's words when
he had said, "The relatives all believed in his guilt, so his sister
would have nothing to do with them."

Virginia Beverly, headstrong, wilful, passionate, was only superficially
spoilt by the flattery which had been her daily diet as a great beauty
and a great heiress. She was impulsive, but her impulses were true and
often unselfish. Now her warm heart went out to meet the loyal heart of
the pale, sad girl in black, whom an hour ago she had never seen, whose
very name she had not known. "She is right to believe in him," Virginia
said to herself. "Loyalty is the finest virtue of all. I believe in him
too. Whatever crime they say he committed, I'm sure he was innocent.
What--a criminal, with that face? It's not possible, and I wish I could
tell her so."

She could scarcely tear her eyes from the portrait, though she feared to
let her interest be observed, lest it should unjustly be put down to
vulgar curiosity. And when the old man who conducted them, having met and
answered a quick glance from his mistress, invited the visitors to
continue their tour of inspection, Virginia left her thoughts behind in
the room of the portrait, walking as in a dream through the series of
lofty, half-dismantled apartments which still remained to be visited.

She hoped that, when they should see their hostess again for the promised
leave-taking, it would be in the same room as before. But she was doomed
to disappointment. Mademoiselle met the party in the great hall, and,
hearing from George Trent that his sister thought seriously of buying the
chateau, gave them the address of an estate agent in Mentone.

Virginia was not a self-centred girl, and at any other time she would
have been surprised at the encouragement given to this new whim of hers
by her half-brother; she would have sought some underlying cause, for
George Trent--who was her mother's son by a first marriage--was nearly
five years older than she, and rather piqued himself upon influencing
her to ways of wisdom. But now, though he extolled the charms of the
Chateau de la Roche, and made light of the expenses of restoration, as
they rode down the avenue under the olive trees, Virginia was too much
occupied with the mystery of the house and the portrait's original to
observe the young man's manner. It did not escape Lady Gardiner's
observation, however, and her thoughts were troubled.

She was thirty-six and George Trent was ten years younger; but she
confes