Argosy All-Story Weekly, Vol. 123, No. 3 — page 124: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

406 from the chill air, with the mouth stupidly open. And his snoring filled the room. Valerie made a little moue at the sleeper— surely without malice in it—and laid her hand upon the door to retreat. It was then that she remembered the picture, and Valerie, being a woman, de- cided to see it for herself. ' It was not hard to do. The closet door opened without squeak or.groan and she found the clothes he had worn that day. John Smith would never let his man take anything from the pockets of his clothes; neither would he change his suit more than twice a week, for such attention he called ‘society nonsense.” So Valerié found the pigskin case in his breast pocket and car- ried it over to the window. When she openes it, she was looking at herself. It was a miniature Sarrony painted shortly after Valerie came out.- In fact, a published copy of that picture had brought John Smith east to their meeting. Un- questionably it was a masterpiece, and even by tkat dim light Valerie caught the color and the flowerlike charm that was hers and the peculiar golden tint of her skin. And _ this was the woman John Smith loved in secret. “It’s Pandora’s Box with reverse En- glish,”” whispered Valerie to herself. “ First out fly a crowd of hopes and happiness and then a sting at the end.” If she wefe to wake the sleeper now and ask him what it meant, he would not be able to tell her, but he would stammer and grow confused. Yet she knew. She put the pigskin case back in its place, listened for another moment to the snoring of the sleep- er, and then went thoughtfully back to her own room. This time she lighted both the globes U vr U ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY. beside her dressing-table and she sat down to stare. Not at herself. But she was try- ing to find in herself and behind her own face, the face of the girl who was still loved by John Smith. At first she could make no distinction, but by degrees that other, younger face grew out like a ghost, the face which Sarrony had painted with those long, dexterous fingers and* those questing eyes which had eaten into her soul. What he saw he painted, and he had seen everything. It is possible for us to separate ourselves into a mind which sees and a mind which feels and Valerie became the mind which sees everything, as Sarrony had seen it. She had to shut out the vision with 4 cold hand. But when she did this she began to see those mountains where John Smith had first met her, and the light which had come in his eyes when he looked at her. It had been only a reflection of herself that made that light. Now the light was no longer in the eyes of John Smith be- cause fire had burned out in her. He was a lumpish figure in clay. But what was she? She went down to the side entrance of the house and there, as she opened the door, Van Siebert stepped out from behind a pillar and the moonlight was brilliant around his curly head. “ Valerie!” he called softly. ‘“* Hush!” whispered Valerie. car back. I can’t go.” “You don’t mean you’re going to stay in this dungeon?” ~“ You’ve found You can’t care for me?” “Oh, my dear,” she said, “I doMe you truly for the first time.” “ Put your “Are you mad? Will you stay here “With a ghost,” said Valerie. . u THE STREAM BY GRACE MacGOWAN COOKE. A ‘GIPSYING, a-gipsying, on silver feet I run, I pity all earth’s prisoners held captive by her bars. By day my spray glows bright with all the colors of the sun; At night my pools spread black and still to hold God’s glorious stars. Digitized by (Go ogle MICLOOOKS (G Ori gina | from THE OHIO STATE UNWE J wi CO