For a few minutes we were silent. Water and land and sky started into new glories at the touch of the rising sun. The many-hilled city took on the hues of a fairy picture, and the windows gleamed with the magic fires that were flashed back in greeting to the god of day. The few cotton-ball clouds that lingered about the mountain-tops, sole stragglers of the army that had trooped up from the south at the blast of the rain-wind, turned from pink to white. The green-gray waters of the bay rippled lightly in the tide as the tug sent the miniature surges trailing in diverging lines from its bow. The curtain of mist that hid the Alameda shore rose and lightened at the touch of the warm rays. The white sails of the high-masted ships scattered through the bay, drooped in graceful festoons as they turned to the sun to rid them of the rain-water that clung to their folds. The ferry-boats, moving with mock majesty, furnished the signs of life to the silent panorama. It seemed scarcely possible that this was the raging, tossing water we had crossed last night. And the fiery scene of passion and death we had just witnessed was so foreign to its calm beauties, that I could believe it had happened elsewhere in some dream of long ago. I was roused by the voice of Mrs. Knapp, who sat at the head of the cabin stairs, looking absently over the water. “I have not dealt frankly with you,” she said. “Perhaps it is better that you should know, as you know so much already. I feel that I may rely on your discretion.” “I think I can keep a secret,” I replied, concealing my curiosity. “I should not tell you if I did not have full confidence.” Then she was silent for a minute. “That man,” she continued at last, with a shudder in her voice, “that man was Mr. Knapp's brother.” I suppressed an exclamation, and she continued: “They have little in common, even in looks. I wonder you thought for a moment that he was Mr. Knapp. Few people who know them both have traced a resemblance.” “Perhaps those who do not know them would be more likely to find the common points,” I suggested. “Members of a family see only the difference that marks one of them from another. The stranger at first sees the family type in all and notes the differences later.” “Yes,” said Mrs. Knapp. “It's like picking out the Chinamen. At first they are all alike. We see only the race type. Afterward, we see the many and marked differences.” “I think,” said I, leading back to the main subject, “that the remarkable circumstances under which I had seen Mr. Lane had a good deal to do with the illusion. This morning, for the first time, I saw his face under full light and close at hand.” Mrs. Knapp nodded. Then she continued: