"Oh!" exclaimed Uncle David with considerable disappointment, "I thought it was a miniature; this is only a silhouette; but you are sure it _is_ the profile of Yelland Mace?" "That is certain, Sir. His name is on the back of it, and she kept it, poor young woman! with a lock of his 'air and some hother relics in her work-box." By this time Uncle David was examining it with deep interest. The outline demolished all his fancies about Mr. Longcluse. The nose, though delicately formed, was decidedly the ruling feature of the face. It was rather a parrot face, but with a good forehead. David Arden was disappointed. He handed it to his nephew. "That is a kind of face one would easily remember," he observed to Richard as he looked. "It is not like any one that I know, or _ever_ knew." "No," said Richard; "I don't recollect any one the least like it." And he replaced it in his uncle's hand. "We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Plumes; it was your mention of it this morning, and my great anxiety to discover all I can respecting that man, Yelland Mace, that induced me to make the request. Thank you very much," said old Mr. Arden, placing the profile in the fat fingers of Mr. Plumes. "You must take a glass of sherry before you leave. And have you got a cab to return in?" "The men are waiting for me, I thank you, and I have just 'ad my tea, Sir, much obleeged, and I think I had best return to town, gentlemen, as I have some few words to say to-night to our Mr. Trimmer; so, with your leave, gentlemen, I'll wish you good-night." And with a solemn bow, first to Mr. Arden, then to the young scion of the house, and lastly a general bow to both, that grave gentleman withdrew. "I could see no likeness in that thing to any one," repeated old Mr. Arden. "Mr. Longcluse is a friend of yours?" he added a little abruptly. "I can't say he was a friend; he was an acquaintance, but even that is quite ended." "What! you don't know him any longer?" "No." "You're quite sure!" "Perfectly." "Then I may say I'm very glad. I don't like him, and I can't say why; but I can't help connecting him with your poor uncle's death. I must have dreamed about him and forgot the dream, while the impression continues; for I cannot discover in any fact within my knowledge the slightest justification for the unpleasant persuasion that constantly returns to my mind. I could not trace a likeness to him in that silhouette." He looked at his nephew, who returned his steady look with one of utter surprise. "Oh, dear! no. There is not a vestige of a resemblance," said Richard. "I know his features very well." "No," said Uncle David, lowering his eyes to the table, on which he was tapping gently with his fingers; "no, there certainly is not--not any. But I can't dismiss the suspicion. I can't get it out of my head, Richard, and yet I can't account for it," he said, raising his eyes to his nephew's. "There is something in it; I could not else be so haunted." CHAPTER LII.