The Secret of Lonesome Cove

rom the life of Francis Sedgwick, with ed

le Road, so as to get that clump of pine against the sky. There I sat working away with a will, when I heard the drumming of hoofs, and a horse with a girl in the saddle came whizzing round the turn almost upon me. Just

t, and was cursing over the job when I heard the hoo

a voice, very full and low.

oking up. "Small thanks

eling that she was amused more than abashed at my resentment. An

artist, a

rplate. "I'm an archeologist, engaged in exhum

y!" she said. "I know I shouldn't come plunging around turns

not," I

he asked. "If I have done damage,

that you think a picture that can be bought for a hundre

e. Her face-(Elision and Comment by Kent: I know her face from the sketches. Why could he

ou're cross. And I'm truly

ve a hermit," I said, "who doesn't see enough peop

isn't a daub!" she protested. "I-I know a little about pictures. I

plai

should so like to

aid I. "My shack is

" her eyes suggested

ectable Chinaman to play propriety. But in the case of a studio, les con

. "No, I'll have to wait until-" A shadow passed o

had turned with her. I had barely time to twist her foot from the stirrup when the brute of a horse bolted. As it wa

," she said. "I shall have a time catchi

on't do!" sai

him-though, perhaps,

s. "Your horse is headed that way. You'd better come along

and unconsciously cement an acquaintance; but not one word upon the vital point of

d to temptation. On my return I found my visitor in the studio. She had said that she knew a little about pictures. She knew more than a little, a good deal, in fact,

ours aren't the work of an am

a good bit of bargaining; particularly when I suspect

said earnestly. "I want th

y then, and come back w

. "But I have enjoyed talking again with some one who knows and loves the best in art. After all," she

ook for you a

f you'll promise to sell me any print I may choo

ter as her face. (Comment by C. K.: Bosh!) Afterward I remembered that never again in our fri

have the advantage of me, you see. I

ify as an evidence of amusement, said, "Daw is a nice name, don't you think?" (Comment by C. K.:

to five,

or dinner. Good-by." (Comment by C. K.: Good! The place where she is staying is a

yet that is what it was for me almost from the first. Not openly, though. There was that about her which held me at arms' length: the mystery of her, her quickly-given trust in me, a certain strained look that came into her face, like the

too, and had an individual habit of thought. Combined with all her cosmopolitanism was a quaint and profound purity of standards. I remember her saying once-it was one of her rare flashes of self-revelation-"I am an anomaly and an anachronism, a Puritan in modern socie

in pastel, and, if I missed something of her tender and changeful coloring, I at least caught the ineffable wistfulness of her expression, the look of one hoping against hope for an unconfessed happiness. Probably

reamed against

the line. I saw the color die fr

on me with a strange expression. (Comment by C. K.: Rossetti aga

something in you which I have tried to

tly, making pure music of

with her eyes on the pictured face. But when I said to her, "You, who have all my heart, and whose name, even,

mently. "Nothing-except good

appeared in the thicket at the top of the hill I thought she half turned to look. That was five interminable days ago. I have n

She came the next time with a string of the most beautiful rose-topazes I have ever seen, set in a most curious old go

t three A. M.-the messenger boy brought me a telegram. It

for my sake. It tells

. I have destroyed the p