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2 TIMES , a-F WEEK VOL. 43. THE MADONNAJtf THE SEPULCHRE. By ALETHEA PHILLIPS. Author of -The Strang® Face In the Glass," ..The Double feass Player,” ‘‘Picotin,” Etc., Etc. Copyrighted, 189(5, by Aiethea Phillips. It "was gone. > The famous Madonna of the sepulchre had vanished. In the picture’s stead was ’ a space of red wall staring dully through the huge gilt frame. It was ‘impossible to imagine how *ny thief could have managed the business so adroitly, for extra precautions had been taken, yet in spite of them all this valuable canvas had been cut clean out and taken away. Os course the matter would obtain no toriety, for the painting was of world wide fame, though until the previous week It had rested in a private Ducal collection, and it would be hopeless for any person to bring it into a market, where it was likely to realize half its value, without being detected as the per petrator of the crime. There was doubt less satisfaction in this view of the case, though it only rendered the deed more Inexplicable, and the small knot of men who had been called in to consult as to the best means of tracing the lost prop erty, already began to feel a trifle de pressed. There was not the shadow of a scrap of evidence - against man, woman, or child. The picture had been bought on be half of a wealthy client by Isaac Cohen, or Old Co., as he was familiarly nick named, and he would have to make good its loss. J He stood there now, working kjis lean, restless hands together, and stared up under his thick brows at the empty frame, a bent figure in an ill-fitting sulf'of rusty black, with a harshly outlined profile that betokened his Semitic origin. Peo ple's sympathies did not go out to him as a rule, but even the rough carpenter, who was kept to do odd jobs about the place, and who haw Just stood a searching cross-examination, could not resist a movement of pity. “Maybe it ain't so far off, but what we shall find it, master,” he ventured to re mark, drawing the back of one hand across his lips. Old Co. turned abruptly to fix an eagle glance upon the man—a swift, search ing, terrible glance, such as any but an honest person must have quailed under, but the carpenter remained stolid. "How do 1 know you are not in the plot to ruin me —a useful tool, perhaps!” snarled the Jew. with a sardonic wrink ling of his parchment skin. “Como, Mr. Cohen,” said an official, stepping forward; "Jarvis has given a very good account of himself. He will be a useful witness on your side, I fancy.” The old man made no reply, but fell to contemplating the empty frame once more. "Fifteen thousand—flf-teen thousand—’.” he repeated again and again, in a nas-al kind of murmur, while his, skinny fingers ciutchad and gnwbed at the unsubstantial ftli'4 it seemed softibnow as *.f he wot feeling for the mone£ and could not find , it. There was a horrible suggestion of coming madness In the action, and those ■presertt shrank back, edging their way one after the other from the room; for after all their business was to take Immediate etepa toward the picture's recovery, and not to watch the effect of its loss upon the miserable old Jew, who was responsi ble. Even the sympathetlb carpenter slunk into the back premises, leaving his wretched master alone to face, the loss which threatened to overwhelm him. * It was a dingy little chamber, full of dust and cobwebs; yet an plmost priceless treas tire had been taken out of it. Old Cohen was accustomed to work here hints- If. V and the signs of his occupation lay seat » tered about. He was not only a skillful r restorer, but an accurate judge of old . canvasses, and rnmny rich people pre ft forced to trust to him rather than to pic ture dealers in a large way of business, for, bit by bit, they had found out that no one could conclude a bargain so well as Old Co., and no one else knew so well when a bargain was worth concluding. He was of undoubted Integrity In nil such transactions, though being a Jew, the renutation of a grasping nature had natu rally fallen upon him, and some would have It that- during all the years he had passed a diligent but almost sordid exis tence he had been amassing wealth in •ecret. People were always a little afraid of him, and as he pottered about in the dirty little shop downstairs among his curious, his hawk-like eyes suddenly raised to some inquisitive loiterer at, the window would cause the latter to flee. Even street ur chins lost some of their audacity when that glance was turned upon them and the chanted allusion to Nebuchadnezzar popu lar In the neighborhood, died upon their lips, even when they had put t*helr impu dent heads Inside the door, no as to recite under his nose the narrative about that potentate selling his wife for a pair of shoes. It was whispered round about that this allusion was peculiarly painful to Old Co., as according to tradition, he had himself once had a young and beautiful wife, though what bad become of her no one knew. Very little, Indeed, was known of his domestic history. He had been living In this dark, narrow Street, where the windows were nevor cleaned, so long that he had become as much a part of It as the patches of decayed plaster falling from the walls, and people ceased to spec ulate whether ho had himself ever been young H« seemed somehow to have been specially created out of the shadow of the past to preside over relics of bygone days, to move among the dusky memories of what had been, and to renew the splen dors that canto from the vanished hand of some old master. Ho held no Intercourse with the dull, common mass of inhabitants in his neigh borhood. though his manner of living was M poverty-stricken as their own, but ti tled and wealthy connoisseurs sought him out and wore struck by the brilliant orig inality of a mind choosing to remain in the obscurity of this wretched street, and resisting all their efforts of patronage or kindness, to endeavor to remove its possessor to a more congenial sphere. It might have appeared at first sight as ■ If it was hardly safe for thia solitary old man to live In such a place, considering the valuable nature of the property he dealt in, but hr was no fool, and hud taken ample precautions, and the trust he plac ed In tn® honesty of the population had t never yet bwn shaken. They were too Stupid to be thieves, hr would stay, with a shrug of his lean shoulders expressive of contempt, and. Indeed, most of