The record-union., 1892-05-07

had nothing particular TO do, so sent
word around to Dick that l should turn
up, having first made sure that Teddy
O'Brien, whose studio was in the same
block, would go also. Quiller we knew
of old, as all the world knew him-a man
who had seen everything, done every
thing, been everywhere-and these occa-
sional visits of his were a perpetual ter
ror TO Graves. Why he paid them we
never knew. There was kind of tradi-
tonal friendship between the families
certainly, but Quiller was man who
scotfed at tradition. He was in every
way out of sympathy with a set of ardent
and impecunious painters. AS journalist,
as traveller, as a man of the world, he had
outllved his enthusiasms. Life contained
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 ill-luck as the
punch circulated to light on vein of hu-
morous stories, at which we laughed con-
sumedly ourselves without eyoking 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 began
to rummage about among pile OF old
canvases.
Quiller resumed his seat and sat half
absently, alf-contemptuously watching
US as we turned over the palntings-pos-
sibly he was amused by our jargon of
tone" and quality" and the rest. At
length picked up from the heap paint
ing that caught my eye and propped it on
the easel near the lamp. 1t was quite un-
like Graves usual work, and | stood
looking at it for moment, not quite
knowing why l did so. 1t was the head
OF young woman, pale and slightly
worn. She was leaning a little forward,
looking out of the picture, her mouth
parted by slight, tremulous smile. and
in her eyes a look that was strange
mingling of emotions, as if a new hope
and happiness had come into life of sOr-
row-a look half wistful, half exultant
| turned to Graves, and saw that Quiller
had got up and was standing gazing at
the picture with a look of fascination or
of fear. Here at last was something that
interested him.
where did you get that?" he asked
aDEVPbiy' EWbst do Won think of its,, said Graves
slowly.
It's good head,' said Teddy o. Brien.
"lt's a wonderful model said I.
"A face to haunt one" said Quiller, in
tone quite unlike his ordinary cynical
one.
"Ah, that's it," said Graves. Its
more than human"
"Who is it?' said Quiller, in his abrupt
way again.
"'Pon my soul 1 can't tell you, for
don't know. It's queer story, and one
Hm almost ashamed to ask you to be-
lieve. | sha'n't blame you if you think
Pm 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.
" went into Cornwall, as you know,
at the end Of the Summer, and after loaf
ing round Newlyn for while, | went to
the south coast, to try and find some
place that had been less painted. 1 stayed
q few days at Polperro, but it was all SO
much like the smaller exhibitions in
town that l could not stand it, and
finally landed at -" (naming a 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 a
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 'parlor,' which opened
one into the other, had view of the
loveliest little harbor in the world. The
place was just what L wanted, and the
rent was absurd-only 9l0 year; so
took it for six months, on the understand
ing | was to keep it on if l chose.
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 my canvases at night.
{ when October set in cold and wet,
had to do some work indoors, and then it
was l began to think there was some
thing queer about the place. One day
had been painting young girl from the
village, the granddaughter of my ancient
dame, and l was putting few touches TO
the background, when | heard a sound
close behind me, like very gentle sigh.
1 looked 'round quickly, but there was
no one in sight-no one in the room, in
fact. I went on painting, with an uncom-
Portable feeling of something uncanny.
and in few minutes the sound was re-
peated actually at my ear. | dropped
my brush with the start l made. and then
1 went all through the house to see if any
one was i'll it. l knew than 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
soul near the place. locked up care
fully that night when l went back to the
inn. and in the solace of glass of grog
and pipe before went to bed | almost
persuaded myself there was nothing in
it. In the morning / had really forgot
ten it, fancy; but when L got back
to the studio a curious thing had hap
pened Right across the face of my picture
were a couple of brush marks, such as YOU
might make if you were trying the tooth
of canvas, completely spelling my
work of the day before. l called up
Annie and her grandmother, and accused
them of playing tricks. They were in
dignant at the idea, and finally had TO
apologize for my suspicious. We searched
the house together, but could find no
means by which any one could have en-
tered and at last | was obliged to con-
clude that l must have done the damage
myself when l let my brushes fall. In a
few days, however, it became impossible
to explain the thing by this or any other
natural means; constantly my canvases
We're 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 it with a personality, and to wish
had some means of comforting the poor
soul who had no other language in which
to express her despair. did not think it
was she who had defaced my canyases,
however, and took to carrying my work
back with me at night to the inn, where
they were secure from interference.
81 suppose the thing would have ended
there but for an accident. There was a