ot had any children of their own.
How have you managed to remember all these things?"

The old man looked at her quietly. The smile left his face, and the
lines round his lips and eyes seemed to deepen in sudden, mysterious
fashion. Nan divined that she had touched a hidden wound, and waited
anxiously for his reply. It was a long time in coming, and then it was
altogether a surprise. Mr Vanburgh touched the bell which lay near at
hand, and spoke a word of direction to the Italian, who appeared at the
summons.

"Take this young lady into the study and show her--my pictures!" he said
slowly; and Nan followed Pedro out of the room in perplexity of spirit.
The man's dark eyes studied her face critically, but no words were said
until the room was reached, and they stood together before a curtained
alcove.

"It is his sorrow, the sorrow of his life," murmured the soft voice
plaintively, as the curtain was drawn back, and Nan gazed with awed eyes
upon four portraits hung against a fluting of crimson cloth. The rich
frames, the carved table beneath, with its bank of white flowers, gave
the alcove the appearance of a shrine; and a shrine it was indeed,
dedicated to the memory of a lost happiness.

The first portrait was of a man, the second of a woman, with a beautiful
and gentle face, which bore so strange a likeness to those of a boy and
a girl on either side that it was easy to trace the relationship between
them.

The girl bade fair to become as lovely as her mother; the boy was a
magnificent fellow, with waving locks, thrown back from a noble brow,
and such an air of pride and candour in the carriage of the head and the
flash of the eyes as would have filled a parent's heart with pride to
behold. Nan's eyes passed by the other two portraits to dwell on this
with wondering admiration; and something in the appearance of the
beautiful young lad seemed strangely familiar. Family likeness is a
marvellous thing, revealing itself in the most unexpected fashions; and
though at first sight no two people could have been more unlike than
this incarnation of youth and strength, and the bleached and weary
invalid in the next room, it was certainly of Mr Vanburgh, and no
other, that Nan was reminded at this moment. The shape of the eyes was
the same, the curve of the lips, the growth of the hair on the forehead.
She looked back at the first picture, and gave a start of recognition.
She had not realised it at first, but yes!