la Place now; he knew that a few moments more only remained to him.
"You do not ask what they are," he said, with reproach, "and you
will probably add it to my other iniquities if I tell you. Yet, Lady
Anstiss, I must tell you."
His manner was strangely eager; she wished that she could feel more
annoyed at it than she did.
"One reason is because when I leave Brussels I feel like the moth who
goes out into the dark night and who longs to be fluttering his wings
still round the light that dazzled him, that would have scorched him if
he could have reached it. And the other--may I tell you the other?"
"You have not waited for my permission so far," she answered, half
petulantly, half relentingly.
"There is no time to wait," he said; "the other is that I have added to
my failure an unnecessary piece of stupidity which I deplore, and which
is all the more aggravating because it is not yet irretrievable."
"What do you mean, Mr. Berend?" Her voice sounded softened even to
herself; yet she had not quite intended it.
"I mean that it is in your power to do me an inestimable service; to
soften my disgrace, and give me, in fact, another chance with the
powers that be. I wrote a note--the note of which I spoke to you--to
your father, on a private matter; and at the same time I was copying
an important and strictly private paper for my chief. An important and
strictly private paper is now missing, and the question is, could it
by any carelessness have been placed in the envelope directed to Lord
Westfaling. If so----" He made an expressive gesture of hopelessness.
"But what can I do?" She looked at him in real astonishment. This
strange young man had the faculty of exciting interest, certainly, as
well as displeasure.
[Illustration: "'IT IS IN YOUR POWER TO SOFTEN MY DISGRACE.'"]
"You can allow me to open my own letter--in your presence--to seal it
up again, after taking out the accidental enclosure if it is there, and
so to retrieve what will otherwise be a very disastrous piece of bad
luck."
"I do not see how it would be possible for me to do this," she said,
after a moment's thought; "my father returns at ten to-morrow; I should
find it difficult to explain it to him, to give him a sufficient reason
for having ventured to interfere with his letters."
"If you would allow me to call and say good-bye to you at a quarter to
ten," he pleaded, "in any case it would be a favour that I should prize
immensely, and it is the last I shall ever ask of you."
It was extraordinary! This was in reality only the third time she had
seen him, yet he was speaking to her with all the force and fervour of
a long-tried lover.
And the amazement she felt at him was equalled by that which she felt
at herself; for, to her own surprise, she was neither indifferent nor
resentful. There was a magnetic force about him which carried all
before it. They had turned into the Rue de la Place; a moment more and
they must part.
"A mere formal visit of farewell," Mr. Berend urged. "Lady Anstiss, you
do not know what it means to me, or you would not hesitate. It is not
only my career--it is my life!"
The carriage had stopped--the footman had opened the door; before she
had time to answer, Mr. Berend had descended and was handing her out.
"Then I will call shortly before ten to-morrow," he said, in a clear
voice, "to see if you have any messages for England. Good night, Lady
Anstiss."
He was away up the street, and she was in her own boudoir before she
realised that she had tacitly granted his request.
And the feeling of annoyance with him that had been hers a few hours
before was gone; in its place was one of pity for this daring young man
whose essay in diplomacy had come to an untimely end.
He was of course nothing--less than nothing to her, but it would seem
too unkind to refuse to see him in the morning.
She went to sleep at last, still undecided as to what she would or
would not do.
But Mr. Julius Berend was troubled by no misgivings, and when he
presented himself at a quarter to ten the next morning, a flicker of
satisfaction tempered the pensive sadness of his gaze.
She was in the garden, and as he stepped out through the French
windows towards her he thought--as he had thought on the night of his
introduction to her--that for such a face as this, and such a smile, he
would go to the end of the world.
And she? A grave sweetness had taken the place of her former manner to
him, and she said, after giving him her hand, "Mr. Berend, I have been
thinking over what you asked me, and--I think I can make it right with
my father. You will promise me, of course, not to take anything out of
the letter that ought to remain there?"
"I promise," he answered, quietly.
They went into the library together, and she brought him the tray of
letters that were awaiting Lord Westfaling's arrival.
