shall hope to see her picture," replied the colonel. "I must show you
the photos of the stone, which arrived this morning. They are in my
study; so, if you really won't have any more tea, we will come indoors
and look at them now."

He led the way through an open French window into a large and pleasant
drawing-room, which appeared so filled with beautiful cabinets of
curiosities, old china, rare pictures and books, that Isobel would have
liked to linger and look at them if she had dared to ask; but the
colonel strode on into the panelled hall, and passing the wide staircase
with its carved balustrade and its statue of Hebe, holding a lamp, at
the foot, took her into a long low library at the farther side of the
house. It was a cosy room. Its four windows overlooked the rose garden,
and had a peep of the cliffs and the sea; a large writing-table strewn
with papers stood in a recess; and various padded morocco easy-chairs
seemed to invite one to sit down and read the books which almost covered
the walls from floor to ceiling. Over the fine stone chimney-piece hung
two portraits, the only pictures to be seen--one an enlarged photograph
of a handsome young officer in a Guards uniform; the other a small oil
painting of a little girl with gray eyes and straight fair hair, parted
smoothly in the middle of her forehead, and tied by a ribbon under her
ears.

"I only received the prints this morning," said the colonel, taking an
envelope from his desk. "There are four views altogether, as you will
see; but I think you will like this the best, for it shows the runes so
plainly."

He held out the photo of the ancient cross, but Isobel did not notice
it. She was standing with parted lips, her eyes fixed in amazement upon
the two portraits over the fireplace.

"Why," she cried, in an eager voice, "that's father--my father!"

"Your father, my dear?" said the colonel, astonished in his turn.
"Impossible! This is a portrait of my son."

"But it _is_ father!" returned Isobel. "It's the same photo which we
have at home, only larger. That's the V.C. he won in India, and his
Guards uniform. And the other picture is little Aunt Isobel!"

"What do you mean?" asked the colonel hastily. "How could it be your
Aunt Isobel?"

"I don't know, but it _is_!" replied Isobel. "I have a tiny painting
exactly like it, done on ivory, inside a morocco case. It belonged to
father, and he left it to me. She was his only sister, and she died when
she