rait
interests me so. If I could trace the resemblance, I should--well, not
be so bothered by it."

The Marquess paced to the fire and held his hands to it, as if he had
become cold suddenly.

"Strange!" he said, musingly, and with an air of indifference, which
Celia felt to be assumed. "Is the man you think resembles the portrait
young--or old?"

As he put the question, a sudden flood of light seemed to illumine
Celia's mind; it was as if she had been gazing perplexedly on a statue
swathed in its covering, and as if the covering had been swept away and
the statue revealed. She knew now that the face in the portrait
resembled that of the young man on whom her thoughts were always
dwelling. The resemblance was faint; but it existed in her mind quite
plainly. The revelation brought the blood to her face, then she became
pale again. The Marquess, looking over his shoulder, waited for her
answer.

"I remember now, my lord----" she began.

"Young or old?" he said, not loudly, but with a quiet insistence.

"Young," replied Celia.

To her surprise and relief, the Marquess gave a little dry, almost
contemptuous, laugh; and as he turned to her, with his hands folded
behind his back, there was a faint smile on his face.

"Who is he?" he asked.

"I don't know," replied Celia.

"You don't know!" said his lordship, raising his brows. "Pardon me, I
don't understand."

Celia stood before him, her hands clasped together in a clasp that,
light at first, became tighter; her eyes were downcast, a slight fold
came between her brows; for an inappreciable second or two, she lost
consciousness of the great hall, the tall, bent figure silhouetted
against the fire; she was back in Brown's Buildings, in that
poverty-stricken room, and she saw the young man's head lying on his
outstretched arm, a revolver in his hand.

"I don't know," she repeated, returning, suddenly, from that vision of
the past. "It was someone I met, saw, for a short time----"

"But his name?" said the Marquess, with a subdued impatience.

"That I don't know," Celia replied, raising her eyes, in which the
Marquess could not fail to read truth and honesty. "I saw him once only,
and for a short time, and then--then he passed out of my life. I mean,
that I did not see him again; that it is unlikely I shall ever see him
again."

"Where was this--this meeting of which you speak?" inquired the
Marquess, in a conversational tone. "Pardon me if I seem intrusive--