‘Thought you were going to break in here,’ he said, in an impatient whisper. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. It was wonderful. As he entered the shop, a tall portly personage advanced to meet him, whom he at once recognised as the present proprietor. ‘To begin with,’ he said, ‘allow me a very tiny intimacy. He had the same dark eyes, though lighted by a fierce flame; the same sallow complexion; the same tall, thin figure, and majestic demeanour; the same proud cast of features. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore.
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