The Portland daily press., 1891-03-18
A PHANTOM PORTRAIT.
[Cornhlll Magazine.1

Sorne carly and I'm your friend for life.
DICK GRAVES
had nothing particular to do, so
sent word round to Dick that I should
turn up, having first made sure that
| Teddy O'Brien, whose studio was in the
same block, would go also. CUTLER we
knew Of old, as all the world knew him
| "a man who had seen everything, done
everything, been everywhere-and these
occasional visits of his were perpetual
terror to Graves. Why he paid them we
never knew. There was kind of ira
ditional friendship between the families
certainly, but CUTLER was a man who
scofsd at tradition. He was in eyery
way out Of sympathy with set of ardent
and irupecunious painters. As journal.
list, as traveller, as man Of the world, he
had outhved his enthusiasts. Life con-
tanned no new experiences, no surprises
for him. 1t was only monotonous
round of the known and the expected.
Dick Graves, who usually shone as a
host, was not at his best that evening.
He was nervous at first, and rather
silent, leaving the burden of talk to
Teddy and myself; and we had the i'll
luck as the punch circulated to light on
vein of humorous stories, at which we
laughed consumedly ourselves without
evoking even a smile from the guest of
the evening.
"Will you fellows look over my Cornish
sketches" said Graves, suddenly jump
ing up in desperation. 81 think there
are some you have not seen"-and he be-
gan to rummage about among a pile OF
old canvases.
CUTLER resumed his seat, and sat, half
absently, half contemptuously, watching
us as we turned over the paintings
possibly he was amused by our jargon
Of stone" and quality" and the rest.
At length l picked up from the heap a
painting that caught my eye, and propped
it on the easel near the lamp. 1t was
quite unlike Graves usual work, and
stood looking at it for a moment, not
quite knowing why did so. 1t was the
head of young woman, pale and slight
ly worn. She was leaning a little for
ward, looking out of the picture, her
mouth parted by slight, tremulous
smile, and in her eyes look that was q
strange mingling of emotions, as if a
new hope and happiness had come into a
life of sorrow-a look half wistful, half
exultant. turned to speak to Graves
and saw that CUTLER had got up, and
was standing gazing at the picture with
look of fascination or Of fear. Here a,
last was something that interested him
Where did you get that" he asked
abruptly.
What do you think of it?" said
Graves, slowly.
cts a good head" said Teddy
O'Brien.
''Its wonderful model" saidI
ga face to haunt one," said CUTLER,
in tone quite unlike his ordinary Gym
ical one.
''Ah, that's it," said Graves. It's more
than human"
"Who is it?' said CUTLER, in his abrupt
way, again.
'Pon my soul I can't tell you, for I
don't know. It's queer story, and one
I'm almost ashamed to ask you to believe.
shan't blame you if you think I'm hum
bugging."
We settled ourselves by the fire with
our pipes, and Dick began his story in a
manner, for him, so unusually grave
and impressive that it seemed to leave
no room for doubt as to his perfect good
faith in the matter.
81 went into Cornwall, as you know,
at the end of the summer, and after
loafng round Newlyn for a while
went to the south coast to try and find
some place that had been less painted.
stayed few days at Polperro, but it
was all SO much like the smaller exhib-
itions in town that could not stand it,
and l finally landed at" naming
small seaport town-"where there
were no painters and not many visitors.
stayed at the Ship Inn,' and looked
around for some place to hang up my
palette.
AFTER some inquiries found a small
cottage which had been empty for some
time, but which had evidently been used
as studio, for there was wall knocked
out at one side and good sized room
added, with high north light. On the
south, the kitchen and 'pariar,' which
opened one into the other, had a view of
the loveliest little hsrbor in the world.
The place was just what wanted, and
the rent was absurd-only e10 year; so
l took it for six months ON the under
standing was to keep it on if chose. I
bought few things to make the place
comfortable, and got an old woman to
look after it for me; but lived most of
the time at the Ship inn,' and just at
first spent very little time at the studio,
only taking in nv canyases at NIGHT
When October set in, cold and wet, i had
to do some work indoors, and then it was
/ began to think there was something
queer about the place. One day had
been painting a young girl from the vii
iage, the granddaughter of my ancient
dame, and was putting fewtouches
to the background, when I heard sound
close behind me like very gentle sigh.
/ looked Sround quickly, but there was
no one in sight-no one IN the room, in
fact. went on painting with an I'M
comfortable feeling of something uncan-
ny, and in a few minutes the sound was
repeated actually at my ear. dropped
my brush with the-start Lmade, and then
went all through the housc to .seaf any
one was in it. Imewtirat-Annie. and
her grandmother had gone home, andI
thought hoped-that Some poor soul
had crept in to shelter from the rain by
the kitchen fire. Well, there was not a
soul near the place. locked up care
fully that night when went backto the
inn, and in the solace of a giass,of grog
and pipe before went to bed.I almost
persuaded myself therewas, nothing in it.
Sin the morning Ihadreally forgotten
it, fancy; bat when Igot back to the
studio curious thing had happened.
Right across the face in my picture was
couple of brush marks, such as you
might make if You were trying the tooth
of canvas. completely spoi1ingmy work
of the day before. called up Annie
and her grandmother, and accused them
of playing tricks. They were indignant
at the idea, and l finally had to apologize
for my suspicious. We searched the
house together, but could find no means
by which any one could have entered,
and at last was obliged to conclude that
must have done the damage myself
when l let my brushes fall. In few
days, however, it became impossible to
explain the thing by this or any other
natural means; constantly my canvases
were tempered with, and grew to have
the feeling that after twilight was
never alone in the room; that faint sigh