Produced by Tim Lindell, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
+-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+
Author of "The Shadow of the Czar," "The Viking's Skull," etc.
_Copyright, 1905_, BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
Printers S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
VII WHAT THE "STANDARD" SAID OF THE PICTURE 99
VIII HIGH MASS AND WHAT HAPPENED AT IT 114
IX THE ARTIST FAILS TO SECURE A MODEL 128
XIII WHAT THE ARTIST'S PORTFOLIO REVEALED 207
"Before my uncle could prevent her she had snatched the letter from him" _Frontispiece_
"The figure turned to meet, but not to greet me. It was my brother's face I saw" _Page_ 10
"'I opened my eyes, and there was a black thing bending over me'" " 183
"His head sunk forward on his breast and his crooked fingers clawing at the air" " 259
"DEAR FRANK,--Surely you are not going to spend a third Christmas at Heidelberg! We want you with us in good old England. My marriage with Daphne is fixed for Christmas Day, and I shall not regard the ceremony as valid unless you are my best man. So come--_come_--COME! No time to say more. You can guess how busy I am. Write or wire by return.-- Yours,
Such was the letter received by me, Frank Willard, student in Odenwald College, Heidelberg, on the first day of the last month of the year. The writer of the letter was my brother, a captain in the--something. I take a pride in not remembering the number of the regiment, for I am a man of peace and hate war and all connected therewith, excepting, of course, my soldier-brother, though my affection for him had somewhat waned of late years, for a reason that will soon appear.
The letter was accompanied by a portrait of George, an exquisite little painting in oils, representing him in full-dress uniform. A glance at the mirror showed how much I suffered by comparison. He looked every inch a hero. I looked--well, no matter. In the lottery of love the prizes are not always drawn by the handsome. The Daphne referred to was our cousin, a maiden with raven hair, dark blue eyes, and a face as lovely as a Naiad's.