“But I have seen it, not flashing thus, but real, every feature still; it was only one glimpse, but I knew that it was her.”
“Where did you see this? Long since and living?”
“No, it was a picture, at Greenhurst; I took it from an old cabinet of black wood carved all over and rough with jewels.”
“Where is it now—that picture?”
“Lady Catherine has it—she snatched it from me.”
“But you knew the face?”
“Yes, I knew the face.”
“This is something, but not enough,” said Turner, thoughtfully. “Still if his heart speaks for us”——
I laid one hand on my bosom, for it swelled with painful force.
“My heart is speaking now,” I said. “If he is my father, God will send an answer.”