He drew a long envelope from his pocket, an official one, already
addressed to Lord Westfaling.
[Illustration: "A LOOSE PAPER FLUTTERED TO THE FLOOR."]
"It matches this," he said, "the one I want to open."
There were two similar envelopes amongst the pile of correspondence.
He selected one, opened it, and, taking out the contents, shook them,
stooped to pick up a loose paper that fluttered from them to the floor,
and then placed them in the fresh envelope he had brought.
"May I seal this?" he asked. He had brought an official seal with him.
She brought him sealing wax and taper.
"Thanks," he said, when this was finished. "The paper was there, as I
thought. I am glad to have retrieved it."
He folded it up, and put it, with the old envelope, into his pocket.
"Good-bye." He was holding out his hand to her quite coolly.
She felt hurt, disappointed. She would have deprecated his gratitude
for the service she had rendered him, but the absence of its expression
chilled her.
"Good-bye." She gave him her hand.
He clasped it for an instant, then raised it, saying, "We did not
settle the vexed question of the ring. I am inclined, now I see it
again, to think it is a genuine old scarabæus."
A sudden access of shyness, strange and new, came to her. The coldness
of his voice did not match the warm clasp of his hand, the nearness of
his approach.
She felt that the colour was mounting to her cheeks, and turned her
face aside to hide it. And the next instant she felt the touch of his
lips on her hair just where it swept away from her white neck.
"Mr. Berend!" she said, breathlessly, and would have started away, but
he still held her hand.
"You can either never forgive me," he said, quickly, "or you must do so
fully and freely. There can be no half measures between us any longer."
She was speechless; a storm of mixed feelings possessed her.
"I set myself to win you from the first moment that I saw you," he
continued, impetuously. "The other task was nothing. I determined it
should be both or neither with me. The failure that I spoke of to you
last night is redeemed, and I am no longer under a cloud. It was a
question of my word, and I have kept it. But for you I should not have
done so. My fate is in your hands entirely."
Still no answer.
He drew her a little closer. "I have seen you four times," he went
on, "and each time I have said to myself, 'There is only one woman in
the world for me, and she is so sweet and lovely and perfect, that I
dare only say good-bye to her--unless she tells me to stay.' Anstiss,
good-bye!"
There was a stir in the house, and steps approaching in the hall. Lord
Westfaling had returned, and was coming to the library. Mr. Berend
released the hand he held, and Lady Anstiss turned in confusion to
greet her father at the door.
"This is Mr. Berend, of the United States Embassy, father," she said.
"He has brought a letter for you. It is there amongst your other ones."
She could not look at him; she was still in a tumult of indecision. Mr.
Julius Berend had shaken hands with her father, apologising for his
early call, and was saying to her--
"I am going to town this afternoon on business. May I call again at a
more opportune moment on my return?"
She lifted her eyes to his, and he saw that he had won her.
"Yes," she said, simply; and with a bow he was gone.
"A nice-looking young fellow," commented her father, leisurely turning
over his letters. "Son of Max Berend, I suppose. Very clever and smart,
I am told."
* * * * *
"I told you you could not do better than pin your faith on Berend,"
said Sir Frederic Rawnsley to the United States Minister, a few days
afterwards. "He managed that little affair for you very cleverly; and
seems to be managing another little affair very cleverly, too."
He put up his eyeglass to watch the greeting between Mr. Julius Berend
and Lady Anstiss Carlyon.
"Lady Lomond tells me it is almost a settled thing," he remarked. "And,
after all, Anstiss might do a good deal worse. Berend will never stop
half way; he is bound to reach the top of the tree."
[Illustration: "SHE LIFTED HER EYES TO HIS, AND HE SAW THAT HE HAD WON
HER."]
[Illustration:
LITTLE MAID]
You've crept in the dusk to my knee, little maid,
And you've something you want to ask me, little maid.
In your babyland eyes
I'm so clever and wise,
And you're certain as certain can be, little maid,
If there's anyone knows what is right, little maid,
It is I--you are sure of that quite, little maid;
And I wish, pretty elf,
I believed in myself
As you do in me, dear, to-night, little maid.
