“Now,” he said, “let me introduce you to the ladies of my race.”

At that moment the sunbeams that had been shining on the wall died out suddenly.  She looked up, half laughingly.

“I think the ladies of your race are frowning on me, Norman,” she said.

“Hardly that; if they could but step down from their frames, what a stately company they would make to welcome you!”

And forthwith he proceeded to narrate their various histories.

“This resolute woman,” he said, “with the firm lips and strong, noble face, lived in the time of the Roses; she held this old hall against her foes for three whole weeks, until the siege was raised, and the enemy retired discomfited.”

“She was a brave woman,” remarked Lady Arleigh.

“This was a heroine,” he went on—­“Lady Alicia Arleigh; she would not leave London when the terrible plague raged there.  It is supposed that she saved numberless lives; she devoted herself to the nursing of the sick, and when all the fright and fear had abated, she found herself laden with blessings, and her name honored throughout the land.  This is Lady Lola, who in time of riot went out unattended, unarmed, quite alone, and spoke to three or four hundred of the roughest men in the country; they had come, in the absence of her husband, to sack and pillage the Hall—­they marched back again, leaving it untouched.  This, Lady Constance, is a lineal descendant of Lady Nethsdale—­the brave Lady Nethsdale.”

She clung to his arm as she stood there.

“Oh, Norman,” she said, “do you mean that my portrait, too, will hang here?”

“I hope so, my darling, very soon.”

“But how can I have a place among all these fair and noble women,” she asked, with sad humility—­“I whose ancestors have done nothing to deserve merit or praise?  Why, Norman, in the long years to come, when some Lord Arleigh brings home his wife, as you have brought me, and they stand together before my picture as I stand before these, the young wife will ask:  ‘Who was this?’ and the answer will be:  ’Lady Madaline Arleigh.’  She will ask again:  ‘Who was she?’ And what will the answer be?  ’She was no one of importance; she had neither money, rank, nor aught else.’”

He looked at the bent face near him.

“Nay, my darling, not so.  That Lord Arleigh will be able to answer:  ’She was the flower of the race; she was famed for her pure, gentle life, and the good example she gave to all around her; she was beloved by rich and poor.’  That is what will be said of you, my Madaline.”

“Heaven make me worthy!” she said, humbly.  And then they came to a picture that seemed to strike her.

“Norman,” she said, “that face is like the Duchess of Hazlewood’s.”

“Do you think so, darling?  Well, there is perhaps a faint resemblance.”

“It lies in the brow and in the chin,” she said.  “How beautiful the duchess is!” she continued.  “I have often looked at her till her face seemed to dazzle me.”