I might recognise the hand."
"That is evidently feigned," answered Wilton; "but I should think the
date of Newbury must be false, too."
"To be sure, to be sure," replied Green--"the exact reverse most
likely. They must have taken her towards the sea, not
inland--Newbury!--More likely towards Rochester or Sheerness; yet I
can't think there was any woman there. Yet stay a minute, Wilton,"
he continued, "stay a minute. I expect tidings to-night, from the
very house at which I met them last night. There is a chance, a bare
chance, of there being something on this matter in the letters; it is
worth while to see, however. Where can I find you in ten minutes from
this time ?-I saw the boy waiting near the palace when we came out."
"I will go into the Earl of Sunbury's, on that side of the square,"
replied Wilton, "where you see the two lights. There is nobody in it
but the old housekeeper, but she knows me and will admit me."
"She knows me, too," replied Green, drily; "and I will join you there
in ten minutes with any intelligence I may gain."
Green left him at once, with that peculiar sharpness and rapidity of
movement which Wilton had always remarked in him from their first
meeting. The young gentleman, on his part, went over to the house of
the Earl of Sunbury, and telling the old housekeeper, and the girl
who opened the door to him, that a gentleman would soon be there to
speak with him on business, he went up to the saloon, and as soon as
he was alone, raised the light that was left with him, to gaze upon
the picture which we have mentioned more than once, and to compare it
by the aid of memory with the lady whom he had seen but a few days
before. The likeness was very strong, the height was the same, the
features, examined strictly one by one, presented exactly the same
lines. The complexion, indeed, in the picture, was more brilliant;
and it was that, perhaps, as well as a certain roundness, which
marked a difference of age; but then the expression was precisely the
same--a depth, a tenderness even approaching to melancholy--in the
picture, as in her whom he had seen; and though he gazed, and
wondered, and wearied imagination for probabilities, he found none,
but could only end by believing that, in the facts connected with
that picture, lay the mystery of his fate, and of the link between
him and the Earl of Sunbury.
He was still gazing, when Green was ushered into the room, and
setting down the light, Wilton turned to meet him. There was a dark