The record-union., 1892-05-07

Dan = FRANCISCO, 2I2 Market St
brushes and palette They had been
there, that is to say, for now there stood
IN front OF the easel, with his back to me,
tail man, with a stoop in his shoulders,
and dark gray hair; he had my palette in
his hand and he was painting with sort
OF nervous intensity that it thrilled one
to see. l looked to see what he was
painting, for he kept glancing over to-
wards the patch in the moonlight. but at
first | could see nothing. Then | heard
that little gentle sigh, but not, it seemed
to me, so utterly weary and heartbrOken
as formerly; 1t was sigh almost OF con-
tent. And as | pondered on this my eyes
seemed to become more accustomed to
the light; and there in the moon
light, on the very chair in which Annie
had sat, was a woman, leaning slightly
forward, young, beautiful and very pale
but you have seen the picture. Hooked
at her now more than at him. only glanc-
ing now and then to see how the work
went on. AS | watched her the face
changed, and the SorrOWful, worn look
gave place to kind of wondering happi-
nesS-he has not quite got il in the pic
ture; it was as if the feeling were so in
tense it made a kind of radiance 'rorind
her. l don't know how long | watched.
AT last sound made me turn and look
at the painter; he had thrown down the
palette and brushes, and was standing
looking at his work; then he turned
slowly and held out his hands with sup
pIlcating gesture. She had risen, too, and
came a step forward with a wonderful
light in her eyes, and just as she put her
hands In his cloud passed over the
moon and blotted out the figures from
my sight When it passed, the patch OF
moonlight was empty and there was only
the painted head and the palette lying on
the 1ioor to convince me | had not been
dreaming. After that must have fallen
asleep, for it was broad daylight when |
next remember anything, and heard the
welcome and familiar sound of my old
woman preparing my breakfast. The
smell of frying pilchards was retreshingly
mundane, and | gotup stiffand sore from
my uneasy couch, prepared to find that
my phantoms Of the night before had
been nothing but dream. No; there was
the picture, just as you see it, and on the
floor were the palette and brushes. l
picked them up, and looked curiously at
them. If you'll believe me, l could never
make up my mind to clean the paint off
that palette, and it hangs there just as
that fellow left it,
We sat silent for some minutes when
Graves had done. l confess the story i'm
pressed me good deal, and glancing up
/ could see that Quiller was strangely
moved.
'And did you never have any explana-
ton Of the thing?" said l at last.
NO" said Graves. 81 never had any
explanation, and l don't suppose 1 ever
shall.''
Quiller had risen and stood near the
fire.
II think can give it," be said, knock
ing the ashes out of his pipe.
Graves stared at him; no one spoke,
and he went on, as if unwillingly:
THAT must have been brakes cottage
you had; he was before your time-I dare
say you never heard of him. He lived
there with his wite-and that's her por
trait"
Graves stare OF surprise became more
profound, and Teddy and / looked on in
silent wonder. Quiller went on, speak
ing like man that has been carried quite
out of himself:
There was tragic story told about
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
sensitive she was-he neglected her. and
grew more mOrOse and moody. He used
to get very savage about his models, and
complain that II was impossible to get
anyone with intelligence enough to sit
decently. Once his wife asked him
whether she could not sometimes help
him by sitting, and he only laughed at
her, l remember. 'You-your he said
that was all. Then the poor child had an
illness, which, if she had been happier.
might have ended differently, and been
new happiness to both of them; but she
was too worn out with sorrow and disap-
pointment, and in the end she died. In
her deilrlum she was always calling to
her husband: Let me help you, let me
be of some use; only once, dear; paint
me only once; and poor Drake, who
woke up to a sense of his loss, was heart
broken at his inability to satisfy her. The
tenderest and most passionate tones Of
his voice never reached her, and she died
without ever knowing him again. After
that Drake was q changed man; he
seemed to have only one idea-to paint
the portrait of his wife. Canvas after
canvas he spoiled, and when l went to see
him he would say: she cannot rest until
l have done it. must succeed; sooner or
later l must satisfy her. At length he
became so uninangeable, eating nothing.
and spending long, sleepless nights walk
ing about the country, that his friends
came and took him away. He died some
months after in an asylum.
''By Jover' said Teddy O'Brien, when
Quiller had finished, and then relapsed
into silence.
1 looked at Graves, but he was lost in
wonder too deep for words.
THE portraits very like her." said
Quiller, with u strange awe in his tone.
Pm glad poor Drake succeeded at last
''Y on think" said ], and broke of.
Quiller was pitting on his coat. lie
answered my unspoken question with
solemnity for which / was not prepared.
For twenty-five years those two poor
ghosts have been waiting their oppor-
tunity. Let us be thankful that in the
end they found it.'
He seemed to forget to take leave of rs
in any way, and went without another
word. AS the door closed each of MS
drew deep breath of relief. Dick raised
his head with an air of stupetaction
That's a rum story" said Teddy
O'Brien; why did you never tell it be-
fore?'
The rummiest thing about it is the Sc
quel," said |. "Dick, old man, is your
part true?"
81 don't know said Dick; II begin TO
think it must be-"
Great Scotland Yard - said Teddy
O'Brien, did you make it up?'
Every word of lt-on the spur of the
moment"
Ibid you know
"Not a word. Quiller seemed struck
by that picture, and it was the only sign
of human interest he had shown. so +
thought | would humor him. / didn't
mean a ghost story when L began, but it
somehow developed into that. / would
have given a good deal to take raise out
of him, but / never hoped for anything so
complete as this"
1T was curious coincidence that Won
should have taken brakes cottage" said
Mr.. O'Bren.