rich golden hair! It is very clever--a French artist, I dare say--and who
_is_ that little boy?'

'I never heard. Some one a hundred years ago, I dare say. But there is a
picture down-stairs I am so anxious to ask you about!'

'Oh!' murmured Lady Knollys, still gazing dreamily on the crayon.

'It is the full-length picture of Uncle Silas--I want to ask you about
him.'

At mention of his name, my cousin gave me a look so sudden and odd as to
amount almost to a start.

'Your uncle Silas, dear? It is very odd, I was just thinking of him;' and
she laughed a little.

'Wondering whether that little boy could be he.'

And up jumped active Cousin Monica, with a candle in her hand, upon a
chair, and scrutinised the border of the sketch for a name or a date.

'Maybe on the back?' said she.

And so she unhung it, and there, true enough, not on the back of the
drawing, but of the frame, which was just as good, in pen-and-ink round
Italian letters, hardly distinguishable now from the discoloured wood, we
traced--

'_Silas Aylmer Ruthyn, AEtate_ viii. 15 _May_, 1779.'