Audrey

"You are mistaken," said Haward. He rose, and stood leaning against the

mantel, his eyes upon the older man's somewhat coldly smiling

countenance. "She is as innocent, as high of soul, and as pure of heart

as--as Evelyn."

The Colonel clicked to the lid of his box. "You will be so good as to

leave my daughter's name out of the conversation."

"As you please," Haward answered, with hauteur.

Another silence, broken by the guest. "Why did you hang that kit-kat of

yourself behind the door, Haward?" he asked amiably. "'Tis too fine a

piece to be lost in shadow. I would advise a change with yonder

shepherdess."

"I do not know why," said Haward restlessly. "A whim. Perhaps by nature I

court shadows and dark corners."

"That is not so," Byrd replied quietly. He had turned in his chair, the

better to observe the distant portrait that was now lightened, now

darkened, as the flames rose and fell. "A speaking likeness," he went on,

glancing from it to the original and back again. "I ever thought it one of

Kneller's best. The portrait of a gentleman. Only--you have noticed, I

dare say, how in the firelight familiar objects change aspect many

times?--only just now it seemed to me that it lost that distinction"-"Well?" said Haward, as he paused.

The Colonel went on slowly: "Lost that distinction, and became the

portrait of"-"Well? Of whom?" asked Haward, and, with his eyes shaded by his hand,

gazed not at the portrait, but at the connoisseur in gold and russet.

"Of a dirty tradesman," said the master of Westover lightly. "In a word,

of an own brother to Mr. Thomas Inkle."

A dead silence; then Haward spoke calmly: "I will not take offense,

Colonel Byrd. Perhaps I should not take it even were it not as my guest

and in my drawing-room that you have so spoken. We will, if you please,

consign my portrait to the obscurity from which it has been dragged. In

good time here comes Juba to light the candles and set the shadows

fleeing."

Leaving the fire he moved to a window, and stood looking out upon the

windy twilight. From the back of the house came a sound of voices and of

footsteps. The Colonel put up his snuffbox and brushed a grain from his

ruffles. "Enter two murderers!" he said briskly. "Will you have them here,

Haward, or shall we go into the hall?"

"Light all the candles, Juba," ordered the master. "Here, I think,

Colonel, where the stage will set them off. Juba, go ask Mr. MacLean and

Saunderson to bring their prisoners here."

As he spoke, he turned from the contemplation of the night without to the

brightly lit room. "This is a murderous fellow, this Hugon," he said, as

he took his seat in a great chair drawn before a table. "I have heard

Colonel Byrd argue in favor of imitating John Rolfe's early experiment,

and marrying the white man to the heathen. We are about to behold the

result of such an union."