"Come with me to the picture-gallery, and I will show you the portrait of Dan." Much bewildered by this invitation, Miss Linisfarne mechanically arose from the couch and linked her arm with that of Meg. She had not the remotest idea of what the girl meant to do, and so yielded to her curiosity. That the picture of a vagrant should be in Farbis Court picture-gallery seemed incredible. No portraits but those of the Breels hung there; and unless one of them had come to life again, she by no means understood how Meg intended to fulfil her promise. "You foolish child!" she said, with a low laugh. "This is some trick." "No, it is not. Come to the picture-gallery, and I will show you Dan." Thus adjured, Miss Linisfarne, leaning on Meg's shoulder, passed beyond the screen and across the polished floor of the room. They entered the hall, and slowly ascended the wide staircase. Miss Linisfarne was by no means strong, and, even with the assistance of her vigorous guest, found it impossible to move otherwise than at a snail's pace. At length they reached the gallery, which extended the whole length of the east wing, and here Meg paused before a portrait. "There!" she said, clapping her hands and laughing gaily, "that is Dan. The picture was painted three hundred years ago, but it is my caravan-owner for all that!" Miss Linisfarne looked steadily at the picture, which represented a handsome young man in Elizabethan costume. His face was, indeed, very like that of Dan, though naturally Miss Linisfarne was ignorant of such resemblance. Masterful look, firm lips, bold eyes--it was as though the painter of the portrait had transferred to his canvas the features of the vagrant. The more Meg looked at it, the more marked seemed the resemblance, and she glanced at Miss Linisfarne with a mischievous smile. "It is Dan," she repeated; "or else Dan is the ghost of Sir Alurde." "Sir Alurde is the original of this portrait, I know," said Miss Linisfarne; "but I am ignorant by what means a vagabond comes to resemble one of the proudest courtiers of Elizabeth. Are you sure the man you speak of resembles Sir Alurde?" "I am certain. See, here is a pencil-portrait, drawn from memory." She handed it to Miss Linisfarne, who glanced at it for a moment, and then looked around with a sigh of fatigue. "Bring me a chair, Meg, and place it before Sir Alurde's portrait. Thank you, child. I soon grow weary if I keep on my feet. Is this Dan's picture?" "Yes--from memory." "It is certainly very like the Elizabethan. But, as you have seen Sir Alurde's face some hundreds of times, and this vagabond's but once, I fancy you must unconsciously have drawn the countenance of the former."