They went upstairs to the low-ceiled rooms under the roof, which Mrs. Basset described as servants’ bedrooms—storerooms for furniture out of season, boxes, etc. Then to the next below, all extra bedrooms, and to the next below that, all family suites of apartments; and down to the next, on which were the long drawing and the ballroom, which, with the broad hall between them, took up the whole flat. Lastly, they came down to the first floor, on which were the long dining-room, the breakfast room, the parlor, the library and the picture gallery, which was the last place to be inspected. The family portraits were arranged in chronological order, beginning with the Saxon ancestor of the eighth century, who, with rudest arms and in rudest clothing, resisted the first invasion of the Danes, and whose “counterfeit presentment” here was probably but the work of the rough artist’s imagination, executed, or rather perpetrated, at a much later date. Then in regular order came the barons who had rallied around Hereward in his last desperate stand against the usurper, William of Normandy; the iron-clad knights who had followed Richard of the Lion heart to the Holy Land; the barons who had taken up arms in support of the House of York against that of Lancaster; the plumed cavaliers who had insanely flocked with all their retainers to the standard of the Stuarts in every mad attempt of that unhappy family to regain their lost throne; periwig-pated courtiers of the Georgian dynasty; and, lastly, the swallowtail coated and patent leather booted gentlemen of the Victorian age, as represented by the late squire and his three sons. The ladies of the chiefs were all there, too, each by the side of her “lord,” and dressed in costume of her time, or in what was supposed to be such, for there is little doubt that many of the earlier portraits were merely fancy pictures. Before the group of the late squire and his family Judy suddenly caught her breath and clasped her hands and stood stock-still, gazing on the full-length picture of a beautiful dark girl. “It is like, isn’t it now, ma’am?” inquired the housekeeper. “Like! Why, the picture might be taken for his portrait if it were not for the dress!” exclaimed Judy, gazing at her husband. “It is still more like my Cousin Palma,” said Ran. “Why, so it is,” assented Judy; “and does not need change of dress to make it perfect. The hair of that lady in the picture is worn exactly as Palma wears hers, and that costume of dark blue is not unlike the dress Palma wore to our wedding in color and make.” “It is indeed a wonderful likeness to Mrs. Stuart,” remarked Mr. Walling. “Who is the lady?” he demanded, turning to the housekeeper. “The last Mrs. Hay, of Haymore, the grandmother of the young squire here. She died at the age of twenty-three, leaving three boys, of one, two and three years of age—to give the figures in round numbers,” replied Mrs. Basset.