Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1891-03-25
4 PHANTOM PORTRAIT.

gong 20 dlnc with me at the CluD. L can
stand an evening of him alone, but if you
and Teddy O'Brien will support me with
pipes and rotations [ think we shall be a
match for him. Come early and I'm your
friend f0T life. DICK GRAVES"
[ had nothing particular to do, SO l
sent word round to Dick that [ 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 every where-and these
occasional visits OF his were a perpetual
terror to Graves. Why he paid them
we never knew. There was kind of
traditional friendship between the fami-
lies certainly, but CUTLER was a man
who scoffed at tradition. He was in
every way out of sympathy with set
of ardent and impecunious painters.
As Journalist. as traveller, as man of the
world, he had outlived his enthusiasm.
life contained no new experiences, no
surprises for him. It was only a mo-
notonous round of the known and the
expected.
host, was not at his best that evening.
Eew as nervous at first and rather ST.
dent, leaving the burden of talk to
Teddy and myself: and we had the i'll
luck, as the punch circulated, to light on
a vein of humorous stories at which we
laughed consumedly ourselves without
eVOkino even smile from the guest
of the evening.
"Will you fellows look over my Corn
ish sketches ?'' said Graves, suddenly
jumping up in desperation. 81 think
there are some you have not SEEM
and he began to rumage about among
pile Of old canvas IS.
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 tone" and quality" and the rest.
At length / picked up from the heap
painting that caught my eye and
propped it up on the easel near the
lamp 1t was quite unlike Graves
usual work, and l stood looking at it ior
a moment, not quite knowing why |
did so. 1t was the head of young
woman, pale and slightly worn. She
was leaning little forward, looking out
OF the picture, her mouth parted by
slight tremulous smile, and in her
c1y SS Il 1OOh l1lSlI W do IL
OF emotions, as if a new hope and hap
piness had come into life o. sorrow-a
look half wistful, half exultant. I
turned to speak to Graves and saw that
CUTLER had got up and was standing
gazing at the picture with look of fas-
,cination or of fear. Here at last was
something that interested him.
Where did you get that?" he asked
abruptly.
"What do you think of it?" said
Graves slowly.
"It's a good head" said Teddy
O'Brien.
Its a wonderful model" said 1.
ga face to haunt one," said CUTLER,
IN tone unlike his ordinary cynical
"Ah, that's it," said Graves. Its
more than human"
"Who is it?' said CUTLER, in his
abrupt way again.
Pom my soul can't tell you, for [
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 humbugging.
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.
Il went into Cornwall, as you know,
at the end of the summer, and after
doafing round Newlyn for a while, /
went to the south coast to try and find
some place that had been less painted.
z stayed few days at Polperro, but it
was all so much like the smaller exhibit
tons in town that | could not stand it,
and | finally landed at--,"-naming
small seaport town-"where there were
mo painters and not many visitors. [
stayed at the Ship Inn,' and looked
round 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 q studio, for there was
wall knocked out at one side and a good
sized room added, with a high north
light. On the south the kitchen and
,parlor,' which opened one into the
other, had q view of the loveliest little
narbor in the world. Th place was just
what / wanted, and the rent was absurd
only so year; so [ took it for six
months, on the understanding | was to
keep it on If / chose. [ bought a 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
2ittle time at the studio, only taking in
my canvases at night. When October
set in cold and wet | had to do some
work indoors, and then it was | began
to think there was something queer
about the place. One day l had been
painting young girl from the village,
the granddaughter of my ancient
dame, and was putting few touches
10 the background when | heard a
sound close behind me, like very
gentle sigh. [ looked round quickly,
butthere was no one in sight-no one in
the room, in fact. / went on painting
with an uncomfortable feeling of some
thing uncanny, and in few minutes
the sound was repeated actually at my
ear. L dropped my brush with the
start made, and thenI wentall through
the house to see if any one was in it. /
knew that Annie and her grandmother
had gone home, and 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 carefully that
night, when [ went back to the inn and