"That," said Virdow, "was the scene flashed upon the woman who gazed from the arch. It seems impossible for it to have descended to Gerald, except by one of the two women there--the one to whom the man's back was turned. Had this mental impression come from the other source it seems to me he would have seen the face of that man, and if the impression was vivid enough to descend from mother to child it would have had the church for a background, in place of the arch, with storm-lashed trees beyond. This is reasonable only when we suppose it possible that brain pictures can be transmitted. As a man I am convinced. As a scientist I say that it is not proved." Edward, every nerve strained to its utmost tension, every faculty of mind engaged, devoured this brief analysis and conclusion. But more proof was given! Over his face swept a shadow. "Poor Gerald! Poor Gerald!" he muttered. But he became conscious presently that the face of Virdow wore a concerned look; there was something to come. He could not resist the temptation to clear up the last vestige of doubt if doubt could remain. "Tell me," he said, "what do you require to satisfy you that between the two I am the son of Marion Evan?" "Two things," said Virdow, quickly. "First, proof that Rita was in no way akin to the Evan family, for if she was in the remotest degree, the similarity of profiles could be accounted for. Second, that your own and the profile of Marion Evan were of the same angle. Satisfy me upon these two points and you have nothing to fear." A feeling of weakness overwhelmed Edward. The general had not seen in his face any likeness to impress him. And yet, why his marked interest? The whole subject lay open again. And Marion Evan! Where was he to obtain such proof? Virdow saw the struggle in his mind. "Leave nothing unturned," said Edward, "that one of us may live free of doubt, and just now, God help me, it seems my duty to strive for him first." "And these efforts--when--" "To-night! Let us descend." "We go first to the room of the nurse," said Virdow. "We shall begin there." Edward led the way and with a lighted lamp they entered the room. The search there was brief and uneventful. On the wall in a simple frame was a portrait of John Morgan, drawn years before from memory by Gerald. It was the face of the man known only to the two searchers as Abingdon, but its presence there might be significant. Her furniture and possessions were simple. In her little box of trinkets were found several envelopes addressed to her from Paris, one of them in the handwriting of a man, the style of German. All were empty, the letters having in all probability been destroyed. They, however, constituted a clew, and Edward placed them in his pocket. In another envelope was a child's golden curl, tied with a narrow black ribbon; and there was a drawer full of broken toys. And that was all. CHAPTER XXVII. THE FACE THAT CAME IN DREAMS.