There was a murmur, not rising to articulateness, which seemed to be surprise at the sight of the portrait so unexpectedly disclosed.  Then followed a breathless hush.  It was in the hush that Edmonson’s eyes were busiest.  But that, too, was short.  For, a cry of astonishment rose from nearly every one in the hall.  This, though coming from many throats, had but one import.

“What a likeness!  Perfect!  Wonderful!  How came it there?  How came he here?  What does it mean?”

From Edmonson, standing motionless, the assembly looked toward Stephen, and from him, plainly as much at a loss as themselves, they turned their eyes where his were already fixed, upon the face of his father.  But the Colonel, pale and amazed, with a dark shadow fallen upon his face from the door near by him—­or perhaps from some door opening in his own breast—­seemed no more able than the others to read the riddle.  Indeed, he was the first to ask the explanation that all were seeking.

“When and how did you bring that picture here?” he said.  “And whose portrait is it?” For he had rejected the first suggestion of its being Edmonson himself.  The dress belonged to an earlier period, and the face was that of a man somewhat older; it could not be thought of as the portrait of the young man standing beside it; it was simply a marvellous likeness.

“I found it here,” returned Edmonson with a bow.  “I have seen the copy of it many times, this is the original painting by Lely.  It came here—­I mean to the Colonies—­by one of those mistakes that one member of a family sometimes, perpetrates upon the others.  How it ever got behind this hanging it is out of my province to tell.  I yield the field to Colonel Archdale.”

“I know nothing of it,” said that gentleman.  “The house was built when I was a child.  It was one of the preparations for my father’s second marriage.  The tapestry is an heirloom; it is so old that I am always afraid of its tearing, and it is never taken from the wall.  My house is at the disposal of my guests, to be sure, but none of them could have destroyed anything else that I should have felt the injury to so keenly.”

“It was not willingly done,” returned Edmonson, “it was by the impulse of fate.  As to the picture, it does not seem strange that we expect Colonel Archdale to know whom his own family portraits represent.”

“It may not seem strange, but it is not unprecedented to be ignorant,” answered his host.  “My father must have known, but in obeying his injunctions as to care of the tapestry I had no idea that I was keeping anything but bare walls from view.  Even these antlers are fastened to a great nail in one of the beams.  I remember it since I was a child.  The hanging was fitted over it, and I was glad when it was put to use in this way.”