Marion Marlowe's Peril, or, A Mystery Unveiled — page 24: what you’re looking at

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22, stant the man was again at her side, scrutin- izing her features closely. | “The very face—the hair, the skin—every- thing,” he muttered, eagerly. “Oh, such models are rare! My good angel must have sent you!” “Perhaps she did,” murmured Marion, but the words almost scorched her lips. It seemed as a sacrilege to hear this man claim the pro- tection of a guardian angel. For, while she was forced to admit that he was not unat- tractive in appearance, the knowledge. of his double life and of his treachery made her shudder at sight of him. It was somewhat like to gazing upon a fairly pleasant mask, behind which one could see the hideous feat- ures of a monster. “And you will give me a sitting now, will you not?’ asked the artist, eagerly. “Right away, to-day? Oh. do not refuse me!” His voice was pleading and his manner al- most caressing. Surely this man would be successful with far wiser women than poor Alice. | Marion bit her lips, and her heart seemed to stand still fora minute. She knew that she must be cautious with this man. It would not be well for her to make rash promises. “But I must know something of the pic- ture,” she said, a little sternly. “What is the pose—the subject? I am entirely new to the business, and would not dream of under- taking everything.” A cunning gleam crept into the artist's eyes as she spoke. His face paled a little, as though he feared she would disappoint him. “May I see the picture?” asked Marion, bravely. “It can certainly do no harm, as I will never speak of it if you wish it.” -ofore he answered, the artist turned and began pacing the floor; as he walked, he mut- tered constantly, but in too low a voice for his guest to be able to understand him. ‘That he was laboring under some intense excite- ment was plainly evident; there was no occa- sion for such extraordinary nervousness. Suddenly he turned around and stood star- ing at her fixedly, and just at that instant she heard him whisper: “T must risk it! I must risk it!” “Vou need not be at all afraid of me, “LT would never dream of ” she hastened to say. MY QUEEN. telling a professional secret. I merely wish to see the picture to judge for myself whether © I ought to pose for it.” | “Come (” The artist beckoned to her as he whispered — the word. ) Marion rose.from her chair and followed him swiftly. . There was another short flight of steps and another corridor, both so richly carpeted that — not a footfall could be distinguished. 7 At the end of the corridor was a curious door. It seemed far too heavily paneled for the rest of the woodwork. The artist opened it quickly and stepped with a light motion to one side. As the young girl passed it she was met by a half- stifling odor. : The room was a small studio, the walls al most entirely concealed by pictures, and be- sides a skylight overhead, it contained one of) the curiously ‘shaped windows which she had | noticed from the sidewalk. There was no furniture in the room except a wide divan of purple velvet, the rich color glowing at that instant beneath the full ae of midday. An easel, with a carefully covered canvas, stood in the centre of the room, and toward this the artist moved with an enraptured ex- pression upon his countenance. 7 “Tle is an enthusiast, certainly,” thought Marion as she watched him. “No wonder that the model in the car spoke of him as a crank. His excitement is awful! It is al- most unnatural !” Her reflections were cut short by the art-: ist’s next move. He had suddenly, with a swift movement, swept aside the curtain, | Marion gave a sharp cry, and her eyes di- lated wildly. She tools a step forward, strain- ing her gaze toward the picture. | “Great Heaven! How horrible!” she half- ejaculated. Then the daring subject mele he senses spellbound. | On a wide, purple divan a young woman lay in the throes of death. Her limbs were convulsed, her features drawn and distorted, There was beauty and horror in every lin of the youthful form, for each was enhance by the presence of the other. Underneath, it Gomicbooks-con