Miss Earle was silent. They had, by this time, gone up the polished stairway, which was dimly lighted by a large window of stained glass.
“Here we are in the portrait hall,” said Miss Earle. “There is a picture here that I have never seen, although I have heard of it, and I want to see it. Where is it?” she asked, turning to the housekeeper, who had been following them up the stairs.
“This way, my lady,” answered the housekeeper, as she brought them before a painting completely concealed by a dark covering of cloth.
“Why is it covered in that way? To keep the dust from it?”
The housekeeper hesitated for a moment; then she said—
“The old Squire, my lady, put that on when she left, and it has never been taken off since.”
“Then take it off at once,” demanded Katherine Earle, in a tone that astonished Morris.
The housekeeper, who was too dignified to take down the covering herself, went to find the servant, but Miss Earle, with a gesture of impatience, grasped the cloth and tore it from its place, revealing the full-length portrait of a young lady.
Morris looked at the portrait in astonishment, and then at the girl by his side.
“Why, Katherine,” he cried, “it is your picture!”