He could feel her fingers trembling on his arm, and instinctively laid his own hand upon them with a strong firm clasp. The touch brought her to herself, for she withdrew her hand instantly, colouring crimson as she did so, but not removing her eyes from the object which had alarmed her. Ibbetson turned hastily to look where they were fixed. "What was it? What frightened you?" he asked gently, looking at her again, for nothing that he could see accounted for her evident terror. She drew a deep breath. "Who is that man standing with his back towards us on the right?" she said in a quick low voice. "There, do you see?" "I see, but it's no one I know. Whom do you take him for?" "Are you sure you don't know him? I begin to think now that I was mistaken," she said with such evident relief that Ibbetson smiled. "I hope you are not generally so shocked at seeing an acquaintance unexpectedly? Would you like to come a little closer and make sure of the matter?" "Yes--I think so," she said with some hesitation. "But not too near." "Oh, we'll beware of the ghost," said Jack confidently and kindly. He was still feeling the clinging touch of those little fingers on his arm, and there was a warm impulse of kindness towards her stirring in his heart, as well as a little curiosity as to what likeness had so moved her. She stood still before they had gone many yards. "No, no, it is not," she said hurriedly, "I see quite well now. It was very foolish of me." "Better look in his face and get the idea quite out of your head," persisted Ibbetson. "Otherwise those sorts of notions are apt to prove uncomfortable." She did not resist. They passed the gentleman and saw his full face, but beyond saying that she did not know how she could have been so mistaken, she did not attempt to explain her terror, and no resemblance to Mr Trent struck Jack so as to give him the clue. Still, real or fancied, the alarm had evidently shaken the girl. She said she would go back to Mrs Masters, who had placed her camp-stool near a brazier, and remained calmly indifferent to the art treasures about her, so long as she could keep warm and avoid fatigue. "Don't let me detain you from the others," Bice said, when they had reached her mother. "The others don't want me," answered Jack in a voice which had some irritation in it. "That fellow Penington is at it, speechifying away like mad." "Oh, do you mean he isn't nice?" asked Bice so innocently that the young man laughed in spite of himself. "I don't know that there's much harm in him," he allowed, "but I dislike to have guide-book information crammed down my throat second-hand. Never mind them. Do you know that I am going away?" "No." Though she hated herself, she felt the colour leaving her face. And she could not ask when or where. "But I am. I am off to London." "Do you come back here?"