With a half-choked cry of "Sandy!" upon her lips Peaches moved toward him, only to stop short, her face going completely blank. The man was a servant, a valet presumably, carrying a folded suit of clothing carefully over one arm and wearing soft felt shoes, which had been the secret of his noiseless approach. His hair was thickly gray and his face was lined and scarred. He looked perhaps ten years older than Sandro--and yet the likeness was there--unmistakable, though in the full light not by any means so perfect. "I beg pardon, ladies," he said in a measured voice, withdrawing another step. "The lights should have been on." Then with a little bow he passed noiselessly down the corridor and entered one of the bedrooms, presumably that occupied by Markheim himself. Peaches made a little involuntary gesture as if to follow him, stretching out her hands toward his unconscious back, and then, as the door closed upon him, turned to me, her amber eyes afire. She seized me by the wrist in a manner positively painful and dragged me into her room, where she caused me to sit down abruptly and without personal selection upon a sort of hassock, the while she towered over me, fairly glowing with animation--far, far, more like her old self than she had been for almost six years. "Free!" she said. "Was it? Was it? Oh, Free--say something!" "It couldn't have been!" I replied shakily. "And yet the resemblance--it was extraordinary!" "It was a miracle!" said Peaches. "No two people could look so much alike." "He had a brother," I began doubtfully, "who was merely supposed to be dead. Sandro would have known you at once." "But didn't he?" she questioned, striding up and down the room with her long, clean gesture of body. "Why didn't he speak at once? He was too much amazed!" "Nonsense!" I exclaimed. "How could he be amazed, when as a servant in this house--in all probability Sebastian's valet--he must have known in advance all about your coming here!" "That's so," said Peaches. "And, of course there are differences--the grayness, the lines in his face. But something may have happened to him." "Very likely!" I replied dryly. "Considering we have heard from Cousin Abby that he was killed in action." "But it may have been a mistake," she whispered. "Stranger things have happened. And a servant! No--even if he had gone quite mad and forgotten everything that would hardly be possible." "Servant or not, if it is he, why on earth shouldn't he recognize you?" I demanded. "That's the sort of encounter which is supposed to bring people to their senses, you know." "But didn't he recognize me?" she replied with a doubt willfully sustained. "Just for an instant, I was so sure! Well!" "What are we going to do about it?" I said. "If by chance it really is Sandro it's a nice situation, I'm sure! With your wedding only a few weeks off and, and--why, good gracious! It's simply terrible!"