"You are mistaken," said Haward. He rose, and stood leaning against the
mantel, his eyes upon the older man's somewhat coldly smiling
countenance. "She is as innocent, as high of soul, and as pure of heart
as--as Evelyn."
The Colonel clicked to the lid of his box. "You will be so good as to
leave my daughter's name out of the conversation."
"As you please," Haward answered, with hauteur.
Another silence, broken by the guest. "Why did you hang that kit-kat of
yourself behind the door, Haward?" he asked amiably. "'Tis too fine a
piece to be lost in shadow. I would advise a change with yonder
shepherdess."
"I do not know why," said Haward restlessly. "A whim. Perhaps by nature I
court shadows and dark corners."
"That is not so," Byrd replied quietly. He had turned in his chair, the
better to observe the distant portrait that was now lightened, now
darkened, as the flames rose and fell. "A speaking likeness," he went on,
glancing from it to the original and back again. "I ever thought it one of
Kneller's best. The portrait of a gentleman. Only--you have noticed, I
dare say, how in the firelight familiar objects change aspect many
times?--only just now it seemed to me that it lost that distinction"-"Well?" said Haward, as he paused.
The Colonel went on slowly: "Lost that distinction, and became the
portrait of"-"Well? Of whom?" asked Haward, and, with his eyes shaded by his hand,
gazed not at the portrait, but at the connoisseur in gold and russet.
"Of a dirty tradesman," said the master of Westover lightly. "In a word,
of an own brother to Mr. Thomas Inkle."
A dead silence; then Haward spoke calmly: "I will not take offense,
Colonel Byrd. Perhaps I should not take it even were it not as my guest
and in my drawing-room that you have so spoken. We will, if you please,
consign my portrait to the obscurity from which it has been dragged. In
good time here comes Juba to light the candles and set the shadows
fleeing."
Leaving the fire he moved to a window, and stood looking out upon the
windy twilight. From the back of the house came a sound of voices and of
footsteps. The Colonel put up his snuffbox and brushed a grain from his
ruffles. "Enter two murderers!" he said briskly. "Will you have them here,
Haward, or shall we go into the hall?"
"Light all the candles, Juba," ordered the master. "Here, I think,
Colonel, where the stage will set them off. Juba, go ask Mr. MacLean and
Saunderson to bring their prisoners here."
As he spoke, he turned from the contemplation of the night without to the
brightly lit room. "This is a murderous fellow, this Hugon," he said, as
he took his seat in a great chair drawn before a table. "I have heard
Colonel Byrd argue in favor of imitating John Rolfe's early experiment,
and marrying the white man to the heathen. We are about to behold the
result of such an union."