In early days she had not been worried by fear of family likenesses. That came later, when she saw "Colin" fast expanding into a reproduction of the Randolph ancestor, inheriting the gift which she loathed, because she knew it to be a Randolph characteristic; when, too, she saw, year by year, her own son, known as Giles Randolph, growing into an exact copy of her brother, Jock Reeves, like in figure, in feature, in manner, in voice, even in handwriting. So marked was the latter resemblance that for years she had insisted on letters from her brother being addressed to her bankers', and forwarded to her under cover. Jock Reeves seldom wrote more than once a year, being a bad correspondent; and he had given in to the "whim," not troubling himself to oppose it. But when he came home, and discovered that for no imaginable reason he was forbidden to present himself to her son or to Giles Randolph, matters became serious. She and her son were his only living relatives, and he had looked forward to being much with them. He was well off. He had planned spending the remainder of his years with her. He had not written to announce his return to the old country. On first arrival in London, he learnt from her bankers that she was abroad, and that any letter coming from him was to be forwarded to a Thun address, there to wait till called for—a precaution doubtless taken because he usually wrote at about this date, for her birthday. Forthwith he travelled thither, took up his abode at Interlaken, sent a few lines to the address specified, and awaited a reply. That he had not long to wait was due to Mr. Forsyth's accidental discovery of his letter. It conveyed to Mrs. Keith her first intimation that the brother, whose advent she dreaded, was close at hand; a very "real" fainting-fit being the result. A telegram from her next morning appointed an immediate meeting at Interlaken; and the outcome of this interview was that he found himself a tabooed individual, hysterically ordered never to show his face at Castle Hill, or to make the acquaintance of his nephew and his nephew's friend. He demanded reasons in vain. For a time, he submitted, then came to the same conclusion as others—that she was "queer in the top-story;" and he decided to go to Castle Hill. If he should find the nephew and Randolph to be of her mind, he could but "sheer off." With his appearance was levelled to the ground in one crash a structure of deceit, built up through twenty-seven years. They had not been, could not be, happy years. They were shadowed by a perpetual dread. Hundreds of times she had bitterly regretted her own mad folly. But no way out of the tangled web had presented itself, save the one which she refused to face.