You have heard that the angels have wings, little maid.
Was it wisdom to tell you such things, little maid?
You're too sweet and too small
Yet to understand all
Or one half the surprises time brings, little maid.
But you've heard and are anxious to know, little maid,
If sleepy at bedtime they grow, little maid,
If they take off their wings
With their everyday things,
When to by-bye in heaven they go, little maid.
Your lips to my cheek then you lay, little maid,
And you wonder I've nothing to say, little maid;
But I couldn't reply
Were I even to try
For the space of a year and a day, little maid.
You give me a shake of the head, little maid,
And I feel there's no more to be said, little maid;
But I know this is true,
That our earthly ones do--
And it's time one was tucked up in bed, little maid.
PHOTOGRAPHIC LIES.
PROVING THE USELESSNESS OF THE CAMERA AS A WITNESS.
There is a popular notion abroad that the art of photography is a
first cousin to George Washington, and cannot tell a lie. The wider
knowledge of the art, due to its adoption by hundreds of thousands
of amateurs as a hobby, has largely shown the fallaciousness of this
belief. Yet photographic fakes of a most absurdly simple nature still
continue to impose upon the credulity of thousands of people, among the
number being many who have gone so far as to accept such inventions as
irrefutable evidence, in their ignorance of the possibilities of this,
perhaps, the most elastic of all arts.
A striking instance of this is seen in the so-called "spirit"
photographs, published some years ago by Mr. W. T. Stead. The
brilliant editor of the _Review of Reviews_, a deep believer in spirit
manifestations, argued that these photographs afforded the most
conclusive proofs of the playful habit spooks have of returning to the
scenes of their earthly labours.
He said that they were on the photographic plate, and, that being so,
they must have been there "in the flesh," or "in the fog," as Mark
Twain has it.
Unfortunately, this apparently conclusive argument was completely upset
by Mr. Labouchere, who possessed a greater knowledge of the ways of
photographs and photographers than his colleague, and explained how it
was done.
As a matter of fact, the photographic ghost is an easily explained
phenomenon, and any amateur can turn out creepy spooks by the thousand
at the expense of a little time and patience.
A photograph is absolutely inadmissible as evidence of anything, unless
it is proved conclusively that it was in nowise faked after being taken.
The faking can be carried on almost to any extent. In fact, nothing is
impossible to the clever knight of the camera.
If a photographer wished to show that you were in a particular
street at a certain time, he could do it with the greatest ease,
notwithstanding that you were a thousand miles away at the moment in
question.
[Illustration: A RAILWAY IN HOLBORN, LONDON!]
If he wished to prove that your dog or pony had trespassed on his
flowerbeds, it would be a simple matter to do so, and if cleverly done
I doubt if the "fake" could be detected.
[Illustration: A GHOST WHICH WAS NOT A GHOST.]
Anyway, I have seen many faked photographs that experienced
photographers themselves were at a loss to explain.
In this article I propose to give some examples of extraordinary faked
photographs, and explain to some extent how they are done. In each case
they have been specially prepared for the illustration of this article,
and amateur photographers who read this might do worse than copy them.
Many of these required considerable technical skill and inventive
resource.
These qualities are exhibited to a high degree in the illustration of
the railway in Holborn, for while we are glad that an electric train is
to run _under_ Holborn, no living or dead man has ever seen a train in
Holborn itself. Such fakes occupy a considerable time in manufacture.
While the explanation is simple, the carrying out of this fake was a
matter of some difficulty.
First a picture of a railway junction was taken. Then it was necessary
to take a photograph of Holborn. This in itself is a simple enough
matter, but in this case it was necessary to obtain a picture of
exactly the same scale, in order that the railway lines might be fitted
to appear as a natural part of the picture.
This was only managed after several ineffectual shots. Then the latter
negative was placed in the printing frame with the roadway masked. When
sufficiently printed the railway negative was placed in the frame on
the same paper. That part of Holborn already printed was masked, and
thus the rails were printed in the space where the roadway should have
been. The result will make Londoners rub their eyes.
