"And are these pictures as old as they appear?"

"Quite," answered the girl. "As you can see for yourself, the house
and all that is in it date from quite a remote time, and many of the
portraits were painted before the house was ever begun."

That seemed to settle the question. Ah Ben was evidently a deceased
ancestor; possibly a friend of the family in the distant past, and
Henley concluded that he had misunderstood the girl in her former
allusion to the man.

Dorothy had not taken off her hat, nor did she seem to have the
slightest intention of doing so; meanwhile Paul's appetite, which had
been temporarily lulled by his novel surroundings, was beginning to
assert itself, and as there was no prospect of an attendant to
conduct him to his room, he was about to ask where he might find a
bowl of water to relieve himself of some of the stains of travel.
Before he had finished the sentence, however, his attention was
arrested by the sound of a distant footstep. He listened; it came
nearer, and in a minute was descending the black staircase in the
corner. Paul watched, and saw the figure of an old man as it turned
an angle in the stairs. Then it stopped, and coughed lightly as if to
announce its approach.

"Come," cried Dorothy, "it's only Mr. Henley, and I'm sure he'll be
glad to see you."

The figure advanced, and when it had descended far enough to be in
range with the fire and lamplight, Paul saw a most extraordinary
person. The man, although very old, was tall and dignified in