"What is the matter?" inquired Richard, dreading to hear of some new calamity. "Have you not noticed it, Dick?" said Nicholas, in a hollow tone. "The portrait is gone." "What portrait?" exclaimed Richard, forgetting the previous circumstances. "The portrait of Isole de Heton," returned Nicholas, becoming more sepulchral in his accents as he proceeded; "it has vanished from the wall. See and believe." "Who has taken it down?" cried Richard, remarking that the picture had certainly disappeared. "No mortal hand," replied Nicholas. "It has come down of itself. I knew what would happen, Dick. I told you the fair votaress gave me the _clin d'oeil_--the wink. You would not believe me then--and now you see your mistake." "I see nothing but the bare wall," said Richard. "But you will see something anon, Dick," rejoined Nicholas, with a hollow laugh, and in a dismally deep tone. "You will see Isole herself. I was foolhardy enough to invite her to dance the brawl with me. She smiled her assent, and winked at me thus--very significantly, I protest to you--and she will be as good as her word." "Absurd!" exclaimed Richard. "Absurd, sayest thou--thou art an infidel, and believest nothing, Dick," cried Nicholas. "Dost thou not see that the picture is gone? She will be here presently. Ha! the brawl is called for--the very dance I invited her to. She must be in the room now. I will go in search of her. Look out, Dick. Thou wilt behold a sight presently shall make thine hair stand on end." And he moved away with a rapid but uncertain step. "The potent wine has confused his brain," said Richard. "I must see that no mischance befalls him." And, waving his hand to his sister, he followed the squire, who moved on, staring inquisitively into the countenance of every pretty damsel he encountered.