Blind Love

Presently steps were heard outside. The doctor rose and left the

room--but returned in a few minutes.

"The croque-morts have come," he said. "They are with the nurse

engaged upon their business. It seems revolting to the outside world.

To them it is nothing but the daily routine of work. By-the-way, I took

a photograph of his lordship in the presence of the nurse.

Unfortunately--but look at it----"

"It is the face of the dead man"--Lord Harry turned away. "I don't want

to see it. I cannot bear to see it. You forget--I was actually present

when--"

"Not when he died. Come, don't be a fool. What I was going to say was

this: The face is no longer in the least like you. Nobody who ever saw

you once even would believe that this is your face. The creature--he

has given us an unconscionable quantity of trouble--was a little like

you when he first came. I was wrong in supposing that this likeness was

permanent. Now he is dead, he is not in the least like you. I ought to

have remembered that the resemblance would fade away and disappear in

death. Come and look at him."

"No, no."

"Weakness! Death restores to every man his individuality. No two men

are like in death, though they may be like in life. Well. It comes to

this. We are going to bury Lord Harry Norland to-morrow, and we must

have a photograph of him as he lay on his deathbed."

"Well?"

"Well, my friend, go upstairs to your own room, and I will follow with

the camera."

In a quarter of an hour he was holding the glass against his sleeve.

"Admirable!" he said. "The cheek a little sunken--that was the effect

of the chalk and the adjustment of the shadows--the eyes closed, the

face white, the hands composed. It is admirable! Who says that we

cannot make the sun tell lies?"

As soon as he could get a print of the portrait, he gave it to Lord

Harry.

"There," he said, "we shall get a better print to-morrow. This is the

first copy."

He had mounted it on a frame of card, and had written under it the name

once borne by the dead man, with the date of his death. The picture

seemed indeed that of a dead man. Lord Harry shuddered.

"There," he said, "everything else has been of no use to us--the

presence of the sick man--the suspicions of the nurse--his death--even

his death--has been of no use to us. We might have been spared the

memory--the awful memory--of this death!"