so much so that his friend
forgot to utter any further and unavailing protest.

"You know I am supposed to be going away abroad for a long time," he
continued. "You must take my place, Evelyn, in a sort of way, and I will
introduce you to-day to the people you must look after. There is a
grandson of my mother's nurse, for example: I promised to do something
for him when he completed his apprenticeship; and two old ladies who
have seen better days--they are not supposed to accept any help, but you
can make wonderful discoveries about the value of their old china, and
carry it off to Bond Street. I will leave you plenty of funds; before my
nephew comes into the place there will be sufficient for him and to
spare. But as for yourself, Evelyn, I want you to take some little
souvenir--how about this?"

He went and fetched a curious old silver drinking-cup, set round the lip
and down the handle with uncut rubies and sapphires.

"I don't like the notion of the thing at all," Lord Evelyn said, rather
gloomily; but it was not the cup that he was refusing thus ungraciously.

"After a time people will give me up for lost; and I have left you ample
power to give any one you can think of some little present, don't you
know, as a memento--whatever strikes your own fancy. I want Natalie to
have that Louis XV. table over there--people rather admire the inlaid
work on it, and the devices inside are endless. However, we will make
out a list of these things afterward. Will you drive me down to the
village now? I want you to see my pensioners."

"All right--if you like," Lord Evelyn said; though his heart was not in
the work.

He walked out of this little room and made his way to the front-door,
fancying that Brand would immediately follow. But Brand returned to that
room, and opened the case of miniatures. Then he took from his pocket a
little parcel, and unrolled it: it was a portrait of Natalie--a
photograph on porcelain, most delicately colored, and surrounded with an
antique silver frame. He gazed for a minute or two at the beautiful
face, and somehow the eyes seemed sad to him. Then he placed the little
portrait--which itself looked like a miniature--next the miniature of
his mother, and shut the case and locked it.

"I beg your pardon, Evelyn, for keeping you waiting," he said, at the
front-door. "Will you particularly remember this--that none of the
portraits here are to be disturbed on any account whatever?"

CHAPTE