In the late afternoon Sir Graham showed him an admirable study of the Skipper, standing with upraised arms as if ringing the church bells, his blue eyes fixed as if he scanned a distant horizon, or searched the endless plains of the sea for his lost companions.
"Forgive my abruptness this morning," the painter said. "I was afraid your presence would scare the Skipper."
Uniacke murmured a word in admiration of the painting.
"And to-morrow," he added.
"To-morrow I shall start on the picture," Sir Graham replied.
After supper he drew aside the blind and looked forth.
"The moon is rising," he said. "I shall go out for a little while. I want to observe light effects, and to think over what I am going to do. My mind is full of it, Uniacke; I think it should be a great picture."
His eyes were shining with excitement. He went out. He was away a long time. The clock in the rectory parlour struck eleven, half-past eleven, he did not return. Beginning to feel anxious, Uniacke went to the window and looked out. The night was quiet and clear, bathed in the radiance of the moon, which defined objects sharply. The dark figure of the painter was approaching the house from the church. Uniacke, who did not wish to be thought curious, drew hastily back from the window and dropped the blind. In a moment Sir Graham entered. He was extremely pale and looked scared. He shut the door very hastily, almost as if he wished to prevent some one from entering after him. Then he came up to the fire without a word.
"You are late," Uniacke said, unpleasantly affected, but trying to speak indifferently.
"Late, am I? Why—what time is it?"