“I heard a noise, my lord,” returned the butler, “and hastened to ascertain the cause.”
“The picture, the likeness of my great ancestor—it has fallen.”
They both looked at the object in question.
“The rings have given way,” observed Mr. Jakyl, pointing to the rings through which ran the cords which supported it.
“Strange, most unaccountable!” ejaculated the nobleman. “Most incomprehensible.”
“Well, my lord, it is not so surprising after all,” returned the butler. “The wood is decayed.”
“Umph! You had better lift it up and place it against the wall, then get the steps and hang it up in its place.”
The butler gave utterance to an expression of surprise.
“What’s the matter?” enquired his master.
“The wood on which the picture is painted is perfectly rotten. I am afraid to touch it in case it should fall to pieces.”