The two ghost photographs are specially calculated to puzzle not a few
who are unacquainted with the tricks of the art. Like most puzzling
things, they are simplicity itself when explained. There is not a
suspicion of mystery about them. By the same method any amateur may
manufacture a whole gallery of family ghosts for his delectation.
The invocation of our ghosts was on this wise.
A nice, quiet, suitable sort of churchyard not a dozen miles from
London was chosen, and, with a couple of assistants, I hied myself to
it one bright and anything but ethereal morning.
First, the lady was posed till we were satisfied that she looked scared
enough for a ghost to be turned on. A second later my other assistant,
with the best dining-room tablecloth thrown over his head, came on the
scene, glided with healthy earthly steps to a pre-arranged spot, and
took up his position.
Snap went the pneumatic shutter. The photographic plate, one of an
extremely rapid variety, was exposed for the space of a second, and the
ghost hid himself behind the camera and took off his tablecloth. The
lady meanwhile remained in the same position, and directly the ghost
disappeared, snap went the shutter again on her. So in the interval of
nine seconds this wonder was perpetrated.
Those who have not dabbled in photography will require a further
explanation of the need of two exposures of the same plate. In the
first place, then, I assume that everybody knows that a photograph is
the result of light acting on a glass plate coated with a sensitive
preparation. When the photographer says, "Now then, a smile, please.
Thank you. Steady," you may have noticed that he touches an indiarubber
ball. This is a pneumatic release, which momentarily exposes the plate
to the light. In that brief period the light eats or rots the sensitive
material, at the same time faithfully imprinting upon it an exact image
of whatever may be before it.
Now the whole secret of successful photography may be said to depend on
this exposure being of the right length. If it is too short, the light
has insufficient time to clearly impress the plate with the picture. If
it is too long, the image will be too dense.
[Illustration: PROVING A MAN TO BE TRANSPARENT.]
So much technique is necessary to a proper explanation of ghost
pictures. Now the one second exposure given to our friend the ghost was
much too short a time in which to obtain a good portrait of him, but
quite long enough to obtain a faint shadowy image, which was just the
thing desired.
On obtaining this he quietly walks out of the picture, and we then
open the plate for another eight seconds, which is just long enough
to obtain a clear and normal photograph of the rest of the picture,
including the startled sitter, who has not moved in the meantime. And
what is of still greater importance, it gives sufficient time for the
foliage and end of the seat to impress themselves through the first
picture, and so produce that shadowy transparent texture beloved of all
aristocratic varieties of the ghost species.
The tombstone spirit was produced in the same way, a second exposure
being given to the tomb, the grass, and the ivy-covered wall behind.
It will be seen that the ghost picture is a particularly simple example
of the "fake" photograph.
In the beginning of this article I spoke of the futility of admitting
the photograph as evidence.
To prove my assertion, I have been at some pains to prepare a faked
photograph that will show how a subject might be "doctored" and put in
as conclusive proof.
I have assumed, for the purpose of this example, that a prisoner
charged with an offence, say in the North of England, has sought to set
up an alibi by producing a portrait of a street in which he himself
is seen. For the sake of argument, we will say that the photograph was
taken by a friend who is prepared to swear that the picture was made on
the day of the crime. Supposing this to be the case, if the photograph
were accepted as evidence it would undoubtedly be instrumental in
getting the accused off.
[Illustration: SHOWING HOW A MAN CAN BE IN TWO PLACES AT ONCE.]
Now such a picture might readily be faked so as to deceive the most
experienced. In order to realise this, you have only to glance at the
photograph on this page.
The scene is a street at Richmond, and in the foreground two men are
standing. If you look at them for a moment you will observe that they
are in reality one and the same person. As we have not yet discovered a
method of creating a double, it is perfectly clear that one at least of
these figures has been "faked" or printed into the original photograph,
and I don't know that it is very clear which.
As a matter of fact the one on the left-hand side was taken in the
original picture, and the other is faked. Two figures of the same
individual are shown, because, had we published one, and stated that
the other was "printed in," it is possible some people might question
the statement.
As it is, the duplicate clinches the matter, and the obvious deduction
is that if one photograph can be faked in this manner, so can another.
