John Effingham struggled to appear calm; and, replacing the pictures, he took the key from the dressing case, and, opening the bureau, he took out the secretary. This he signed for Powis, who had the key, to open; throwing himself into a chair, though every thing was done mechanically, as if his mind and body had little or no connection with each other. "Some accidental resemblance has deceived you as to the miniature," he said, while Paul was looking for the proper number among the letters of Mr. Monday. "No--no--that _cannot_ be the picture of your mother. She left no child. Assheton did you say, was the name of your father?" "Assheton--John Assheton--about that, at least, there can have been no mistake. This is the num her at which we left off--will you, sir, or shall I, read?" The other made a sign for Paul to read; looking, at the same time, as if it were impossible for him to discharge that duty himself. "This is a letter from the woman who appears to have been entrusted with the child, to the man Dowse," said Paul, first glancing his eyes over the page,--"it appears to be little else but gossip--ha!--what is this, I see?" John Effingham raised himself in his chair, and he sat gazing at Paul, as one gazes who expects some extraordinary developement, though of what nature he knew not. "This is a singular passage," Paul continued--"so much so as to need elucidation. 'I have taken the child with me to get the picture from the jeweller, who has mended the ring, and the little urchin knew it at a glance.'" "What is there remarkable in that? Others beside ourselves have had pictures;-and this child knows its own better than you." "Mr. Effingham, such a thing occurred to myself! It is one of those early events of which I still retain, have ever retained, a vivid recollection. Though little more than an infant at the time, well do I recollect to have been taken in this manner to a jeweller's, and the delight I felt at recovering my mother's picture, that which is now lost, after it had not been seen for a month or two." "Paul Blunt--Powis--Assheton "--said John Effingham, speaking so hoarsely as to be nearly unintelligible, "remain here a few minutes-- I will rejoin you." John Effingham arose, and, notwithstanding he rallied all his powers, it was with extreme difficulty he succeeded in reaching the door, steadily rejecting the offered assistance of Paul, who was at a loss what to think of so much agitation in a man usually so self-possessed and tranquil. When out of the room, John Effingham did better, and he proceeded to the library, followed by his own man, whom he had ordered to accompany him with a light. "Desire Captain Ducie to give me the favour of his company for a moment," he then said, motioning to the servant to withdraw. "You will not be needed any longer."