She nodded smilingly, bade me good-night, and left me to my reflections.
[CHAPTER XLVII.]
I RECEIVE A STRANGE VISITOR.
Before I went to bed a little incident occurred which it may be as well to mention. It will be in the remembrance of the reader that when I discovered the dagger which M. Felix had thrown at Emilia on the occasion of her visit to him, I placed it behind the massive sideboard in the sitting-room, my purpose being to conceal it from prying eyes. Curious to see whether the weapon had been disturbed I took a candle and looked. It was still there, and I was about to move away when my attention was attracted to another object which lay edgewise by its side. This object was a photograph, which had evidently dropped behind the sideboard, and had lain there neglected for some time. Thinking it might be the photograph of M. Felix I managed to nick it forward, and presently was able to reach it with my hand. It was covered with dust, which I blew away, disclosing the picture of a young man with a handsome, prepossessing face. "If this is a likeness of M. Felix," I mused, "it proves how little the features of a man are an index to his character." There was something peculiarly winning in the expression of the face; and there was a smile in the eyes and on the lips. The picture had faded with time, but was still distinct and clear in its outlines. I determined to ask Mrs. Middlemore in the morning whether it was a likeness of M. Felix, and I put it on the table and retired to bed. I had had a long and tiring day, and I slept soundly. At eight o'clock I jumped up, ready and eager to resume the task upon which I was engaged. I had almost finished dressing when my eyes fell upon the picture I had found upon the previous night, and I took it again in my hand and examined it by the morning's light. Looking at the back of the card I saw some writing there, the name of a man and a date which fixed the time at nineteen years ago. The name was "Gerald Paget."
I was inexpressibly relieved. The picture, then, was not that of M. Felix, but of Emilia's husband. I was glad to possess it, and glad also of the mute evidence it presented, denoting that the original must have been of a frank and honest nature. I put it in my pocket without scruple; intrinsically the portrait was of no value, and I considered myself entitled to appropriate it. To make sure, however, that the likeness was not that of M. Felix, I showed it to Mrs. Middlemore, without informing her how I had become possessed of it. She had never seen it, she said, and it was not a portrait of M. Felix, who was a different kind of man. Satisfied on this point I went out with Sophy to hire a servant to take her place in her absence. We had no difficulty in obtaining one; as Sophy had said, we could have obtained a score, and we picked out the nicest and most amenable, the choice being Sophy's, upon whose judgment in this selection it was safest to depend. The new domestic being officially installed in Mrs. Middlemore's kitchen, I gave that worthy woman "something on account," and bade her good-morning, and told her that Sophy and I would probably be absent for two or three weeks.
"You'll take care of 'er, sir, I'm sure," said Mrs. Middlemore.
"You need have no anxiety," I replied. "She will be quite safe with me."
Before these words were exchanged I had asked Sophy whether she was still of the same mind as she had been on the previous evening.
"'Course I am," said Sophy. "I wouldn't give it up for nothink you could orfer me."
She had given herself "a good scrub," and had tidied her hair, and I was surprised at the difference this made in her appearance.