He placed the case in the hands of Nigel, who almost sprang from his seat with excitement as he beheld the countenance of a little child of apparently three or four years of age, who so exactly resembled Kathy Holbein—allowing of course for the difference of age—that he had now no doubt whatever as to her being the hermit’s lost daughter. He was on the point of uttering her name, when uncertainty as to the effect the sudden disclosure might have upon the father checked him.
“You seem surprised, my friend,” said Van der Kemp gently.
“Most beautiful!” said Nigel, gazing intently at the portrait. “That dear child’s face seems so familiar to me that I could almost fancy I had seen it.”
He looked earnestly into his friend’s face as he spoke, but the hermit was quite unmoved, and there was not a shadow of change in the sad low tone of his voice as he said—
“Yes, she was indeed beautiful, like her mother. As to your fancy about having seen it—mankind is formed in groups and types. We see many faces that resemble others.”
The absent look that was so common to the solitary man here overspread his massive features, and Nigel felt crushed, as it were, back into himself. Thus, without having disclosed his belief, he retired to rest in a very anxious state of mind, while the hermit watched.
“Don’t take off your clothes,” he said. “If the sounds outside lead me to think things are quieting down, I will rouse you and we shall start at once.”
It was very early on the morning of the 27th when Van der Kemp roused our hero.
“Are things quieter?” asked Nigel as he rose.
“Yes, a little, but not much—nevertheless we must venture to leave.”