Part 12 (2/2)

He was evidently engrossed by his own reflections. His eyes had an inward expression. His voice died in a murmur, almost like the murmur of one who babbles in sleep.

”Never had imagined what?” said Uniacke, sharply.

”Oh, forgive me. I cannot understand it. As I paced in the churchyard, thinking of my picture, and watching the moon and the shadows cast by the church and by the stones of the tombs, I came to that grave by the wall.”

”The grave of the boy I told you about?” said Uniacke with an elaborate indifference.

”Yes, the boy.”

”Well?”

”I suppose I stood there for a few minutes, or it may have been longer.

I can't tell at all. I don't think I was even aware that I was no longer walking. I was entirely wrapped up in my meditations, I believe. I saw my picture before me, the Skipper, the dripping sailors--Jack first. I saw them quite distinctly with my mental vision. And then, by degrees, somehow those figures in the picture all faded into darkness, softly, gradually, till only one was left--Jack. He was still there in the picture. The moonlight through the narrow belfry window fell on him. It seemed to make the salt drops sparkle, almost like jewels, in his hair, on his clothes. I looked at him,--mentally, still. And, while I looked, the moonlight, I thought, grew stronger. The belfry seemed to fade away.

The figure of Jack stood out in the light. It grew larger--larger. It reached the size of life. And then, as I stared upon it, the face altered before my eyes. It became older, less childish, more firm and manly--but oh, Uniacke! a thousand times more horrible.”

”How? How?”

”Why, it became puffy, bloated, dropsical. The eyes were glazed and bloodshot. On the lips there was foam. The fingers of the hands were twisted and distorted. The teeth grinned hideously. The romance of death dropped away. The filthy reality of death stood before me, upon the grave of that boy.”

”You imagined it,” muttered Uniacke.

He spoke without conviction.

”I did not. I saw it. For now I knew that I was no longer thinking of my picture. I looked around me and saw the small clouds and the night, the moon in the pale sky, the black church, this house, the graves like creatures lying side by side asleep. I saw them all. I heard the dull wash of the sea. And then I looked again at that grave, and on it stood Jack, the dead thing I sent to death, bloated and silent, staring upon me. Silent--and yet I seemed to feel that it said, 'This is what I am.

Paint me like this. Look at what the sea has done to me! Look--look at what the sea has done!'--Uniacke! Uniacke!”

He sank down into a chair and stared before him with terrible eyes. A shudder ran over the clergyman, but he said, in a voice that he tried to make calm and consolatory,

”Of course it was your fancy, Sir Graham. You had conjured up the figures in your picture. There was nothing unnatural in your seeing one--the one you had known in life--more distinctly than the others.”

”I had not known it like that. I had never imagined anything so distorted, so horrible, tragic and yet almost grotesque, a thing for the foolish to--to laugh at, ugh! Besides, it stood there. It was actually there on that grave, as if it had risen out of that grave, Uniacke.”

”Your fancy.”

Uniacke spoke with no conviction, and his lips were pale.

”I say it is not. The thing--Jack, come to that!--was there. Had you been with me, you must have seen it as I did.”

Uniacke shook his head.

”Believe me, Sir Graham,” he exclaimed, ”you ought to go from here. The everlasting sound of the sea--the presence of the Skipper--your idea for this terrible picture--”

”Terrible! Yes, I see it must be terrible. My conception--how wrong it was! I meant to make death romantic, almost beautiful. And it is like that. To-morrow--to-morrow--ah, Jack! I can paint you now!”

He sprang up and hurried from the room. Uniacke heard him pacing up and down above stairs till far into the night.

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