flash in--as a picture from beyond sails, lightning-like, across the
filmy eyes of the dying. It was the face of a youth, elf-like, unreal,
yet he saw his father's features in it.

He rubbed his eyes and looked again. It seemed very dim. Indeed, so
delicately, vaguely, had the work been done that only eyes like Gaston's,
trained to observe, with the sight of a hawk and a sense of the
mysterious, could have seen so quickly or so distinctly. He drew slowly
back to the mantel again, and mused. What did it mean? He was sure that
the woman was his grandmother.

At that moment the door opened, and an alert, white-haired man stepped in
quickly, and stopped in the centre of the room, looking at his visitor.
His deep, keen eyes gazed out with an intensity that might almost be
fierceness, and the fingers of his fine hands opened and shut nervously.
Though of no great stature, he had singular dignity. He was in evening-
dress, and as he raised a hand to his chin quickly, as if in surprise or
perplexity, Gaston noticed that he wore a large seal-ring. It is
singular that while he was engaged with his great event, he was also
thinking what an air of authority the ring gave.

For a moment the two men stood at gaze without speaking, though Gaston
stepped forward respectfully. A bewildered, almost shrinking look came
into Sir William's eyes, as the other stood full in the light of the
candles.

Presently the old man spoke. In spite of conventional smoothness, his
voice had the ring of distance, which comes from having lived through and
above painful things.