them look ed upon the contents of this musty old ahop au» so much rubbish only tit to be thrown on th® dust heap, and which none but a cracked-brain jew would dream of hoarding. He stood In front of the empty frame n hmg time after those ho had summoned on the discovery of his loss had gone their various ways, and his sallow face was puckenxl with thought Then all at once he began to bestir him self among his paints and varnishes as If to commence hit* occupation for the day. The light from a single high window fell with Intensity upon his bent back, cover ed now with tut ancient cashmere dress ing gown, frayed and torn at the eoges. and upon the st«are grizzled locks strag gling from beneath what had once been a highly ornate smoking-cap. AH around him were sombre brown shadows into the ! depths of which he dived every row and j again, grunting with dissnusfaciion If he failed immediately to lay tua .hands on 1 w X /OX jw « 'h in I ivk I I B I -WgSF EM ml kJ wl ifcfr A»e . Ba ..ft M !! J dXe—Or If La <s EQ R G 1 J THE MORNING NEWS, ) ) Established 1850. - - Incorporated • 1888. > J. H. ESTILL. President. ” J I what he wanted. An easel of heavy pro- I portions stood in the highest light, and I it was on that The Madonna of the Sepul chre was tp have been placed for certain i restorations before being delivered over to its recent purchaser. The old man moved the easel testily out of his way, as if the recollection annoyed him, and drag ging out a smaller one from where it lean ed against the wall, proceeded to place a very fair copy of a Greutz upon it. "Not genuine, not genuine,” he mutter ed, with some contempt, after tapping and turning the canvas about in his hands, while he held it this way and that to peer more closely into the painter’s technique. “What fools these country people are; they hoard things in their galleries for generations, and each one believes the tradition his predecessor hands down to him, without ever having the sense to as certain the truth. A Greutz indeed! Even he would turn in his grave at having such a thing attributed to him. Ah, well, I must clean it, I suppose, and make it shine like a new kettle. It is wonderful how such a crust could settle-on it in the time,” and Old Co. drew his lipi up until his nose looked longer ahd more pro nounced than ever. - y' He went on doggedly with hist work keeping his ears open all the while fur a-hy signs of movement in the shdp. It was quiet enough at present, but he dreaded an invasion of newspaper reporters aaid interviewers, so soon as his loss had been noised abroad, which it could not fail to be in a little time. His mind seemed soothed and composed under influence of his dally habits, however, and the old man who had grasped the air was quite another being to the practical Individual who roasted his own potatoes over a hand ful of scanty fuel, and who grudged ev ery moment of preciotis daylight as he diligently scraped away at the counterfeit Greutz. The somber shadows deepened, closing gradually round the old man as he sat perched on his high stool. They came creeping nearer and nearer, like the walls of that diabolically constructed dungeon are said to have done round some mis erable victim of the inquisition. Yet he presovered at his task till the ‘wreathed smile on the pictured face became phan tom-like. There was a. beckoning air in the backward inclination of the head, o, d man ' s fingers faltered. He raised his eyes stealthily and let them travel round the gloom, then slid from nIH perch and stood Irresolute. The shad ows darkened and thickened. He breath ed in short snorting kind of gasps, as if the atmosphere had become too confined. A corner of the gilt frame hanging empty on the opposite wall gleamed at him like ?i n ? yo fu of triumphant malice, and at tnat moment a voice sounded shrilly in the deserted street. "Mysterious theft of a well known plc tu^! oss of the celebrated Ma-don-ner!” The Jew shook from head to foot as he listened, for this was the notoriety he had expected. m , n - . Twp hours later the shop door was burst impetuously open and a slim, well-dressed youth stood on the threshold shading his eyes in the solitary habit of light, from the room beyond, which shot through the and fel > on his face. Then he made his way cautiously amid the bric-a brac, . _ < P rle t 5 in answer to a surly growl. “It is Reuben.” "Who told you to come?” snarled Old Co., standing in the doorway of his work room from whence he surveyed his visitor w Jll anything but an inviting air. No one told me to come,” faltered the youth. “Then go back to your rich relations, as your mother did before you .and don’t trouble me again,” the Jew said, harsh- "Is it true?” whispered the lad, com ing nearer. "Is what true?” .J.T he . y , say you wHI have to pay for this picture, and it will be ruin for a man in your way of business.” ' Ah, they say that, do they?” Yes, yes, and I came here because desperate” d y ° U mlght do something The old Jew did not answer for a mo ment. It may be that some fiber less tough than others in his nature was touched for he stepped backwards be neath the swinging lamp, his lean hands folded and gazed thoughtfully at the beautiful boyish countenance, with its touch of eager compassion In the parted "PPa'pi preamy eyes. In that light and with that expression, it was a head such as Raphael himself might have painted for a youthful St. John, and, the pictorial instinct uppermost, IsaAc Cohen first im pressed him with that idea, then began vaguely to reckon how much such a pic ture would be worth. But these were only fleeting confused tricks of though which arose from habit; underneath them all lay something that angered him. while it set all the pulses in his body quivering, for he both longed to strain Reuben to his breast and at the same time to cruelly repulse him. Seeing some traces of this agitation, without rightly divining its cause, Reuben approached and seized both the withered hands in his own in an impulsive out burst of boyish affection. “Let me live for you—let me work for you,” he exclaimed. To his astonishment, the old man shook him off as if he had been some poison ous reptile, and stood motioning him to go with a vehement gesture more elo quent than speech. "Oh. why do you hate me so?" cried the lad, instinctively cowering for an instant beneath that malignant glance. “Why do you look at me as if you would kill me?” "Go-go instantly, <T>efore I do.” Reuben cast