The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1886-10-16 00:00:00

rectory. It used to break one's heart to look at it;
but time does wear things down a bit, and we have
got used to it, though Mrs. Atherstone, poor dear,
will cry a bit yet sometimes,when she comes in here."
The picture was a striking one—only a sailor-boy
clinging to a mast, one arm. and leg thrown around it,
and neckerchief and hair flying in the wind. It was
a frank, boyish face, with an eager, loving expression
in his eyes, as if th y saw hcme in the distar ce yond
the foaming seas and blue sky, which were the only
accessories to the picture. Dr. Twist.looked at it long
and earnebtly.
"If ever I marry, that's the son I should like," he
said. "Miss Atherstone certainly is like her race. I
can trace her features in all these portraits."
He spoke with a puzzled expression and a curious
look upon his face, as though he were somewhat sur-
prised at the heiress resembling her axcestors. Mrs.
Wickham could not understand him at all.
"There's nothing wonderful in that, sir," she said.
"The Atherstone's have always been like one another.
Miss Beryl is the very image of her father."
She pointed to a full-lengl portrait of a young
man in an easy morning costume, which hung op-
posite the other two.
"That's Mr. Leonard," she said, "taken just before
his marriage. We have seen none since, and the
squire was so angry that we were afraid that he would
have this one taken down and sent away, but he
didn't. That's the squire, over the mantel-piece—a
remarkably good likeness."
" Ah, he looks the sort of man to do it," said Dr.
Twist—" a strong, determined face. I suppose Miss
Atherstone has not added herself to the family col-
lection yet."
"Oh, yes, she has, sir. Her portrait was done
almost immediately after she came home. Her beauty
wes so striking that everybody begged her to be
painted, and a clever artist came down from London
to do it. There she is sir, and a fine likeness it is."
She pulled aside the curtain which hid the little
room, and disclosed what seemed to be Beryl herself
steppieg out of the frame. A fine likeness, truly.
The artist had caught every trick of her face, every.
gleam of light and shade upon her figure and dress.
She had chosen to be taken outdoors in a white dress,
with flowers in her lap, and scattered about her feet,
and with a light black lace shawl flung about her head
and shoulders.
"I believe the gentleman who painted it cud not
consider it finished," Mrs. Wickham said. "But Mr.
Noel would not have anything more done to it, so it
was framed and hung up. I have heard objections
made to the shawl over the head as hiding too much
of the hair (Miss Beryl has beautiful hair), but she
would have it so. There's a scar on her forehead,
just where this bit of lace falls, and it hides it
nicely."
Dr. Twist examined the picture minutely. It was
very beautiful, and yet there was a look in the
lovely face that was repellant—a gleam of
something like triumph in the blue eyes, and a curve
in the delicate nostril, as though the thoughts of the
sitter had been roaming far away while the painter
had been nt work. It was the embodiment of the
lovely girl whom he had held in his arms insensible.
when the coffin which held all that was mortal of
Ursula Rhodes shot out of sight under the dark water.
"It is very like," he said, half to himself. "It is a
speaking likeness, and with the Atherstone face. too.
It is an incomprehensible mystery. What can it
Oean?"
Mrs. Wickham did not catcli the last words, and
the doctor took a photograph from his pocket, and
compared it with the picture.
"What a wonderful beautifier wealth is," he re-
marked, "and what a great deal an artist can do!
Now here is a likeness of Miss Atherstone as I knew
her in Melbourne, and a very good one, too. It
does not look much like that splendid picture, does
it?"

