“No.”
“You're quite sure!”
“Perfectly.”
“Then I may say I'm very glad. I don't like him, and I can't say why; but I can't help connecting him with your poor uncle's death. I must have dreamed about him and forgot the dream, while the impression continues; for I cannot discover in any fact within my knowledge the slightest justification for the unpleasant persuasion that constantly returns to my mind. I could not trace a likeness to him in that silhouette.”
He looked at his nephew, who returned his steady look with one of utter surprise.
“Oh, dear! no. There is not a vestige of a resemblance,” said Richard. “I know his features very well.”
“No,” said Uncle David, lowering his eyes to the table, on which he was tapping gently with his fingers; “no, there certainly is not—not any. But I can't dismiss the suspicion. I can't get it out of my head, Richard, and yet I can't account for it,” he said, raising his eyes to his nephew's. “There is something in it; I could not else be so haunted.”
