"Possibly it will--possibly," said the Doctor, still surveying
Gervase blandly through his round glasses; "but it isn't the first
time I have heard of painters who unconsciously produce other
faces than those of their sitters. I distinctly remember a case in
point. A gentleman, famous for his charities and general
benevolence, had his portrait painted by a great artist for
presentation to the town-hall of his native place, and the artist
was quite unable to avoid making him unto the likeness of a
villain. It was quite a distressing affair; the painter was
probably more distressed than anybody about it, and he tried by
every possible means in his power to impart a truthful and noble
aspect to the countenance of the man who was known and admitted to
be a benefactor to his race. But it was all in vain: the portrait
when finished was the portrait of a stranger and a scoundrel. The
people for whom it was intended declared they would not have such
a libel on their generous friend hung up in their town-hall. The
painter was in despair, and there was going to be a general
hubbub, when, lo and behold the 'noble' personage himself was
suddenly arrested for a brutal murder committed twelve years back.
He was found guilty and hanged, and the painter kept the portrait
that had so remarkably betrayed the murderer's real nature, as a
curiosity ever afterwards."

"Is that a fact?" inquired a man who was seated at the other side
of the table, and who had listened with great interest to the
story.

"A positive fact," said the Doctor. "One of those many singular
circumstances which occur in life, and which are beyond all
explanation."