"Parson Jarner!" echoed Meg, in a tone of ineffable contempt. "Why, he is as old as old can be, and as red in the face and white in the hair as anything! Dan is really good-looking, like--like--oh," she cried, breaking off suddenly with a twinkle in her eyes, "I know who he is like."
"What is the matter, child?"
"Would you care to see Dan?"
Miss Linisfarne shrank back on her couch with a quick sigh, and covered her face with her hands.
"No! no!" she said in a low whisper; "how can you ask such a thing, child? I have seen no one but Mr. Jarner for years and years. I am dead--I am buried--I am forgotten. Do not bring a stranger to my sepulchre. Even this common wanderer must not see me as the wreck I am."
Bather startled by this outburst, which she was far from expecting, Meg arose to her feet and bent over the couch with a pretty expression of penitence in her eyes. Gently she removed the hands hiding the face of her hostess.
"You do not understand--you do not understand! It is not Dan himself I would show you, but his portrait."
"His portrait!" repeated Miss Linisfarne, in blank astonishment. "Are you out of your mind, Meg?"
"Come with me to the picture-gallery, and I will show you the portrait of Dan."
Much bewildered by this invitation, Miss Linisfarne mechanically arose from the couch and linked her arm with that of Meg. She had not the remotest idea of what the girl meant to do, and so yielded to her curiosity. That the picture of a vagrant should be in Farbis Court picture-gallery seemed incredible. No portraits but those of the Breels hung there; and unless one of them had come to life again, she by no means understood how Meg intended to fulfil her promise.