a look of terrified appeal round the room, and his eye encountered the empty frame hanging on the wall. Then the fear died out of him. and he turned with a sigh of compassion toward the strange demented figure in the tat tered gown, which still stood in a men acing attitude before him. "Father!” The word came like a whisper from some forgotten paradise, like an echo heard ffi a dream, or like some strain of music floating back from bygone days, and Old Co. trembled at the sound. “Father,” continued the other eagerly seeing the advantage he had gained. "For years I dreamt of you and wondered what | you were like. Oh, how often I have cried because they said you were harsh and cruel, and hated the sight of your only child. They told me how my mother ‘ an orphan girl, was married to you against ‘ her will, and how she ran away from you to her brother and took me with her, so | that never again did either of us cross your threshold. In spite of all this, I , longed to see my father, and one day they brought me to this place and told i you I was your son!” “And hers,” hissed the Jew. angrily ( and he spat upon the ground. "Her face’ ! her voice, her touch.” he shuddered. “Yes. my poor girl-mother! She is dead,” said the hoy. with tears quivering in his ■ voice and eyes. "God knows whether I your treatment shortened her life, but I— your son—offer to come back, to leave the rich unde who Is kind to me, and to bo the prop stay of your old age j When ! heard of the misfortune which has befallen yon I resolved to come.” he concluded, with a grave dignity be yond his yean*. Old Co. took two or three paces about I the room, his head sunk on his breast, j and his arms hanging loosely at his sides. | He shuffled rather than walked In felt slip pers, which made no noise, and to Reu- I ben. who was accustomed to the well groomed appearance of th* portly Jew, his uncle, in hi* luxurious surroundings, this I mean, bent figure, slipping furtively about, I had something repulsive, I All the horror which his youthful mother must have felt for such a husband sick- ened in the boy’s soul. He felt almost as if her spirit possessed him, and he was living over again the suffering she must have endured. Still he did not waver in his resolution. “Does this place attract you?” The question was so sudden that Reu ben started. His father was watching him keenly, with the skin of his face drawn up in that disagreeable, sneering grin pe culiar to him. "No, but I could live here.” “And what would you do?” “The same work as yours, if you would teach me, ansl-and I could mind the shop,” said Reuben sweetly, but he sighed as if relinquishing some cherished dream. "Hein! So you could turn yourself into a counter-jumper. You, with your airs of a young lord, and your superfine Eng lish education. What do you know about pictures?” Old Co. tweaked his own nose derisively with a thumb and forefinger, making a sound that passed with him for laughter. "I am—l was to have been an artist,” cried the boy, quickly. "So your uncle has chosen that career for you?” sneered his father. “I suppose he thinks he will make you an artist be cause it is fashionable,” and again he emit ted that unpleasant cackle without moving a, mtisclc. a* “Only God makes artists,” answered Reuben, with,, one of those radiant looks which transfigured his countenance into the angelicism of the old painters. » Again his father marked and appreciat ed his beauty, but he turned aw’ay with the fierce gesture of a madman. “The devil makes thieves,” he broke out all at once. "Do you hear that, boy? Your uncle hates me. I believe he has sent you here as a spy—a spy!” • His anger seemd to choke him, but he seized his son’s arm with a grip that made him feel sick and faint. is. a.plot to ruin me. There is the framer but where is the canvas that w - as in it, and* worth fifteen thousand—fifteen thousand—a fortune? Where is it? Gone, gone, gone!” He paused a moment and looked round draftily. “There have been thieves, or a thief. The picture is cut clean out. A boy might do that with a penknife.” "Yes,” said Reuben, fearfully, for the old man still held him as in a vice, and his voice had taken a sinister tone of ac cusation. “That picture of the famous Madonna of the Sepulchre, was hanging there the other day, when your uncle brought you here under the pretence of a wish to see your—father.” The boy glanced upward for a moment, and nodded. “It is a plot,” hissed the Jew, “and you are the tool—the instrument— the thief. Go! Go instantly, lest you be taken by the police before my eyes.” Before he could make any but a horri fied exclamation Old Co. had shoved him through the shop out into the darkness and closed the door upon his son. Reuben stood for a moment stupefied, then, with the cry of a wounded animal, he fled down the narrow street. HI. , The affair of the missing Madonna cre ated a great stir in the art world for a certain period, and then, as no clue to its whereabouts could be traced, the story drifted into a kind of legendary lore. It was years ago now since the dingy shop had become at one and the same time notorious and vacant. On the morn ing after he had thrust his son into the street, people noticed that Old Co. failed to have his shutters taken down at the usual hour. At first this circumstance only gave rise to a few comments, for Jarvis, the handy-man, was known to have taken his dismissal the day before, but as a whole weelj brepf on the neigh borhood going - J®... the same siilttVess way as Usual, round its curiosity stirred at last to something bor dering on a pitch of frantic excitement. When the police appeared upon the scene local Interest had centered itself. A large crowd already blocked the thor oughfare, and stood agape for details of a more or less blood-curdling nature. All sorts of surmises were abroad, the least sensational of which was the sup position that Old Co. had put an end to himself in despair at making good the loss of the picture, but others would have it that a sanguinary murder had taken place on the spot, and by the perpertra tors of the first crime. Men, women and children now surged tfhd swayed, a com pact mass of struggling eagerness, to get the first glimpse of this supposed tragedy. An imaginative spectator might have seen in them a pack of wolves transformed into human shapes, ready to burst in and devour the inhospitable Jew, who had so often driven them from this very door, and of whom they had