Last of all they came to the picture-gallery, where hung some score or more portraits of dead and gone Pengarvons. A lozenge-paned oriel window at one end, the upper half of which was filled with painted glass, suffused the gallery with a faintly-tinted half-light, which seemed fitly to accord with the place and the throng of dumbly-staring effigies on its walls. Clem walked up to the oriel and gazed out into the grounds, while Lucy proceeded to open the shutters of two of the long windows which fronted the portraits. Presently Clem's eyes came back to the window, and to a recognition of the fact that sundry names and initials had been scratched with a diamond here and there on its panes. Among them he found one which sent a sudden rush of blood to his heart the moment his eyes lighted on it. Surmounted by a true lover's knot, and with the date 1649 below, were the two names "Hermia Moray" and "Rupert Pengarvon." Here was proof positive of one thing--that "Hermia" was a name not unknown in the Pengarvon annals upwards of two centuries ago. Clem felt that this discovery alone amply rewarded him for his exploration of the Hall. Presently he turned to examine the portraits. One after another his gaze took them in till the series was exhausted. They comprised both sexes, and some of the oldest of them, judging from their costumes, seemed to date back to the time of the First or Second Charles, but apparently none were more modern than the first decade of the present century. Then Clement went back to one of the portraits, and stood gazing at it in silence for a long time. It was the likeness of a girl of nineteen or twenty, wearing a short-waisted white robe, a broad blue sash, and a wide-brimmed hat with sweeping plumes over an elaborate arrangement of curls and loosely-coiled tresses. Taken simply as a work of art, it was the gem of the gallery, and Clem at once set it down as being from the brush of either Lawrence or Sir Joshua. But what struck him more than aught else was the strange, haunting likeness it bore to Hermia. Not merely was it that the eyes and hair of one and the other approximated closely in color, and that the features of both might almost have been cast in the same mould, there was an indescribable something, a sort of spiritual likeness, so to call it, which brought them into closer affinity than any mere similarity of physical attributes would have served to do. Long and earnestly did Clement gaze at the beautiful face with its hovering smile, and its fathomless violet eyes which seemed as if they were reading his inmost thoughts. Lucy, when questioned, could tell him nothing about the original. She had only been in the gallery once before, and felt anything but comfortable with all those staring eyes following her every movement. But it would not do to linger there forever. Clem had brought sketching materials with him in readiness for any emergency that might