will come,” decided Sylvia, and August Everett Palmer noted ner namervtfd address in a little book. Then he lifted his hat and went away. Sylvia spent another hour in the gallery, then she returned to the hall bedroom to freshen her best blouse in order to meet her expected caller. Mrs. Packard came the next morning. Sylvia, receiving her In the chilly boarding house parlor, thought she bloomed like some great pink full blown rose in that shabby exterior. Mr. Palmer’s sister was very plump, well gowned, and of charming manners. Sylvia liked her at once and when she had told her simple story Mrs. Parkard’s brown eyes filled with tears and she patted the girl’s slender hand. “It’s a happy coincidence,’’ she said, her round pink face aglow with sympathy. "Here Is poor August moping because he can’t find a suitable model to whom he can pay two dollars an hour and here you are! Now, can you come to-morrow morning at ten?” I Sylvia could and would, and she peeped through the parlor blinds and saw Mr. Packard enter a handsome limousine and vanish. At supper that night the gorgoneyed landlady passed the baked beans twice to Sylvia and the plated silver basket of ginger cookies came her way three times instead of the customary once. “Gee, I wish I had autermobile company!” giggled Miss Nefus, the little German milliner.

Sylvia blushed and forgot to eat her cake. She was quite happy at the prospect of the morrow. It was like being in a romance — a story book heroine might have had such an adventure as hers. She was afraid that she would awake in the morning and find it a dream. But there was proof with the sight of Mrs, Packard’s card on her bureau. Promptly at ten o’clock a smartly attired maid ushered Sylvia into Mrs. Packard’s drawing-room. That goodnatured matron panted up three long flights of stairs and admitted Sylvia to August Palmer's studio, a luxurious room on the roof of the uptown mansion. "Here is Fate’s other face!” laughed Mrs. Packard, as she sank into a comfortable chair.

Then began one of the most delightful periods of Sylvia’s existence. To stand and watch, starry-eyed, Palmer’s deft fingers as they transferred her face to canvas was a pleasure. To feel once more independent as she went home each day with four dollars in her pocket. The little bead purse grew plethorically fat In those days; the landlady forgot to frown upon her; and there was the vision of a new cloth suit that she coveted. At last the sittings were over, and Mrs. Packard found a secretarial position for Sylvia with a society friend who was overburdened with correspondence and kindred cares. She went to live in the home of her new employer, and here she occasionally saw Mrs. Packard as well as August Palmer.

Perhaps Mrs. Packard recognized that her brother had fallen in love with the lovely model for Fate’s other face, for she spared no pains to bring the young people together, and when August had put the Important question to Sylvia, and had received Sylvia’s shy, happy answer. It was Mrs. Packard who enfolded both of them in a generous sisterly embrace. Later, when August told Sylvia that the completed picture was to be placed on view the next day, she pressed her glowing face against the lapel of his coat. *1 have really seen Fate’s other face —and it is Joy!” she whispered. “It is love!” corrected August tenderly, "and it comes to all in God’s good time. i