or, here the
man; there perfidy, here plain honesty; there for the woman a fate most
tragical, here"--

"Here?" said Haward, as the other paused.

The master of Westover took out his snuffbox. "And here the continued
kindness of a young and handsome preserver," he said suavely, and extended
the box to his host.

"You are mistaken," said Haward. He rose, and stood leaning against the
mantel, his eyes upon the older man's somewhat coldly smiling
countenance. "She is as innocent, as high of soul, and as pure of heart
as--as Evelyn."

The Colonel clicked to the lid of his box. "You will be so good as to
leave my daughter's name out of the conversation."

"As you please," Haward answered, with hauteur.

Another silence, broken by the guest. "Why did you hang that kit-kat of
yourself behind the door, Haward?" he asked amiably. "'Tis too fine a
piece to be lost in shadow. I would advise a change with yonder
shepherdess."

"I do not know why," said Haward restlessly. "A whim. Perhaps by nature I
court shadows and dark corners."

"That is not so," Byrd replied quietly. He had turned in his chair, the
better to observe the distant portrait that was now lightened, now
darkened, as the flames rose and fell. "A speaking likeness," he went on,
glancing from it to the original and back again. "I ever thought it one of
Kneller's best. The portrait of a gentleman. Only--you have noticed, I
dare say, how in the firelight familiar objects change aspect many
times?--only just now it seemed to me that it lost that distinction"--

"Well?" said Haward, as he paused.

The Colonel went on slowly: "Lost that distinction, and became the
portrait of"--

"Well? Of whom?" asked Haward, and, with his eyes shaded by his hand,
gazed not at the portrait, but at the connoisseur in gold and russet.

"Of a dirty tradesman," said the master of Westover lightly. "In a word,
of an own brother to Mr. Thomas Inkle."

A dead silence; then Haward spoke calmly: "I will not take offense,
Colonel Byrd. Perhaps I should not take it even were it not as my guest
and in my drawing-room that you have so spoken. We will, if you please,
consign my portrait to the obscurity from which it has been dragged. In
good time here comes Juba to light the candles and set the shadows
fleeing."

Leaving the fire he moved to a window, and stood looking out upon the
windy twilight. From the back of the house came a sound of voices and of
footsteps. The Colonel put up