hitherto lived in fear, not untempered by superstition. Something like a roar of exasperation was given vent to by the crowd, therefore, when they were forced back by the po lice. while a couple of officials made their way into the house. Within all was dark and silent, and the men proceeded cautiously to let in a little light, for they expected every moment to stumble either over or upon a dead body. Everywhere was left exactly as it had been except that in one corner of the inner room a case stood ready packed and directed to some country seat in a Midland county. On opening it -was found to contain the spurious Greutz “restored” and ready to be returned to its ow’ner, but of old Co. himself there was nothing to be seen. He had vanished as complete ly as the Madonna, which the outside world was just then making a pother over, and whose frakne still hung upon the wall. Every nook and cranny of the house was searched in vain—the Jew was gone. When the mob heard that neither mur der nor suicide had been committed in this dingy abode to complete a curious tale and invest a commonplace district with tragic dignity, the news dispersed them like a sleety rain, sullenly to their homes. They could almost picture the old man’s grin at thus baulking them of a sensations, and as the house stood silent and empty for years after this, it came to be an undefined belief In the neighbor hood that some sort of ghost of the once familiar figure inhabiting it. still pervad ed the place and chuckled incessantly at I his own bodily disappearance. Reuben’s uncle came forward to claim what property there was in the name of Isaac Cohen's son, but it was found that either by accident or design, Old Co. had managed to dispose of his valuables and only left such objects behind, the sale of which just sufficed to pay the rent and one or two small debts owing. His reputation for honesty remained untar nished, though the claim for the great picture was still in abeyance. Meanwhile the boy, to whom his father’s mad accusation had been like a sudden thrust of a knife, as he shut him out into the darkness, had grown and pros pered. He was now a Handsome young artist, whose amiability and talents won for him an entree into the best society, and few would have looked for his origin in the dilapidated dwelling of an obscure by-street. out of which he had been con tumeliously driven. In the year 18— Reuben Cohen deter mined to take up his abode in Paris. His studies there and elsewhere on the conti nent had resulted in his gaining the Prix d' Honneur at the salon, at an usually earlv age. and the enthusiasm called forth by bls picture led him to resolve he could nowhere else be so appreciated nor so happy as in that capital. He was strolling through the exhibition one afternoon, with a critical glance here and there, as something arrested his at tention among Ihe acres of canvas dis played upon the walls, when he found him self unexpectedly in the same room with his own painting. A sort of natural mod- ! esty made him draw back on perceiving the spectators clustered in front of his , work, which bore its blushing honors in scribed on a brass tablet fixed upon the frame, but the next instant his eye had caught that of a bent and shabby figure, eagerly pushing its way among the crowd. Instantly Reuben felt himself back | among the dusty bric-a-brac of the little shop. His fame had vanished. He was no longer the successful genius, but the re pulsed and tender-hearted boy whose sen sibilities had been cut to the quick. As one in a dream, the artist approached his own picture, and heard the remon- SAVANNAH, THURSDAY, MARCH 12, 1896. - 7 strances addresrffed to the strange figure elbowing Its way. “Tiens!” cried a voice, “C’est le Jpiff errant. Il est ala haffe le pauvre homme!” A good humored laugh greeted this sally and room was made; while Reuben stole to the edge of the crowd to watch the old man’s face. A long, white beard drooped upon his breast and concealed the greater part of his features. He looked so vener able, so picturesque, that at first the painter felt himself deceived. This was some model from the studios who had im bibed a taste for art; not the lean, sus picious, and repulsive personage who had accused his own son of being the tool and accomplice of a crime. A feeling of relief accompanied this hasty conviction, but all at once the Jew, who had now obtained a good place, raised his eyes with the quick, stealthy, yet penetrating glance which in earlier years had filled the boy’s soul with repugnance. The glance, how ever, rested on, the picture, coldly at first, then critically. It scanned every detail, it took in every effect, both broad and minute. It was pitiless, severe, terrible, Reuben felt, . The winner of the P»-ix d’ * Honneur stood aside, humbly waiting for a verdict which seemed somehow to hold his future fate in the balance.* To anyone else the situation would have appeared absurd, for already the world had stamped his work with its approbation; yet a horri ble conviction seized the painter’s mind that in this figure, snuffling up and down from length to length of his canvas, lay the power of either e&alting or paralyzing forever any genius £e might possess. “Ferme! on fermer’ It was the voice ®f the official already announcing that closing time had ar rived. The cry w r as repeated in every room by the special guardian of each, and the lingering visitors driven irresistibly forward as the gens d’armes formed a sort of cordon,behind them. Only the oldWew remained impassive still, seeing he .’did not hear, an official touched him ofi the arm. With a start of horr&r, he drew himself away, the tri umph gleaming in his eyes dashed by a look of fear as jje caught sight of the uni form. The furtive, hunted expression of some by-gone ancestor flickered over the wrinkled face for an instant; then he pointed with a trembling finger to the Prix d’Honneur. “Do you see that?” he exclaimed, shrilly. “It is painted by my son. There is genius, I tell you, and it is painted by my son!” “Allons, monsieur,” said the gendarme, briefly, at the same time giving him a gentle push to clear the way. Reuben sprang to his side and saved his father from falling. Old Co. was evidently weak from age and over-excitemept. He accepted the support and allowed himself to be drag ged away. Once out in the open air some •of- his former strength and asperity re turned. **• “I can walk,’ he muttered, withdrawing