“In a better day, long an’ long ago!” she answered, lifting her head proudly and holding his regard with her strangely bright old eyes. “He was a great and noble gentleman!” So saying, she rose suddenly, and, drawing a small key from her bosom, opened a drawer and took thence two miniatures, one of which she studied awhile with bowed head ere she handed it to Sir John; it was a thing of exquisite artistry, set within a gold frame; the picture of a manly face, square-chinned, firm-lipped, but with eyes soft and tender as a woman’s. “I never saw this picture of my father, Penelope.” “Nobody has!” she answered. And now she gave him the other picture, whose gold, strangely cut and battered, framed a face of extraordinary beauty—black-haired, deep-eyed, low-browed, full and vivid of mouth—the face of a girl passionate with life and eager youth, yet dominated by an expression of resolute strength and courage. “Why, Penelope!” said he in awed voice—“O Penelope, this—this was yourself!” “Aye, that was me,” she answered; “’twas ’ow I looked long ago ... when the world was younger an’ kinder.” “And why is the case so battered? See, the gold is cut quite through in one place!” “Aye, so it be!” said old Penelope very softly, and stood with the miniature in her hand, turning it over and over in her bony fingers and on her face a light that was not wholly of the sun. Then, with a sudden gesture, she turned and locked the portraits away. “Hark!” said she; “d’ye hear aught?” From somewhere beneath arose a fearsome puffing and blowing, accompanied by a ceaseless splashing. “That be Jarge Potter a-washin’ hisself!” she explained. “Which do mean as him an’ Sir Hector will be wantin’ their hot grog; they never fancies tea.” “Penelope,” said Sir John, “will you keep my identity secret a while longer?” “Why, for sure, Mus’ Derwent!” she answered, and then suddenly caught his hand, holding it fast while eyes and voice pleaded anew: “Let be, Sir John! Let blood answer blood, but keep you out of it....” “Nay, Penelope,” he answered gently, “I would remind you that poor Roger Hobden was my horse-boy years ago and taught me to steal apples——” “And I bid ye let be!” she whispered passionately. “The evil as they wrought shall foller them as did it! What if they be never dragged to Justice, Roger will be avenged, one day.... I know it, so keep you clear o’ them, sir, for your sake and your dead father’s!” Sir John was silent awhile then, stooping reverently, raised those old, work-roughened hands that clasped his so eagerly, and touched them with his lips. “Oh!” she sighed; and feeling how she trembled, he looked up to see her eyes brimming with tears. “Ah, sir,” she whispered, “’tis almost as I were young again an’ the world a better place!” “Pray heaven it shall be so!” he answered very gravely and, opening the door, followed her down the dark and narrow stair. CHAPTER XXXI BEING A CHAPTER OF NO GREAT CONSEQUENCE