Marion Marlowe's Peril, or, A Mystery Unveiled — page 23: what you’re looking at

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With a merry nod, she tripped on up the steps, leaving the doctor walking backward down the street, gazing after her tenderly. “7 really believe he thinks I am going to my doom,” she said to herself, and then as she touched the electric push-button she found that her teeth were chattering. _ Marion’s spirits revived slightly when she was safely inside, for in spite of the dismal ex xterior, the reception-room looked cosy and cheerful. ~The woman who admitted her was a sad, spiritless-looking creature. Her face was as expressionless as marble, and her eyes looked dull and almost sightless. _ Instinctively, Marion knew that it was the artist’s mother—there was no one else to be seen in the dimly-lighted hall or parlor. | In avery few moments she returned from “arrying Marion’s message to her son, and by a simple wave of her hand beckoned for the young girl to follow. It seemed an endless distance to the artist’s studio. Marion went up two flights of stairs and passed through various wide halls and oddly-shaped apart- nents. Everywhere were evidences of lux- arious ease. Rugs, draperies, divans, were scattered about in what seemed to Marion the most extraordinary profusion. At last the woman drew aside a heavy por- tiere with one swoop of her arin, and with 2 motion of her hand indicated that Marion é vas to enter. _ The curtain fell back with a gentle swish, nd for an instant the young girl stood mo- onless in the magnificent studio, endeavor- -img with all the force of her will power to control her feelings. “You wish to engage yourself as a model, 40 you, miss?” suddenly queried a voice at ler side. Marion turned quickly to confront a man of Me thirty years, his long hair rumpled, his s bloodshot and hollow, standing, palette hand, on the thick rug beside her. As she turned, the full glow from a sky- et at over her head bathed her beautiful face. ver she looked as Leonie St. Clair, she at that moment. There was a hoarse, in- ticu ate cry from the man beside her: “My y God! Leonie!” he whispered as he * Pa 4 « - @ - = : MY QUEEN. 21 staggered back.’ Then, to Marion’s horror, he suddenly burst out laughing, CHAPTER X. MARION IS MADE A PRISONER. “You must pardon me for being a bit hys- terical, miss,” said Vincent St. Clair, in a soft, purring voice, when he had finally succeeded in controlling his blood-curdling laughter. “It is not often that my feelings overcome me in this manner, but you are so like-to my poor, dear, absent wife, and the shock was too great for me, I fancy!” He was scrutinizing Marion keenly as he spoke, his glance flitting over her from her head to her feet in a manner that betokened some extraordinary interest. “Come right in and I will talk to you,” he said, in the same purring tone. “Here, take this chair—under the skylight, if you please,” he added hastily. As Marion sank into the chair he drew an- other very near her, and sat down on the edge of it, still holding the palette. “I thought you might need a model,” mur- mured the young girl, bravely. Her spirits were beginning to rally, as they always did in emergencies. “T do, indeed!” cried the artist, springing up. He was too thoroughly restless to sit still as he talked to her. “I am painting a great picture—a master- piece!” he exclaimed, proudly. ““No man be- fore me has ever attempted such a subject!” He threw back his head and breathed hard as he spoke, his nostrils dilating in a curfous manner. As he talked, he paced back and forth, ges- ticulating with both arms and running his fingers through the long, thick locks on his temples. “It is a picture that will make my name famous to the uttermost ends of the earth. Neither Murillo, Rubens, nor any of the great masters will compare with me!” he cried, pas- sionately. “It must be magnificent,’ murmured the young girl, soothingly. “Oh, how proud I would be if I could pose for any part of it!” The shrewd touch of eagerness in her words produced a telling effect, for in an in- COmiclboo! SS (CO)