The cloud was lifted now, and he felt ashamed of all his past doubts and suspicions. He respected Mrs. Wornock for her refusal to meet his father in the beaten way of friendship. He was touched by the devotion which had brought her creeping to his windows under the cover of night to look upon the face of her beloved. He resolved that he would do all that in him lay to atone for the wrong his thoughts had done her, that he would be to her, indeed, as a second son, and that he would cultivate her son's friendship in a brotherly spirit. He stopped in the corridor on the morning after that interview to study the portrait of the young man whose likeness to himself had now resolved itself into a psychological mystery, and he could but see that it was a likeness of the mind rather than of the flesh, a resemblance in character and expression far more than in actual lineaments. "He is vastly my superior in looks," thought Allan, as he studied the lines of that boldly painted face. "He has his mother's finely chiselled features, his mother's delicate colouring. There is a shade of effeminacy, otherwise the face would be almost faultless. And to mistake this face for that! Absurd!" muttered Allan, catching the reflection of his sunburnt forehead, and strongly marked nose and chin, in the Venetian glass that hung at right angles with the picture. He heard the organ while the butler paused with his hand on the door, waiting to announce the visitor. The simpler music, the weaker touch, told him that the pupil was playing. "Please don't stop," he cried, as he went in; "I want to hear if the pupil is worthy of her mistress." Mrs. Wornock came to meet him, and Suzette went on playing, with only a smile and a nod to her sweetheart. "She is getting on capitally. She has a real delight in music," announced Mrs. Wornock. "How happy you are looking this morning!" "I have had good news. My son is on his way home." "I congratulate you." "He is coming home for his long leave. I shall have him for nearly a year." "How happy you will be! I have just been studying his portrait." "You are so like him." "Oh, only a rough copy--a charcoal sketch on coarse paper,--nothing to boast of," said Allan, with a curious laugh. He was watching Suzette, to see if she were interested in the expected arrival. She played on, her eyes intent alternately upon the page of music in front of her, and upon the stops which she was learning to use. There was no stumbling in the notes, or halting in the time. She played the simple legato passages smoothly and carefully, and seemed to pay no heed to their talk. Allan would have been less than human, perhaps, if his first thought on hearing of Geoffrey's return had not been of the influence he might exercise upon Suzette--whether in him she would recognize the superior and more attractive personality.