"No, indeed, sir."
The housekeeper took the carte—a very fine and
well-finished one—and looked at it intently.
"No one would think they were meant for the
same," she said. "Why, her beautiful hair looks quite
dull and dead, and anyone would think her eyes were
black. There's the Atherstone face liere, that's all;
there's no mistaking that."
Potographs don't flatter"
"No, indeed, they don't. I don't think much of
them myself," said Mrs. Wickham, whose ordinary
good-natured face had been sorely misused by the
photographic fraternity. "This is a dowdy-looking
thing to be a picture of our young lady."
"It is considered an excellent likeness in Mel-
bourne, where I bought it. I there a portrait of her
mother here? She was a beautiful woman."
"So I have heard, sir; but I have never seen a
picture of her. Of course, in the old squire's time no
one ever spoke of her, and Pro never heard Miss
Atherstone mention her name."
"Indeed !"
"No, sir. It's generally thought there was some-
thing uncomfortable between them."
" Uncomfcrtable between Beryl Atherstone d her
mother! Impossible! They were most attached tu
one another."
"I don't know, I'm sure, sir. We fancy so because
she never speaks of her, and Mr. Noel gave her a
miniature of her at Christmas—a beautiful thing, I
believe; but she put it out of sight, and no one has
ever seen it. That's what makes us think she didn't
care much for her mother."
"Perhaps she cares so much that she cannot bear to
have her portrait lying about for everyone to see,"
responded the doctor; and then he took his leave,
wondering not a little over what he had seen and
heard.
"Never speaks of her mother he thought to him-
self. "No, I daresay not. And there's no portrait of
poor Beryl Joyce on the walls of her daughter's
splendid home! Bad policy, Miss Beryl Atherstone,
very bad. I wonder that golden head of yours, which
has plotted and schemed so much, did not think of
that. Like her father! Ugh! It is horrible to see
how like! I wonder if there is witchcraft in the
world still, or whether there is a spell upon me, and a
glamour over my eyes to make me see strange things.
I begin to think I must be going a little mad in my
old years.
He rambled on a little further, and found he had
lost himself while he had been thinking.
"Not much hardship, that, on a bright May-day,"
he muttered. "I shall come to somewhere by and by.
So Mrs. Dalton is here, is she? Ah, strong-minded
woman that. She has the brains of half-a-dozen
men under her white hair, she has."
He was not far from a human habitation, for he
presently found himself close by the gate of a rude
enclosure, surrounding a picturesque, though roughly-
built cottage—the Rookery, in fact—with Mr. Jack
Blogg and his uncle in earnest conversation. They
were turning over the contents of the bag the doctor
had seen in the wood, and speculating on the worth
of the game with which it was filled.
"They won't fetch much," the man said. "Birds
ain't of any accountnow ; but you must go and sell
'em for what you can get. We're about stumped up,
that's what we are."
"I hate to have to do it," the boy replied, sulkily,
"and I didn't ought to have to. Why didn't she
leave us some more money? She knew we should
want some before she came back again."
"Well, she didn't leave it, and grumbling
won't mend it. You'll have to make the best of
it."
"And run the risk of getting my neck broke every
time I go into the woods. The keepers hate
me, they do, and they'd like to ehoot me if they
dared."
"Ay, I daresay, my lad; but they daren't—make
yourself happy about that. Why don't you write for
some more tin? She'd send it fast enough if you asked
her."
"I would if she was by herself, but there's no know-
ing who'd read the letter. We shall have to wait, old
man. Hullo !"
This last exclamation was provoked by the appari-
tion of the doctor leaning over the fence.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said James Statman,
starting to his feet, "but this is a private garden."
"I'm quite aware of that, my good man, and I
hadn't the slightest intention of intruding. I merely
came to ask my way. Will you direct me back into
Lillington, Jem Statman, if you please ?"
Jem looked amazed by hearing his name thus spoken
by a stranger, scratched his head, and finally ejacu-
lated, " The doctor, by Gum !"
Just so, my friend. So you have given up the
sea, have you?"
"For a bit, sir."
"And are masquerading here as this young gentle-
man's uncle, eh ? '
"There's no harm in a boy's having an uncle, is
thae, sir ?"
"Oh, none in the least; but when that boy has
declared positively that he has no relations anywhere,
it looks odd to find him comfortably settled with one,
doesn't it ?"
"I don't know as it's anybody's business," said the
man, surlily.
"Oh, of course not. It is none of mine; but I
think on the whole, James Statman, you had better
have stuck to the Psyche than come here to live on
what that lad can snare in Miss Atherstone's
woods."
"We don't live on it."
"It looks very like it at present. However, as I
said, it's no business of mine. Take care you don't
get into trouble. A game like yours is generally a
dangerous one. Which is the way back to Lillington?
I have taken a wrong turning."
He was close to the road, and they pointed it out to
him, and watched his prim, sailor-like figure walk
briskly away.
"Now, what does he want ?" said the man as
they lost sight of him. "What lay is he on I
wonder."
" Ours."
"You think so?"
"I do."
"Then you'd better write to her and risk who sees
it. She'll pay you well for the warning; and we may
as well have all we can while it's to be got, Jack, r-
I boy."
ng

(To be continued.)