The Lebanon express. (Lebanon, Linn County, Or.) 1887-1898, 1891-04-24

done the damage myself when l let
my brushes fall. In few days. how
ever. 1t became impossible to explain
the thing by this or any other natural
means; constantly my canvases were
tampered with, and grew to have the
feeling that after twilight / was never
alone In the room; that faint sigh,
which had so startled me at first, /
came to listen for and expect. and |
began at last to clothe 1t with n per-
sonality, and to wish had some means
of comforting the poor soul who had
no other language In which to express
despair l did not think II was she
who had defaced my canvas, however.
and took 10 carrying my works back
with me at night to the inn. where they
were secure from interference.
II suppose the thing would have
ended there but for an accident. There
was race meeting in the town and the
Ship was invaded by low set of fell
lows, who got drunk and made beasts
of themselves generally. The place
became unbearable aud l determined
to camp In the studio until they cleared
out. Imade up n big fire. got my old
woman to leave me some hot water in
the kettle, and with help of a rug aud
pillow stuffed into the back of my
Chttlk tOlttaOly C0uiN
Portable for the night. How long l
slept don't know. l awoke sudden
ly. not as one does in bed. with a
drowsy feeling of relief that it is too
early to get up, but with every sense
on the alert, and curious impression
that something unusual was happen-
ing. The fire was still bright, and
made u glow on the opposite wall, but
what made the room SO light was the
moon shining in through the square
window in tie roof. l could see
everything in the room quite plainly,
but l seemed oppressed by some
weight that made me powerless to
move. / sat there staring at what
happened as helpless as IL / had been
bound. My painting things were just
as l had left them; my canvas, on
which had sketched in head, on the
easel, and close by on a STOOL paints.
brushes, and pallet They had been
there, that is to say. for there stood in
front of the easel. with his back to me,
a tall man. with stoop in his should
ers. and dark hair; he had my pallet
in his hand, and he was painting with
sort of nervous intensity that it
thrilled one to see. looked to see
what he was painting for he kept
glancing over toward the patch in the
moonlight; but at first | could see
nothing. Then l heard that little
gentle sigh, but not, it seemed to me.
so utterly weary and heartbroken as
formerly; It was a sigh almost of con-
tent. And as pondered on this my
eyes seemed to become more ac-
customed to the light, and there in the
moonlight, on the very chair in which
Annie had sat was woman, leaning
slightly forward, young. beautiful, aud
very pale-but YOU have seen the
picture. looked at her more than at
him, only glaneing now and then to
see how the work went on. As I
watched her the face changed. and the
sorrowful, worn look gave place to a
kind of wondering happiness--he has
not quite got il in the picture; il was
as if the feeling were so intense it
made kind of radiance 1round her.
don't know how long 1 watched. At
last a sound made me turn and look
at the painter; he had thrown down
the pallet aud brushes. and was stand
ing looking at his work; then he turned
slowly and held out his hands with a
supplicating gesture. She had risen.
too. and came a step forward with Il
wonderful light in her eyes. and just
as she put her hands in his a cloud
crossed the moon and blotted out the
figures from my sight. When it passed.
P0bSh vi WIS thil'iNs
and there was only the painted head
and the pallea lying on the floor to
convince me 1 had not been dreaming.
After that | must have fallen asleep,
for it was broad daylight when | next
remembered anything. aud | heard the
welcome and familiar sound of my old
woman preparing my breakfast. The
smell of frying piichards was refresh
ingly mundane. and | got up stiff and
"a
to find that my phauLnms of the night
before had been nothing but a dream.
No; there was the picture. just as you
see il. and on the iloor were the pallet
aud brushes. | picked the m up and
looked etlriouslv ut them. If you'll
believe me. | could never make up my
naffsf to cleao the paint off that pallet.
and il hangs there just as that fellow
left it.
We sat silent for some minutes when
Graves had done. l confess the story
impressed me good deal. and.
glaucing up. L could see that Quiiler
was strangely moved.
And did you never have any ex-
PLANTATION of the thing7" said l at last.
No" said Graves Il never had
any explanation, and / don't suppose
/ ever SHALL
Quiller had risen and stood near the
fire.
Il think can give it," he said.
knocking the ashes out of his pipe.
Graves stared at him; no one spoke.
and he went on as if unwillingly-
That must have been Drake s
cottage you had; he was here before
your time-I dare say you never heard
of him. He lived there with his wife
and that's her portrait
Graves stare of surprise became
naere profound. and Teddy and
looked on in silent wonder. Quiller
went on, speaking like man that has
been carried quite out of himself:
There was tragic story tohd about
Drake and his wife. He was a good
deal older than she, and changeable
and moody in his ways; and She, poor
child. was ambitious to help him to be
great. At first he was tender and
thoughtful toward her. and then he
seemed to forget how fragile and sen.
sitive she was-he neglected her, and
grew more and more morose and
moody. He used to get very savage
about his models, and complain that it
was impossible to get any one with
intelligence enough to sit decently.