"So sure that I have long known he was there," returned Matilda.
Gerald breathed more freely—but again he questioned:
"Matilda, when first I saw you last night, you were gazing intently upon yon portrait, (he pointed to that part of the temple where the picture hung suspended), and it struck me that I had an indistinct recollection of the features."
"Nothing more probable," returned the American, answering his searching look with one of equal firmness. "You cannot altogether have forgotten Major Montgomerie."
"Nay, the face struck me not as his. May I look at it?"
"Assuredly. Satisfy yourself."
Gerald quitted the sofa, took up the light, and traversing the room raised the gauze curtain that covered the painting. It was indeed the portrait of the deceased Major, habited in full uniform.
"How strange," he mused, "that so vague an impression should have been conveyed to my mind last night, when now I recal without difficulty those well remembered features," Gerald sighed as he recollected under what different circumstances he had first beheld that face, and dropping the curtain once more, crossed the room and flung himself at the side of Matilda.
"For whom did you take it, if not for Major Montgomerie?" asked the American after a pause, and again her full dark eye was bent on his.
"Nay, I scarcely know myself, yet I had thought it had been the portrait of him I have sworn to destroy."