his arm. “You will get nothing by dog ging the footsteps of a poor man like me. Go youMways and leave me to mine.” "No, no,” said Reuben, firmly. "I am your son. took at me as you did at my work just now, and see if you do not rec ognize some feature of the lad you acted so cruelly towards that—that evening long age ?” • Even now at five-and-twenty years of age his voice fatered at the allusion, but he was surprised to see how his father cowered before him, and trembled as if with guilt. “Ah, you have come back to taunt and torment me—come back with your moth er’s face and eyes. Can you not leave me to die in peace?” cried the old man, al most piteously. “Where have you been all these years? We sought for and then concluded you were dead?Jitnoea interrupted, with a mixture of wonder and pity as he stood looking down at.the strange figure. "Been? What does it matter W'here I have been?” The old harsh suspicious tone returned. "Father,” cried the young man, with all his former impetuosity, “you need hide no longer. I am a successful artist, and shall be rich. I will pay the fifteen thou sand pounds for the lost Madonna.” A look of crafty calculation came upon Isaac Cohen’s venerable, sensitive coun tenance. “Fifteen thousand. It Is worth more than that now,” he said, shaking his head. “Well, heaven knows I will toil all my life to pay for it, even if it ras risen to the hopeless amount of a national debt,” exclaimed his son. "Anything rather than leave a stain resting on my father's hon or.” Reuben threw his head back proudly as he spoke. He still possessed a good deal of the beauty which had distinguished him in early youth, though some of its radiancy had been subdued by the strength of manhood, and Old Co. shud dered in his presence as in that of arch angel sent to sum up the pettiness of his deeds. “Come with me,” he whispered “I have something to tell you, but not here—not here.” Reuben followed him in silence, won dering. They left the wide, handsome streets and crowded boulevards, where two or three acquaintances stared to see the painter so bent on pursuing what looked like an ordinary professional model, with hooked nose and white beard for attrac tions. The old man walked faster than anyone would have Imagined possible from his aged appearance, and Reuben stepped briskly, fearful at every moment that he would vanish from sight in the dingy purlieus they had now entered. It was dusk, almost dark, in those narrow wavs, which seemed stifling to one unac customed to their atmosphere. At an other time, Reuben’s eye might have found picturesque details to arrest it in this old forgotten part of the great city, but as he hurried on after the shadowy figure forever flitting in front of him, he was only conscious of a vague uneasiness, and that far away above the houses the young Mav moon was sending silver shafts of light upon the squalor through which thev threaded their way. Suddenly Old Co. turned to make sure that his son had done his bidding, for he had peremptorily desired him to keep a certain distance behind. He nodded his head toward a delipidated building, and In another moment it seemed to have swallowed him in the cavernous jaws of what had once been an imposing entrance but what now yawned like the toothless mouth of some huge monster. Reuben shuddered as he plunged after him. for his nervous, fanciful temperament made him keenly alive to impressions. He stumbled as best he could up the filthy stairway, led by the sound of his father s shuffling activity, for Isaac Cohen seemed gifted with the instinct of some noc turnal animal. It was like a dream of purgatory to the younger man. All the light-hearted joy of his existence had vanished, and when at last he stood within the sordid hiding place his father had chosen for himself Rueben shrank back appaled at the mis ery it revealed. "Ah!” he exclaimed, "and I have been living in luxury all this time.” “You are a great painter.” murmured the old man. as he turned up a small oil lamp he had lit, and which smelt abominably; but he paid no heed to the compassionate words or looks of this son whose tender nature was so incompre hensible to his own. “Have you enough to eat? How do you live?” cried Rueben, catching hold of his ragged sleeve. "Good heavens, to think you should starve for the sake of a cursed picture that was taken away by some mean thief to whom it can never have done any I good.” The old Jew plucked him sleeve awav and paced wildly up and down, his fin gers twisting themselves in his beard “Yes it is a cursed picture. It has ruined my life, shattered my peace, it holds my soul in torments—the torments of the damned,” he cried, hoarsely. “Come away. then, from this horrible place and think no more about It. Come with me. In spite of everything, you are my father. I am of you race, your blood Atone to my mother’s injured spirit by showing? some affection for her son,” said Reuben, persuasively, holding out his hands with one of those expressions which 1 still irradiated his features on occasions as in his impulsive boyhood. Old Co. stopped suddenly and looked at the young man from beneath his brows. “Her son!” he repeated slowly, with bitter emphasis. Then all at once Reuben was conscious of a skinny hand clasping his own, and the face of this strange parent gazing triumphantly upon him. “And mine!” cried Old Co. in a voice that vibrated with intense passion. “Yes, yes; I lay claim to the genius within you. Her son in face, form and disposition, but mine, all mine; in the power that shall make you a great man.” “Let it be so. I am content so long as we are friends,” said Reuben, with a de termination to humor his father’s eccen tricities. “Why do you not hate me as she did?” inquired Old Co. with a vague look of wonderment in his sunken eyes. “Because I am sorry for you—because you are my father.” There was a straightforward simplicity in all the younger painter said or did which carried conviction even to the sus picious mind of Isaac Cohen. He remain ed silent for some moments, and then turned away with a quivering, long drawn sigh. To Reuben this sigh was the first "sign of ordinary humanity the old man had yet shown, and he regarded it as a sign that his own filial devotion had not been quite thrown away. He never could explain, even to himself, the dual feel ing with which this relationship inspired him. Here was.a being whom he yearned to honor, and yet he was so constituted that his nature