However, we doubt if photographers, amateur or otherwise, were ever
guilty of using their knowledge of fakes for any purpose other than
that of amusement, and that indeed was our idea in shedding light on
this comparatively unknown subject.
By the simple expedient of faking in the printing operation you may do
what you will with friend or foe.
Cecil Rhodes may shake hands with Oom Paul, and the nation may be
persuaded that they have forgotten their little amenities. It is only
necessary to obtain suitable photographs of the two, the rest is
comparatively simple.
The figure in the bottle would in the middle ages have burned its
creator at the stake, but there is no witchcraft in it in reality.
Indeed, it is one of the simplest photographic freaks to produce. In
this case the figure is printed somewhat deeply on paper in the usual
way, except that a mask of paper is cut to fit all round it to keep the
remaining portion of the sensitive paper from contact with the light.
When the print is deep enough it is taken out of the printing-frame,
then placed behind a negative of the bottle, and a light print is made,
with the result that the effect shown in the illustration is produced.
[Illustration: AN EXTRAORDINARY MIXTURE.]
Few, save those who have had practice in instantaneous photography,
realise the enormous rapidity necessary to the successful portraying of
rapid movement by means of the camera.
One of the most interesting experiments in trick photography is that
devoted to the evolving of composite portraits. The production of a
successful composite practically means the creation of a new face. The
method is similar to that employed in the making of ghost pictures. It
is necessary to obtain, say, four portraits--the more used the greater
the difficulty. These are all photographed one over the other on the
same plate. The difficulty consists in regulating the exposures, that
photographed first requiring a longer exposure than the next, and so on
through the series. The example we give is a composite of photographs
of well-known actors, and the face contains portraits of Sir Henry
Irving and Mr. Forbes Robertson.
The composite photograph has been of great scientific value in
determining the characteristic predominant features of different types
of physiognomy. Our illustration is an excellent example of the typical
actor's face.
A well-known professor recently composed a series of these types. One
was a face containing the portraits of twelve eminent mathematicians;
another contained portraits of sixteen notable naturalists.
Very extraordinary photographic freaks often result from mere accident.
On the next page is given a picture of Hastings pier in a storm. A very
good negative was obtained in the first instance, but unfortunately
when developed it was placed on the oven to dry. The heat contracted
the sensitive film of the negative, and when printed it presented the
curious appearance seen in the illustration.
As a picture of a storm it is splendid, surpassing in exaggeration
anything ever invented by the resourceful Munchausen.
[Illustration: COMPOSITE PORTRAIT OF WELL-KNOWN ACTORS.]
"A Study in Boots" is an excellent example of one of the most effective
methods of photographic faking. Like many things which border on the
marvellous, it is as simple as A B C. The explanation is that when
taking the photograph the operator used a short focus lens and made
a point of specially focussing the boots instead of the picture as a
whole. The result was that the rest of the figure was thrown out of
focus, and consequently out of proportion.
This effect is only too well known to most beginners in the art, for it
often appears unbidden in their early efforts, to the utter ruin of an
otherwise good picture. Amateurs frequently spoil portraits of their
friends in this way, the feet or hands appearing treble their proper
size in the picture. The defect is usually the result of working with a
lens of too short a focus. This explanation is somewhat technical for
those who have not embraced the fascinating art, but it cannot be put
in any other way.
[Illustration: HASTINGS PIER WHEN SUFFERING FROM HEAT.]
There are many other possibilities in photographic faking. In fact, an
amateur of an inventive disposition may evolve them _ad libitum_.
For example, there is the "long and short of it" style of fake, that
will surely result in much amusement. By the use of concave and convex
mirrors the face of a friend may be abnormally lengthened or widened
in the portrait until it reminds one of the pictures displayed outside
eating-houses, bearing the inscriptions, "Before dining at Z----'s,"
"After dining at Z----'s."
However, all these things are by way of amusement. I have never come
across any deliberate case of photographic faking with intent to
mislead or bear false witness; but, as I have already stated, what may
be done for recreation is also possible of application in more serious
affairs, and therefore it is a fallacy to suppose that a photograph
cannot lie.