For nearly an hour did she lie thus, when Sir Within came in search of her. His habitual light step and cautious gait never disturbed her, and there he stood gazing on her, amazed, almost enraptured. “Where was there a Titian or a Raphael like that!” was his first thought; for, with the instinct of his life, it was to Art he at once referred her. “Was there ever drawing or colour could compare to it!” Through the stained glass window one ray of golden glory pierced and fell upon her hair and brow, and he remembered how he had seen the same “effect” in a “Memling,” but still immeasurably inferior to this. What would he not have given that Danneker or Canova could have seen her thus and modelled her! Greek art itself had nothing finer in form, and as to her face, she was infinitely more beautiful than anything the antique presented. How was it that in all his hitherto admiration of her he had never before recognised such surpassing beauty? Was it that excitement disturbed the calm loveliness, and gave too much mobility to these traits? or was it that, in her versatile, capricious way, she had never given him time for admiration? As for the gems, he did not remark them for a long while, and when he did, it was to feel how much more _she_ adorned _them_ than they contributed to her loveliness. “I must bring Ada here,” muttered he to himself. “How she will be charmed with the picture.” He turned to steal away, and then, with the thoughtful instinct of his order, he moved noiselessly across the room, and turned the looking-glass to the wall. It was a small trait, but in it there spoke the old diplomatist. On gaining the drawing-room he heard that the governess and Ada had gone out to see the conservatory, so Sir Within hurried back to the Gem-room, not fully determined whether to awaken Kate or suffer her to sleep on. Remembering suddenly that if discovered all jewelled and bedecked the young girl would feel overcome with a sense of shame, he resolved not to disturb her. Still he wished to take a last look, and stole noiselessly back to the chamber. Her position had changed since he left the room, the fan had fallen from her hand to the floor, and by a slight, very slight, motion of the eyelids he could mark that her sleep was no longer untroubled. “Poor girl,” muttered he, “I must not leave her to dream of sorrow;” and laying his hand softly on the back of hers, he said, in a low whisper, “Kate, were you dreaming, my child?” She raised her eyelids slowly, lazily, and looked calmly at him without a word. “What was your dream, Kate?” said he, gently, as he bent over her. “Was it a dream?” murmured she, softly. “I wish it had not been a dream.” “And what was it, then?” said he, as taking a chair he sat down beside her--“tell me of it all.” “I thought a great queen, who had no child of her own, had adopted me, and said I should be her daughter, and in proof of it she took a beautiful collar from her throat and fastened it on mine.”