the
finest in Europe, and costing over twenty thousand pounds. The next room
is the royal antechamber, so called because James II. used it for
writing letters while visiting Anglemere. We now pass into the banquet
hall. Carved oak by Grinling Gibbings. You will remark the lifesized
figures along the dado. It was here that Charles I., the Martyr, dined
with his consort, Henrietta. That buffet, large as it is, will not hold
the service of gold plate. That painted window's said to be the oldest
of any, not ecclesiastic, in Europe. It is priceless. The pictures round
the room are by Van Dyck and Carlo Dolci. The one over the mantelpiece
is a portrait of the seventh Earl of Angleford."

Nell looked up at it. She was half confused by the splendors of the
place and her efforts to follow the descriptions and explanations of the
stately housekeeper; but as she raised her eyes to the portrait she was
conscious of a sensation of surprise. For in some vague way the portrait
reminded her of Drake. The pictured Angleford wore a ruff, and was
habited in satin and armor, but the face----

"Come on! What are you staring at?" said Dick, impatiently; and she
followed the cicerone into another room, and listened to the monotonous
voice repeating the well-learned lesson.

"We have here the library, the famous Angleford library. There are
twenty thousand volumes, many of them unique. They are often consulted
by savants--with the permission of the earl. Many of them are priceless.
That portrait is Lord Bacon," et cetera, et cetera.

"Let us go," whispered Nell, in Dick's ear. "The greatness of the house
of Angleford is getting on my nerves! I--I can't help thinking of
Beaumont Buildings! It is too great a contrast!"

"Shut up!" retorted Dick, who was intensely interested.

Nell went through the remainder of the inspection with a vague feeling
of dissatisfaction. What right had any one man to such luxury, to such
splendor, while others were born to penury and suffering?

While she was asking herself this question, the housekeeper had led them
to the picture gallery, the gallery which artists came from all corners
of the world to visit.

"Portraits of the earls of Angleford," she said, waving a black-clad,
condescending arm.

"Is the portrait of the present Earl of Angleford here?" asked Dick,
with not unnatural interest.

"No, sir. The present earl is not here. You see, it was not thought that
he would be the earl. That is the late