And then the Earl
not only heard by word of mouth as much as he wished to know, but,
their chat becoming more intimate, the schoolmaster drew upon paper
a sketch of the disfigured head, explaining with bated breath
various details in the representation.
'It was very strange and terrible!' said Lord Uplandtowers, taking
the sketch in his hand. 'Neither nose nor ears!'
A poor man in the town nearest to Knollingwood Hall, who combined
the art of sign-painting with ingenious mechanical occupations, was
sent for by Lord Uplandtowers to come to the Hall on a day in that
week when the Countess had gone on a short visit to her parents.
His employer made the man understand that the business in which his
assistance was demanded was to be considered private, and money
insured the observance of this request. The lock of the cupboard
was picked, and the ingenious mechanic and painter, assisted by the
schoolmaster's sketch, which Lord Uplandtowers had put in his
pocket, set to work upon the god-like countenance of the statue
under my lord's direction. What the fire had maimed in the original
the chisel maimed in the copy. It was a fiendish disfigurement,
ruthlessly carried out, and was rendered still more shocking by
being tinted to the hues of life, as life had been after the wreck.
Six hours after, when the workman was gone, Lord Uplandtowers looked
upon the result, and smiled grimly, and said:
'A statue should represent a man as he appeared in life, and that's
as he appeared.
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