Then suddenly a puzzled wrinkle came into his forehead. There was something odd about the reflection. The background was dark, and showed no sign of the lamp on the marble-topped table. Curious, Barry took a single step forward to discover what was the matter, then stopped still as if turned to stone. The reflection in the glass had smiled. For the fraction of a second Lawrence felt that he was going mad. Then, in a flash, he realized the truth. It was not a mirror at all, but a doorway, in which stood a man who looked at him out of his own eyes, smiled at him with his own smile; whose face and figure, down to the smallest detail, could not have been more like Barry’s if the two had been bronze statues cast from the same mold. Even their clothes were of strikingly similar style. *CHAPTER XLIII.* *HIS SECOND HALF.* The rattle of the window shade and the tramping of a number of feet on the stairs brought Barry to himself with a start just as the unknown put his finger to his lips and stepped noiselessly back into the shadow. "Face round, but stand where you are," breathed the unknown. Lawrence obeyed instinctively, and the next instant the hall door opened to admit several men. The first was well on in years, with a tall, splendid figure and a noble, distinguished face. He seemed in the grip of some great, though partially suppressed, emotion; and, as he caught sight of Barry, he sprang hastily toward him, both hands outstretched. "Oscar!" he cried, in a deep, vibrating voice which held a distinctly foreign intonation. "My dear boy! I——" The words died in a queer, gurgling sound. One of the men by the door cried out sharply; another drew his breath through his teeth with an odd, whistling noise. Then silence—tense, vibrating silence—fell upon the room as out of the shadows appeared the other man and moved noiselessly forward to Barry’s side. He did not speak or stir after he had taken up his position there. The two men, so absolutely, unbelievably alike, stood shoulder to shoulder, motionless as statues, while the seconds ticked away and those who witnessed the amazing spectacle stared and stared with dazed faces, unable to credit the evidence of their senses. Once only did Barry’s gaze waver from the stunned countenance of the older man to the other end of the room, where Shirley Rives stood bending far over the table, her face absolutely white, and her wide, dark eyes staring at him as if she were looking at a ghost. At last a laugh, clear, hearty, and full of mirth, came from the man at his side, and broke the spell. "Rather good, don’t you think, uncle?" the newcomer chuckled, stepping forward a little. "_Gott in Himmel!_" breathed the older man. "You are——" "Of course. Don’t you know me? I never supposed that you would be deceived." With a swift motion, the other caught his hands and drew him over to the light.