The Master of Greylands was gazing at the card with knitted brow and haughty lips. He did not understand the name on it. "What farce is this?" he exclaimed, tossing the card on the table in anger. And Mrs. Castlemaine bent to read it with aroused curiosity. "Anthony Castlemaine." "It must be an old card of your father's, James," she remarked, "given, most likely, year's ago, to some one to send in, should he ever require to present himself here--perhaps to crave a favour." This view, just at the moment it was spoken, seemed feasible enough to Mr. Castlemaine, and his brow lost its fierceness. Another minute, and he saw how untenable it was. "My father never had such a card as this, Sophia. Plain 'Anthony Castlemaine,' without hold or handle. His cards had 'Mr.' before the name. And look at the strokes and flourishes--it's not like an English card. What sort of a person is it, Miles?" "A youngish gentleman sir. He has a lot of dark fur on his coat. He asked for Mr. James Castlemaine." "Mr. James Castlemaine!" echoed the Master of Greylands, sharply, as he stalked from the room, card in hand. The visitor was standing before a portrait in the drawing-room contemplating it earnestly. It was that of old Anthony Castlemaine, taken when he was about fifty years of age. At the opening of the door he turned round and advanced, his hand, extended and a pleasant smile on his face. "I have the gratification, I fancy, of seeing my Uncle James!" Mr. Castlemaine kept his hands to himself. He looked haughtily at the intruder; he spoke frigidly. "I have not the honour of your acquaintance, sir." "But my card tells you who I am," rejoined the young man. "I am indeed your nephew, uncle; the son of your elder brother. He was Basil, and you are James." "Pardon me, sir, if I tell you what I think you are. An impostor." "Ah no, do not be afraid, uncle. I am verily your nephew, Anthony Castlemaine. I have papers and legal documents with me to prove indisputably the fact; I bring you also a letter from my father, written on his death-bed. But I should have thought you might know me by my likeness to my father; and he--I could fancy that portrait had been taken for him"--pointing to the one he had been looking at. "He always said I greatly resembled my grandfather." There could be no dispute as to the likeness. The young man's face was the Castlemaine face exactly: the well formed, handsome features, the clear and fresh complexion, the brilliant dark eyes. All the Castlemaines had been alike, and this one was like them all; even like James, who stood there. Taking a letter from his pocket-book, he handed it to Mr. Castlemaine. The latter broke the seal--Basil's own seal; he saw that--and began to peruse it. While he did so, he reflected a little, and made up his mind.