"Emma Calvert, my friend?"
"Well, then, Lady Fellenger, if you prefer it."
"It doesn't matter what we call her," rejoined Fanks, with a shrug, "seeing that she is dead."
"But she is not dead."
Fanks again shrugged his shoulders, and pointed to the photograph. "The card says that Emma Calvert is dead," he remarked; "the valet says that Emma Calvert is dead. How then can this living woman be Emma Calvert, Lady Fellenger?"
"I can't explain," said Garth, obstinately, "but I am sure of one thing; that she is the original of this picture."
"It would appear so," said Fanks, looking puzzled; "and yet--upon my word, it is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw in life. Garth, for once you see me at my wit's end and thoroughly mystified."
"Wait, Fanks. Wait the explanation of this woman; hear the story of her friend. In the meantime, let us revive this wretched creature."
"He is in a kind of fit," said Fanks, kneeling down and loosening the collar of the insensible man. "Get some water, Garth, and you, Maxwell, go down and see if that woman and her friend are coming up. We may as well see this business out."
These directions were obeyed, and Garth soon returned with a glass of water, while Fanks--always provided against emergencies--produced a smelling bottle and a flask of brandy. While thus employed they were interrupted by Maxwell, with a look of alarm on his face.