ll you what took place. I went out thinking of my picture,
of its composition, of the light effect, of the faces of the drowned
men, especially of the face of little Jack. I seemed to see him coming
into that belfry tower--yes, to greet the Skipper, all dripping from the
sea. But--but--no, Uniacke, I'll swear that, in my mind, I saw his face
as it used to be. That was natural, wasn't it? I imagined it white, with
wide, staring eyes, the skin wet and roughened with the salt water. But
that was all. So it couldn't have been my thought projected, because I
had never imagined.--"

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 sto