"And your father's name was Assheton?"
"Certainly--John Assheton, of the Asshetons of Pennsylvania."
John Effingham groaned aloud; when Paul stepped back equally shocked and surprised, he saw that the face of his friend was almost livid, and that the hand which held the picture shook like the aspen.
"Are you unwell, dear Mr. Effingham?"
"No--no--'tis impossible! This lady never had a child. Powis, you have been deceived by some fancied, or some real resemblance. This picture is mine, and has not been out of my possession these five and twenty years."
"Pardon me, sir, it is the picture of my mother, and no other; the very picture lost in the Montauk."
The gaze that John Effingham cast upon the young man was ghastly; and Paul was about to ring the bell, but a gesture of denial prevented him.
"See," said John Effingham, hoarsely, as he touched a spring in the setting, and exposed to view the initials of two names interwoven with hair--"is this, too, yours?"
Paul looked surprised and disappointed.
"That certainly settles the question; my miniature had no such addition; and yet I believe that sweet and pensive countenance to be the face of my own beloved mother, and of no one else."