revolted from the effort. Pity was the nearest kin to love he could offer, but that pity was passionate pro found, touched with self-accusing bitter ness and mingled with a self-effacing de sire for propitiation. “They took him from me,” exclaimed Old Co., with a suddenness that made the other start. "They thought to de stroy my share in him, but destiny and in heritance are stronger than hate. My son has returneddo me aften all—yes, in spite of them,” his voice trailed off into senile tears which dropped into his beard, and he appeared to be addressing a dingy old curtain hung across the end of the gar ret. Reuben was touched, though a painful conviction seized him that his return was of small avail to soften cherished ani mosities. “Will you leave this wretched place with me, to-night? I can offer you luxury compared to this,” he said, looking round at the ragged bed, heaped up in one corner. “What,” cried Old Co., with an angry gesticulation advancing toward him. “You come here to drag me out into the world, to hold me up before the public, to be laughed at, despised, condemned.” “For what?” inquired Reuben, in bewil derment. “For living under a spell I cannot break, for passing my life in worship of what I hate and despise—the worship of a woman.” There was something in his wild energy, as he threw both arms up, as if in writhing protest, that prevented the younger man from smiling at so strange a declaration. “She lived in the Middle Ages,” con tinued Old Co., speaking a rapid undertone that had the effect of a prolonged hiss. “She sat to him as model for the Ma donna of the Sepulchre. I was the Jew boy who sat for John the Baptist—but that is all long ago,” he waved his hand as if to dismiss the recollection, then crept up to Reuben and spoke fearfully Into his ear: “That woman has dragged me back through the long, long centuries. It is only for short periods I can live truly in my own and mix with my contempor- Q> I' 166. 1 * "I will help to drive these fancies from your mind.” s.aid Reuben reassuringly. “No, no; they cannot be driven. Fancies, you talk of what you do not understand. Why did I—a man of fifty—marry a girl of fifteen? Tell me that.” He spoke now with a peculiar contempt .uous snarl. Madness and age combined made him truly hideous to behold, and his eon put out both hands with a gesture of disgust he could no longer overcome. “It was cruel, a shameful bargain on the part of an untrustworthy guardian to let you have her,” he cried, boiling over with indignation. “Never mention It to me again.” ’ “Ah!” exclaimed Old Co., excitedly, "your mother had the face and form of that old witch who sat for the Madonna. She drove me mad even when I tried to beat it out of her. I should have killed her for hating me while she held me in the tolls of her beauty—but,” he paused, “she ran away and pretended to be dead.’ “What do you mean?” A sudden hope throbbed in his son’s heart. Could it be possible the mother he had adored in infancy was about to be restored in some eccentric way to him after all these years. “She is dead,” he said, mournfully, af ter a second turning his head away. When he looked around again Old Co. had withdrawn the curtain at the end of the room and stood pointing exulting ly at some object only dimly discernible in the feeble light. Reuben moved nearer horror-stricken, his breath coming in gasps of pain. “Good God!” he exclaimed, hoarsely, “The Ma donna of Sepulcher.” He snatched the lamp off the rickety table and held it up to the canvas, ex amining with a quick, practised eye, all the marks of the picture’s genuineness. Behind him his own figure cast a menac ing shadow over half the room, and fell like with funeral blackness on that of the Jew, who watched him in a kind of ec static madness of worshiping joy. “My son, my son, and himself a painter worthy to tread in the great footsteps,” he muttered, rocking his body to and fro. Meanwhile the light flared up on to the sweet pictured face and down into Reu ben’s own, revealing signs of that likeness which seemed to have turned his fa&ier’s brain, for Reuben had always closely re sembled his girl mother. He put the lamp down again. “Oh, God!” he groaned, tn the bitter ness of his spirit. "It is the lost Madonna, and this madman, my father, is the thief.” The old man made a timid movement forward and laid a hand upon his arm, but Reuben shook him off and staggered blindly from the room. All that night the painter wandered hag gard and dejected through the streets. The burden of disgrace lay heavily upon him. It had fallen with crushing force on to his sensitive nature, and he shrank from the duty that lay before him. The picture had never been lost, only vilely secreted, and must be promptly re stored to its legitimate owner. Who was he? Reuben did not know; only he felt he must search him out were he compelled to walk barefooted through the world. It was like the touch of a red hot iron to think that his own name must henceforth be smeared by connec tion with that of the culprit. His name which he had just considered made! At dawn he found himself on one of the bridges over the Seine, and a freshness in the air that stole up from the gently ruf fled waters brought back a certain amount of calmness to his brain. Just as the first yellowing streak shot across the sky, however, an idea rushed into his mind, which made him hold on to the parapet, while he shivered violently wsth the fright it had inspired. Then he made a bewild ered attempt to retrace is steps, mutter ing to himself. “If I can only be in time—if I can only be in time. Merciful heaven! grant that I be not too late!” Those persons who were aboard drew aside as he passed. They shrugged their shoulders and sighed with compassion. A handsome man driven distracted by love or gaming. Ah, well! the world was al ways so! One sees strange sights in a great city, and they fell to picturing a fine corpse stretched on one of the tiled slabs in the morning, while a crowd drank in the sight with eager admiration. Led by some strange instinct meanwhile, Reuben found his way into the mean quar ter he had quitted in such abhorrence. He dashed up the narrow stairs, and flung open the door. Then ail at once he stood still, quite si lent. He was in time, and yet—too late! The great masterpiece hung there in all its radiant beauty, lighted up by the new ly-risen sun. which streamed tn at the garret window, and before It lay a mo- ( WEEKLY 2-TIMES-A-WEEK $1 A YEAR 1 < 5 CENTS A COPY. I I DAILY, $lO A YEAR. f tionless figure, with face upturned, and thin, yellow hand® clutching some papers to its breast. The Madonna of the Sepulchre was safe from any frenzied, desire Old Co. might have been seized with to destroy the ob ject of his delusion. There he lay, already stiffening under the rigid touch of the sculptor Death, and it was with awe, his not untempered with thankfulness, his son knelt down to withdraw the papers from his grasp. He glanced almost mechanically at their contents, and, little by littfe/ the-truth about the missing picture dawned upon his brain. Henceforward Reuben Cohen would be the sole possessor of this -coveted master piece. There was no claim in abeyance, for in his roundabout, secret fashion Old Co. had purchased it fork himself. He had stolen it from the eyes pf the world—that alone was his crime—to gloat over its beauty with th£ strange fanati cism of a madman. ; 3 (The Emt) - A MOBILE. A Warehouse, Elevator and 3,460 Bales of Cotton Burned. Mobile, Ala., March I..—Fire to-day de stroyed the fertilizer warehouse and ele vator, and the upper wharf cotton shed belonging to the Mobile and Ohio Rail road Company, and 3,460 bales of cotton stored in the shed awaiting shipment to Liverpool. The fire started in -the midst of the cotton;; .and spread from end to end of the' ; <shed instantly. With great difficulty the British steamship Corso, lying in the slip alongside, was moved out into the rtver. She* had 24,000 pounds of powder and 300 barrels of petroleum on board. The British ship Van Loo and the Brit ish bark Killy, and the American schoon er C. D. Hall, were rescued from the slip adjoining the first slip on the south. The Hall was slightly damaged. The loss on the buildings and wharf is about $21,000, and on the cotton about $75,000, covered by blanket policies. Westfield, Mass., March 11.—The Ma sonic block, one of the principal build ings of the town, was burned this after noon. The total loss is about SIOO,OOO, with $70,000 insurance. The building was owned by Mount Monah Lodge of Masons, D. L. Gillett and Col. J. A. Lakin. t LAVIGNE TOO MUCH FOR M’AULIFFE The Latter Out of Condition for the ' Bout. New York, March 11.—After a long ab sence from the roped arena Jack McAu liffe appeared to-night in a six-round bout with Kid Lavigne at Madison Square Garden. At times the light-weight cham pion showed some of his old-time quick ness and cleverness, but he was in no condition to antagonize the Kid, who had the best of the argument. McAuliffe’s poor condition was telling on him fast, and he was nearly out when the police stopped the bout. Owing to the action of the authorities no referee was appointed, and the men sparred for a popular verdict. McAuliffe held a warm place in the hearts of the spectators because of his previous reputation, but there was only one verdict possible, and that was in La vigne’s favor. Fully 3,000 persons wit nessed the bout, After the contest. McAu liffe challenged lavigne to a finish fight within ten weeks, and negotiations are now pending. FOUNDERED AT SEA. A Schooner Laden With Coal Aban doned Off Cape Henry. ' Richmond, Va., March 11.—A Newport "News special says the crew of the schoon er James B. Ogden, Capt. James Sum mers, which sailed from this city last week for Allyns Point with a cargo of coal, were brought back last night, having been rescued from their vessel last Fri day just before she foundered, 260 miles from Cape Henry. The Ogden encoun tered terrific gales soon after passing through the capes, and for two days she was tossed about like a cockle shell. The crew had a terrible experience. Eugene Nickerson, the first mate, had one of his legs broken during the hurricane. There was eight feet of water in the ill-fated schooner when she was deserted by her crew. The foundered schooner was owned by A. C. Newberry and others, of New York. A CLOTHING FIRM FAILS. The Liabilities Between $300,000 and $400,000. Rochester, N. Y., March 11.—The assign ment of the firm of Rothschild, Baum & Stern, one of the largest wholesale cloth ing firms In this city, was filed to-day. The liabilities are between $300,000 and $400,000, with no preferred creditors. The failure was a great surprise to business men, who had regarded the firm as one of the staunchest in the city. The firm possessed ample means and en joyed unquestionable credit until recently. Last summer they took an Interest in a large retail incorporated clothing concern in Chicago, which was their debtor to a considerable amount The retail busi ness generally in Chicago was unprofita ble last year, and their establishment, "The Sterling,” was among the heavy losers. ATKINSON IN THE SENATE. The Governor Later On Starts for Port Royal. Washington, March 11.—Gov. Atkinson of Georgia was on the floor of the Senate to-day for a short time. The governor is here with his young son,who is making his first visit to Washington. He will leave for home to-night, going by the way of Port Royal to witness the docking of the bat tleship Indiana. Gov. Atkinson lunched with Senator Ba con and Senator Vest of Missouri and afterward listened to Senator Turpies masterly speech in the Dupont contested election case. The governor says he likes the House much better than the Senate and if he had congressional aspirations he would prefer the rustle and bustle of the House. A NEW BANKING LAW. The Hoose Committee on Banking tn Draw It Up. Washington, March 11.—The House com mittee on banking and currency to-day voted to proceed immediately to the for mulation of a general banking bill to be presented to the House, and to meet Mon days and Wednesdays until such a bill is reported. The general banking bills drawn by members of the committee will be first considered and disposed of in order. CONVENTION OF THE BANKERS. St. Louis the Place and Sept. 22, 23, 24 the Dates Fixed Upon. New York, March 11—The executive council of the American Bankers’ Asso ciation, at its meeting here to-day, se lected St. Louis as the place for holding the annual convention of the association this year and Sept. 22, 23 and 24 as the time. Duluth, Springfield, 111., and San Antonio, Tex., were among the contest ants for the convention. MONDAYS “And THURSDAYS HALL COMING TO HELP HOKE. A NEW TURN IN THE SENATOR- SHIP FIGHT IN GEORGIA. The Story Brought Out by Judge Hall’s Resignation as Assistant At torney General for the Interior Department—All the Influence of the Southern Heretofore Used in the Interest of ex-Speaker Crisp Through General Counsel Albert Howell of Atlanta. "Washington, March 11. —Judge J. T. Hall, assistant attorney general for the depart ment of the interior, ha.s tendered his resignation to Secretary Hoke -Smith, to take effect March 15 next. Judge Hall is a Georgian, and will return to that state to take the position of general attorney for the Georgia Southern and Florida railroad. It is rumored around the de partment that Judge Hall will use his influence with the road in behalf of Sec retary Hoke Smith in the senatorial con test, in which ex-i Speaker Crisp will be an active candidate. Atlanta, Ga., March 11.