foolish of me to take the thing up. But when
a man gets to my age, my boy, he is apt to regret many episodes in his
past life that seemed proper and well-advised at the time. I am convinced
that I was too harsh with your aunt. Poor Mary, she was my favorite
sister until--"

He stopped, and his face hardened a little at the recollection.

"I wish I could find her," said Nevill.

"I am sure you do, my boy. I am undecided what steps to take next. It
would be a good idea to stop in town for a couple of days and consult
a private inquiry bureau. But no, not in this weather. I will let the
matter rest for the present, and run up later on, when we get a spell
of sunshine and cold."

"I think that is wise. Meanwhile I am at your service."

"Thank you. Oh, by the way, Victor, you must have incurred some
considerable expense in my behalf. Let me write you a check."

"There is no hurry--I don't need the money," Nevill answered,
carelessly. "I will look up the account and send it to you."

"Or bring it with you when you come down to Priory Court for Christmas,
if I can induce you to leave town."

"I shall be delighted to come, I assure you."

"Then we'll consider it settled."

Sir Lucius lighted a fresh cigar and rose. His whole manner had changed;
he chuckled softly, and his smile was pleasant to see.

"I have something to show you, my boy," he said. "It is the richest
find that ever came my way. Ha, ha! not many collectors have ever been
so fortunate. I know where to pry about on the Continent, and I have
made good use of my holidays. I sent home a couple of boxes filled with
rare bargains; but this one--"

"You will be rousing the envy of the South Kensington Museum if you
keep on," Nevill interrupted, gaily; he was in high spirits because the
recent disagreeable topic had been shelved indefinitely. "What is it?"
he added.

"I'll show you in a moment, my boy. It will open your eyes when you see
it. You will agree that I am a lucky dog. By gad, what a stir it will
cause in art circles!"

Sir Lucius crossed the room, and from behind a trunk he took a flat
leather case. He unlocked and opened it, his back screening the
operation, and when he turned around he held in one hand a canvas,
unframed, about twenty inches square; the rich coloring and the outlines
of a massive head were brought out by the gaslight.

"What do you think of that?" he cried.

Nevill approached and stared at it. His eyes were dilated, his li