Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

100 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE. half-dazed, unable to credit his senses, the woman threw her bare arms about the dark figure and a voice, Gianetta's own voice, floated down to him. "Be careful; oh, be careful. Think, if you were seen, the shame and disgrace would kill us ! Go, and God keep you, dearest.'7 A moment later, the man descended a trellis to the ground, passing close to David, who was crouching in a shadow of the gate. Dawn was breaking when David stumbled up the stairs again, and, uncovering his beloved portrait, stood looking upon the lovely face. "Love and joy, hope and faith," he murmured, "I wove them all with my colors. I painted you with my heart's best blood, and you are false. Oh, Gianetta, Gianetta, my beloved !" Hours passed, and the painter still gazed at the medallion, torn with the anguish that only a strong man knows. At last, a light tap came at the door, and, as David roused himself to answer, Gianetta entered. In her fresh white dress and gay ribbons, a wide hat shading her glossy hair, she looked like a happy, innocent child. "Now for our last sitting !" she cried, gaily, "and then the sail you promised me. It is a glorious day, David." She stopped short, terror-stricken at the gray, haggard face which David turned to her. "My dear one," she cried, forgetting her usual shyness and running to him, "what is it? Have you bad news? Are you ill ? Tell me quickly, David." The painter gazed steadily down into the upturned face. Then, with a fierce gesture, he dashed the medallion to the floor, crushing it with his heel. The girl shrank against the wall, her face whiter than her gown, her wide, wondering eyes fixed upon the man's passionate, distorted face. "Last night, beneath your window, I saw and heard," said David, hoarsely. "I saw you embrace the guilty partner of your sin; heard you talk of shame and disgrace. My sweetheart, whom I thought so pure and innocent that she knew not even the meaning of sin !" He broke off, with a loud, mirthless laugh. "Love and joy, hope and faith," he cried, "all gone ! Now go, false one, before I do murder." For a moment the girl continued her wild, frightened gaze. Then she lifted her head proudly, her childishness dropped from her, and a white-faced woman walked quietly from the room, closing the door softly, as one does upon death. To the gates of an old, stone monastery, standing in the heart of Naples, yet seeming remote from the world, came a weary, travel-stained man, seeking alms. The gray-garbed monk who ministered to him, questioned him with grave kindliness. "I am weary and wasted with sin, good Father," confessed the wretched stranger. "For years I lay in prison and, for the honor of my family, my shame was hidden from the world. One night I escaped, climbed to my sister's room, and begged for money and a disguise that I might fly from Naples. She remembered and loved me thru all the years of my shame, helped me, and I got safely away. But the years of my prison life had wasted my strength and skill, and I drifted quickly into evil ways again. Now, before I die, I would ask forgiveness of my aged parents and my sweet sister, Gianetta." The monk, who was none other than David, uttered a sharp cry and clutched the beggar's arm, eagerly. "Gianetta!" he exclaimed. "Tell me, what night was it that you climbed to your sister's room?" "Three years ago this very night," answered the stranger. With a groan, the monk sank upon a bench, his whole body shaking convulsively. At length, he spoke tremblingly to the startled visitor. "Go, now, to your sister, and, as you hope for forgiveness, bear my message. Tell her that here, in this monastery, David has learned his mistake, too late. I have wronged her greatly — God for