—There is an In teresting story back of the resignation of Mr. Hall. As is w"ell known, a contest is likely to ensue between ex-Speaker Crisp and Secretary Smith for senatorial hon ors. It so happens that the general coun sel of the Southern "railway system is Albert Howell, son of Eva.n P. Howell of the Atlanta Constitution, both of whom are favorable to Mr. Crisp’s candidacy, in fact, Secretary Smith has had occa sion to' complain to the head of the syndi cate, which owns the Southern railway system, that the influence of that road in Georgia Was being devoted entirely to Mr. Crisp’s advantage. The Georgia Southern and Florida system has passed, into the control of the Southern, although . it is still being operated under its old name. When Mr. Hall enters it as general counsel, as he will do on the 15th, the two divisions of the Southern will represent both political factions in the slate of Georgia, and Secretary Smith will have a railroad friend whose influence will neutralize and equalize the advantage hitherto enjoyed by Mir. Crisp’s friends alone. Thus the secretary is pleased that the railroad makes itself solid all around and Mr. Hall gets a good position. There is, therefore, once more plenty of blue sky in the Georgia political heavens. It is stated that information regarding Judge Hall’s appointment to the position of general counsel for the Georgia South ern and Florida has been zealously kept secret on account of the fact that he had not yet formally acepted it. The only people who knew of it were Secretary Smith and the railroad magnates, who fig ure in the transaction. On account of the precautionary measures for keeping the matter from the public it is believed that the information upon which,the Wash ington item was based was sent out from Atlanta last night and it is intimated that the “leaking” was done through the of fice of Dorsey, Brewster & Howell, local counsel for the Southern here, who had information of the proposed appointment. The Southern’s managers are reported as being very angry at the "leaking,” as well as at the political significance attached to' the appointment, and predictions of a sever shaking up when the responsibility for th® story ! fixed art* freely .wk- ' The story show’s on the face of K that it was used for the purpose of injuring Secretary Smith’s senatorial prospects and queering the Southern in a political way with the public. The southern has been trying to keep out of politics altogether, and the dragging of the big system into the senatorial fight by Senator Crisp’s friends may have very dif ferent results from what they expected. CoE W. A. Little of Columbus, it is un derstood, has been urged for appointment to succeed Judge Hall in the interior de partment. Col. W. C. Glenn of this city, has also been suggested to Secretary Smith for the place. Telegrams urging his appoint ment were sent to Secretary Smith to-day by the judges of the supreme court, Judge Newman of the United States court, Unit ed States Marshal Dunlap, Collector Tramwell, and all the state house officers except the governor and attorney general, who are out of the city. CONEY AND THE REFORM CRANKS. Only Fourteen Persons Present at the Pittsburg; Conference. Pittsburg, Pa., March 11.—The confer ence of persons here seeking to form a new party for all kinds of reforms held three sessions to-day. The deliberations resulted in a general understanding that the movement would be christened the Na tional reform party, at the concluding session to-morrow. When the morning session opened there were fourteen persons present, the most talkative of whom was J. 8. Coxey of Missillon, O. He made an address in which he kindly invited all the reform parties to get together and agree upon what was wanted and then make national nom inations. An address by Gideon T. Stewart of Ohio on prohibition was read, together with a letter from William Cobb, a Min nesota prohibitionist. Then the fourteen got into a discussion on the tariff which lasted until the fifteenth man, Rev. J. C. Elliott of Akron, 0., arrived. He advo cated free silver and was frequently In terrupted, once having a spirited debate with Coxey. Edward Evans, a banker of Towanda, Pa., took issue with Coxey and Rev. Mr. Elliott. Mr. Evans wanted the govern ment to issue more money and spend one billion dollars in needful public improve ments. D. P. McLean of Nova Scotia closed the afternoon, with a tirade against the churches and press. The evening session was attended by about the same people, and several ad dresses were made. CENTRAL’S ATLANTA PROPERTY. Nine Hundred Acres Bought In at $40,000 for the Company. Atlanta, Ga., March 11.—Another batch of the overflow property of the Central Railroad Company was sold by Special Commlsisoner Leakefi before the court house door to-day. It consisted of about !»' acres lying between East Point and West End, and comprising part of the right-of-way of the road between those points. The property was bid in by At torney Alexander for Messrs. Thomas and Ryan at $40,000. TRIAL OF THE MONADNOCK. The Vessel Makes 11% Knots and Be haves Admirably. San Francisco, March 11.—The monitor Monadnock has come in from her sea trial. She made 11% knots and behaved admirably. The officers who came on from the east were pleased. The comman der is quoted as saying: "The vessel is a perfect type of its class and deserves to be called the pride of the navy.” The machinery worked without a hitch and the vessel proved to be a good sea boat. John g. Hoey Dead. New York, March 11.—John S. Hoey, the well known sportsman and referee, died at Long Branch this afternoon of heart trou ble, following a severe attack of the grip. Death was sudden and unexpected, as Mr. Hoey appeared to be rapidly ffecovering. NO 21.