“It is,” answered Thames. “Do you see any likeness?”
“Don't I,” returned Jack, bitterly. “Strange!” he continued, as if talking to himself. “How very like it is!”
“Not so strange, surely,” laughed Thames, “that a picture should resemble the person for whom it's intended.”
“Ay, but it is strange how much it resembles somebody for whom it's not intended. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket.”
“A miniature! Of whom?”
“That I can't say,” replied Jack, mysteriously. “But, I half suspect, of your father.”
“My father!” exclaimed Thames, in the utmost astonishment; “let me see it!”
“Here it is,” returned Jack, producing a small picture in a case set with brilliants.
Thames took it, and beheld the portrait of a young man, apparently—judging from his attire—of high rank, whose proud and patrician features certainly presented a very striking resemblance to his own.
“You're right Jack,” he said, after a pause, during which he contemplated the picture with the most fixed attention: “this must have been my father!”