come to look at a Stuart that Mr. Morlon wants to buy if it is
genuine," said Gregg. "Tell me what you know about it. Where did it
come from?"

"I don't know; it was left on storage and is to be sold for expenses."

"Is it to be sold to the highest bidder?"

"No, at private sale."

"Where is it?"

"There--behind you."

Gregg turned and caught his breath.

Before him was a portrait of a young woman in an old-fashioned gown,
her golden hair enshrining a face of marvellous beauty, one long curl
straying down a shoulder of exquisite mould and finish, the whole
relieved by a background of blossoms held together in a quaint
earthen jar.

Strong man as he was, the shock almost overcame him. He reached out
his hand and grasped the back of a chair. Tears welled up in his eyes.

The auctioneer had been watching him closely.

"You seem to like it, Mr. Gregg."

"Yes," answered Adam in restrained, measured tones. "Yes, very much.
But you have been misinformed; it is not by Gilbert Stuart. It is by a
man I know, I saw him paint it. Tell Mr. Morlon so. Send it to my
studio, please, and credit this gentleman with the commission--I'll
buy it for old association's sake."

That night, when it grew quite dark, he took the portrait from where
the cartman had left it in his studio with its face to the wall--never
again would it suffer that indignity--and placed it under his
skylight. He wanted to see what the fading light would do--whether the
changed colors would once more unlock the secrets of a soul. Again, as
in the dim shimmer of the dawn, there struggled out from the wonderful
eyes that same pleading look--the look he had seen on its face the
morning he had left Derwood Manor--as if she needed help and was
appealing to him for sympathy. Then he flashed up the circle of gas
jets, flooding the studio with light. Instantly all her joyousness
returned. Once more there shone out the old happy smile and laughing
eyes. Loosening the nails that held the canvas, he freed the portrait
from its gaudy frame, and with the remark--"It was unframed when I
kissed it last," placed it over the mantel moving some curios out of
the way so it would rest the more firmly; then he dropped into a chair
before it.

He was in the past again--twenty-five years before, living once more
the long hours in the garret with its background of blossoms; roaming
the woods; listening to the sound of her joyous laughter when she
caught little Phil to her