Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 434 | Page 7

I was calm--when the pale face, blind staring eyes, and
dripping hair, ceased for awhile to pursue and haunt me, the low, sweet
voice and gentle face came back, and I knew she lived, though all
denied it. But look, it is her very image!' he added fiercely, his glaring
eyes flashing from the portrait to my face alternately.
'Whose image?'
'Whose image!--Why, Mrs Irwin's, to be sure. You yourself admitted it
just now.' I was so confounded, that for several minutes I remained
stupidly and silently staring at the man. At length I said: 'Well, there is
a likeness, though not so great as I imagined'----
'It is false!' he broke in furiously. 'It is her very self.'
'We'll talk of that to-morrow. You are ill, overexcited, and must go to
bed. I hear Dr Garland's voice below: he shall come to you.'
'No--no--no!' he almost screamed. 'Send me no doctors; I hate doctors!

But I'll go to bed--since--since you wish it; but no doctors! Not for the
world!' As he spoke, he shrank coweringly backwards, out of the room;
his wavering, unquiet eyes fixed upon mine as long as we remained
within view of each other: a moment afterwards, I heard him dart into
his chamber, and bolt and double-lock the door.
It was plain that lunacy, but partially subdued, had resumed its former
mastery over the unfortunate gentleman. But what an extraordinary
delusion! I took a candle, and examined the picture with renewed
curiosity. It certainly bore a strong resemblance to Mrs Irwin: the
brown, curling hair, the pensive eyes, the pale fairness of complexion,
were the same; but it was scarcely more girlish, more youthful, than the
young matron was now, and the original, had she lived, would have
been by this time approaching to thirty years of age! I went softly down
stairs and found, as I feared, that George Irwin was gone. My wife
came weeping out of the death-chamber, accompanied by Dr Garland,
to whom I forthwith related what had just taken place. He listened with
attention and interest; and after some sage observations upon the
strange fancies which now and then take possession of the minds of
monomaniacs, agreed to see Mr Renshawe at ten the next morning. I
was not required upon duty till eleven; and if it were in the physician's
opinion desirable, I was to write at once to the patient's uncle, Mr
Oxley.
Mr Renshawe was, I heard, stirring before seven o'clock, and the
charwoman informed me, that he had taken his breakfast as usual, and
appeared to be in cheerful, almost high spirits. The physician was
punctual: I tapped at the sitting-room door, and was desired to come in.
Mr Renshawe was seated at a table with some papers before him,
evidently determined to appear cool and indifferent. He could not,
however, repress a start of surprise, almost of terror, at the sight of the
physician, and a paleness, followed by a hectic flush, passed quickly
over his countenance. I observed, too, that the portrait was turned with
its face towards the wall.
By a strong effort, Mr Renshawe regained his simulated composure,
and in reply to Dr Garland's professional inquiry, as to the state of his

health, said with a forced laugh: 'My friend, Waters, has, I suppose,
been amusing you with the absurd story that made him stare so last
night. It is exceedingly droll, I must say, although many persons,
otherwise acute enough, cannot, except upon reflection, comprehend a
jest. There was John Kemble, the tragedian, for instance, who'----
'Never mind John Kemble, my dear sir,' interrupted Dr Garland. 'Do,
pray, tell us the story over again. I love an amusing jest.'
Mr Renshawe hesitated for an instant, and then said with reserve,
almost dignity of manner: 'I do not know, sir'--his face, by the way, was
determinedly averted from the cool, searching gaze of the physician--'I
do not know, sir, that I am obliged to find you in amusement; and as
your presence here was not invited, I shall be obliged by your leaving
the room as quickly as maybe.'
'Certainly--certainly, sir. I am exceedingly sorry to have intruded, but I
am sure you will permit me to have a peep at this wonderful portrait.'
Renshawe sprang impulsively forward to prevent the doctor reaching it.
He was too late; and Dr Garland, turning sharply round with the
painting in his hand, literally transfixed him in an attitude of surprise
and consternation. Like the Ancient Mariner, he held him by his
glittering eye, but the spell was not an enduring one. 'Truly,' remarked
Dr Garland, as he found the kind of mesmeric influence he had exerted
beginning to fail, 'not so very bad a chance resemblance; especially
about the eyes and mouth'----
'This is very extraordinary