all reach a climax. Yes, I will paint him last of all. Perhaps
he will come again and pose for me upon that grave." And he laughed as
he sat before his easel.

"What painter ever before had such a model?" he said to Uniacke.

And that night after supper, he got up from the table saying:

"I must go and see if Jack will give me a sitting to-night."

Uniacke rose also.

"Let me come with you," he said.

Sir Graham stopped with his hand on the door. There was a smile on his
lips, but his eyes were full of foreboding.

"Do you want to see Jack, then?" he asked, with a dreadful feigning of
jocularity. "But you are not a painter. You require no model, living or
dead." He burst again into a laugh.

"Let me come with you," the clergyman repeated doggedly.

Sir Graham made no objection, and they went out together.

The moon was now growing towards the full, but it was yet low in the
sky, and the night was but faintly lit, as a room is lit by a heavily
shaded lamp. Sir Graham's manner lost its almost piteous bluster as he
stood on the doorstep and felt the cold wind that blew from the wintry
sea. He set his lips, and his face twitched with nervous agitation as he
stole a furtive glance at the clergyman, whose soft hat was pulled down
low over his eyes as if to conceal their expression.

The two men walked forward slowly into the churchyard. Uniacke's heart
was beating with violence and his mind was full of acute anticipation.
Yet he would scarcely acknowledge even to himself the possibility of
such an appearance as that affirmed by Sir Graham. They drew near to the
grave of little Jack, round which the chill winds of night blew gently
and the dull voices of the waves sang hushed and murmurous nocturnes.
Uniacke was taken by an almost insurmountable inclination to pause, even
to turn back. Their progress to this grave seemed attended by some
hidden and ghastly danger. He laid his hand upon the painter's arm, as
if to withhold him from further advance.

"What is it?" Sir Graham asked, speaking almost in a whisper.

"Nothing," said Uniacke, dropping his hand.

Sir Graham's eyes were full of sombre questioning as they met his.
Moving slowly on, the two men stood at length by Jack's grave. The moon
rose languidly, and shed a curious and ethereal twilight upon the stone
at its head. The blurred place from which Uniacke had struck the name
was plainly visible. Instinctively the clergyman's eyes sought the spot
and stared