“’I loved you.  Ah, and I do yet, my husband, love you so that I leave you.  When the day comes—­if the day comes—­you need or feel you need the sustainment of my presence or the devotion of my heart, no power on earth save that of death itself, shall keep me from your side.’

“Yes, with the fading away of other faces and other forms, that face and that form now began to usurp the chief place in my thoughts.  Not to my relief and pleasure.  That could scarcely be, remembering all that had occurred; rather to my increasing distress and passionate resentment.  I longed to forget I was held by a tie, that known to the world would cause me the bitterest shame.  For by this time the true character of her father and brother had been revealed and I found myself bound to the daughter of a convicted criminal.

“But I could not forget her.  The look with which she had left me was branded into my consciousness.  Night and day it floated before me, till to escape it I resolved to fasten it upon canvas, if by that means I might succeed in eliminating it from my dreams.

“The painting you have seen this night is the result.  Born with an artist’s touch and insight that under other circumstances might, perhaps, have raised me into the cold dry atmosphere of fame, the execution of this piece of work, presented but few difficulties to my somewhat accustomed hand.  Day by day her beauty grew beneath my brush, startling me often with its spiritual force and significance till my mind grew feverish over its work, and I could scarcely refrain from rising at night to give a touch here or there to the floating golden hair or the piercing, tender eyes turned, ah, ever turned upon the inmost citadel of my heart with that look that slew my father before his time and made me, yes me, old in spirit even in the ardent years of my first manhood.

“At last it was finished and she stood before me life-like and real in the very garments and with almost the very aspect of that never to be forgotten moment.  Even the roses which in the secret uneasiness of my conscience I had put in her hand on our departure from Troy, as a sort of visible token that I regarded her as my bride, and which through all her interview with my father she had never dropped, blossomed before me on the canvas.  Nothing that could give reality to the likeness, was lacking; the vision of my dreams stood embodied in my sight, and I looked for peace.  Alas, that picture now became my dream.

“Inserting it behind that of Evelyn which for two years had held its place above my armchair, I turned its face to the wall when I rose in the morning.  But at night it beamed ever upon me, becoming as the months passed, the one thing to hold to and muse over when the world grew a little noisy in my ears and the never ceasing conflict of the ages beat a trifle too loudly on heart and brain.

“Meanwhile no word of her, only of her villainous father and brother; no token that she had escaped evil or was removed from want.  If I had loved her I could not have succored her, for I did not know where to find her.  Her countenance illumined my wall, but her fair young self lay for all I knew sheltered within the darkness and silence of the tomb.