LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1697, 29 July 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE TWO PAINTERS. [From the "South Australian Chronicle."] ( Concluded.) ' A pair cf old bootß which I have net worn for some weeks. They have lain under the bed ever since.' Seeing that Guthrie, however, had turned deadly pale, and was sinking back in his seat, with a look of horror imprinted on his features, Macfie changed his tone, and brought a glass of water, which ho presented with an appearance of great concern and anxiety to his speechless visitor. But Guthrie only shrank from him with a shudder, and shortly after took a hasty leave, and wandered up and down the Meadows behind in a greater agony of gri'.f at this discovery than he had felt at the last night's loss. In a perfect fever of excitement, he came to me at my own home, and wringing from mo a promise not to use what he was about to reveal against any one, he laid the discovery before mo, and piteouely implcred me to take no further steps towards the discovery of the criminal.

Now, had I only had tho criminal himself in my thoughts I would never have consented to such a step, but I had two other most potent reasons for my conduct. In the first place, I had discovered that at his home Macfie was believed never to have been out of tho house during the whole of the night previous from the hour of half-past eleven at night, and as I had no doubt this would be firmly sworn to, I scarcely hoped for a good case against him. But besides that, it was evident to me that Guthrie was now in (a state of excitement and grief closely bordering on madness, and out of pity for his condition, as well as in admiration of his noble generosity to the villain who had wronged him, I consented to his proposal. Still I found that, though intensely relieved, <iuthrie had still an itching denre to learn beyond a doubt that his suspicious of treacheiy wore sound, and a chance remark of my own at last suggested to him a curious plan whereby to effect the unravelment. In trying to quietly draw him away from his present trouble and grief, I chanced to say

1 Could you not renovate or repaint the picture in any as to bo ready to exhibit after all!' He shook his head with a sad smile.

* That is impossible—the picture is destroyed beyond remedy, and to paint one like it would take at least six months' hard work.'

' But would it not be a grand thing to at least disappoint the malicious being who has brought this misery upon ycu ?' I persisted. ' He evidently has planned it out, for some reason of his own, that you shall not exhibit this year at least. Could you not paint something, however roughly or crudely, which might earn you applause and bring him chagrin, in punishment for his crime.' ' I tave it!' he suddenly cried, after a few moments' dubious thought. ' I have nearly a month yet, and by working night and day I might do it. A subject has just struck me, which I think I could do justice to — work at heart and soul —and I only wish that I may be able to execute it, and be at hand when this man's eye first falls upon it in the Exhibition. If ho has a soul at all, and a feeling of shame or compunction for his guilt, that should surely bring it up into his cheeks.'

Quite a change had come over his whole demeanor while speaking—his eye shone forth brightly, the lines of care had vanithed from his brow, and his cheek fairly glowed with enthusiasm as he warmly wrung my hand, and said I had put new life in him by my simplo suggestion. Little more was said, though he briefly put before me an outline of his plan, which I in turn will now proceed to lay before the reader in its matured form.

About two montbs'after these events, the first day of the annual Exhibition of the Scottish Society of Arts, came round, and among the first to obtain admittance w*re myself and John Guthrie. Leading me hastily through the pressing crowd to the central gallery he dr3W me forward to a picture in a prominent position and in a_ good light, which both on the frame and in the catalogue bore the title, 'Saving the Critics Tboublb.' The scene represented Guthrie's own humble studio by night—the window thrown open—a muffled intruder b.-fore the easel, slashing with remorseless hand and knife at the picture—the bedroom door thrown open, and Guthrie himself standing in amazemeut and alarm on the threshold. Upon the figure of the muffled intruder the artist had evidentiy expended the most painstaking efforts, for dim as was the light in the whole scene tho features were" unmistakably these of Angus Macfie, convulsed by fury and hate, mingled with alarm at the sudden appearance of the artist whose work he was mutilating. Quite a crowd was soon collected about the picture, tho bold execution, vivid outline, and striking character of which seemed to attract general attention and elicit commendation. So long were these marks of favor that Guthrie himself, blushing like a girl, was at last forced to leave me alone by the picture. Scarcely five minutes after he had vanished in the orowd, a vo!ce behind me, which struck me as familiar, caused me to look round, when I at once recognised Macfie escorting a young lady, smilingly pointing out the vations beauties and defects of the pictures, and now moving directly for that whioh I wa3 so deeply interested in watching.

Behind him at the same moment I saw Guthrie, pale and excited, and with one hand pressed hard on his bresst to suppress the excitement and anxiety he felt for the issue.

Pressing boldly through the circle of admirers, Macfie smilingly referred to his catalogue, "Savins the Critics Trouble," _he lightly read, turning to his fair companion, and raising his eyes for the first time to the picture ' This, Miss Forrester, 19 a picture —Good heavens! what's that?' and with an instantaneous blanching of the feature?, he Btarted back, dropping the catalogue from one hand and the lady's hand from his arm at the same moment, and looking so petrified with terror [and amaeeniont that I fully expected him to diop on the floor in a faint.

But the young lady, who in a vague way had heard of the terrible loss Guthrie had suffered, was startled to ; and, without noticing the exclamation and guilty pallor of her companion, moved closer and closer to the picture, with her eyes brightening and opening in curiosity and wonderment. ' This is very strange—wonderful almost,' she simply remarked at last, with her eyes still fixed on the picture. 'Who is the painter of the picture? I—l could a 1 mot t believe, Mr Macfie, that that terrible figure —that hateful man in the studio was you ' ' Away ! away ! Curses on you all! ' shouted Macfie, rudely shoving the young lady from him, and sighting Guthrie fcr the first time. ' I wish I had sent it through him instead ! ' And with an oath he was gone through the crowd and out of the building, to the amazement of all but Guthrie and myself. I would have intercepted the flying figure very swiftly, but just as I was making the clutch_ Guthrie seized my arm, with the hoarse whisper—- ' Your promiso ! Remember your promise! Let him go ; besides she is here, and you know they are related in a distant way. Iu mercy to me lot him go scathlew,'

* What does it all mean ?' cried Miss Forrester, in confusion and tears, readily taking the proffered arm of Guthrie, and retiring in haste from the spot. 'Mr Macfie never acted so rudely or strangely to me before, and shall never do so again. He must be either mad or '

' Neither, my dear Miss Forrester,' quietly put in Guthrie, _ with beaming eye and flashed cheek, saving her from x>rocounciog the hateful word. 'He is only duapp anted. He sees that I have taken the ii-st place at the Exhibition after all. Perhaps you will remember what was to be the reward ? ' A soft blush stole over the cheeks of the young lady, and then, in a voico almost inaudible, she said—'Yes, the foremost wa3 to bo my knighterrant for the season ; but J Inuw all along which it was to be.'

Macfie disappeared from Edinburgh the same night that he rushed eo hastily from the picture representing his own guilt ; but it was not until after she was the ha;-:py wife of John Guthrie that Fanny Forrester knew the real story of the scrap of paint and the picture entitled ' Saving the Critics Trouble.'