“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!”
The young lady was standing with her hands tightly clenched and her
lips quivering with nervous excitement. There were tears in her eyes,
and she did not answer her lover for a moment; then she said—
“No, it is not my picture. This is a portrait of my mother.”