Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. It’s gone. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. Sepulchre's. The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. The general had little doubt he was going to be asked to provide for the fellow as well as for his legitimate descendant. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. "The traps!" responded a bystander. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew.
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