As soon as Solly's glance fell upon the portrait, which he took from Mr. Paley, his eyes moistened and his lips twitched.
"Has she sent it to me? May I have it, sir?"
"Whose portrait is it, Solly?"
But the man appeared unconscious of the governor's inquiry. He continued to gaze steadfastly upon the portrait. And he said, as if he had forgotten that anyone was present beside the portrait and himself, in a tone of voice whose tenderness, to a toneless pen, is indescribable—
"How came she to be sitting on that chair? And what a strange look she has upon her face! My darling!"
In the presence of those iron-bound officials he kissed the face which was imaged in the photograph.
"I don't think you can have heard my question, Solly. Whose portrait is that?"
"Whose? My wife's. Are you not aware of that? Has it not come from her for me?"
"No." The governor held out his hand. "Give it to me." Solly shrank back a little. He seemed to hold the portrait with an intenser grasp. Then he gave it back to Mr. Paley. "That portrait is the property of the prison. I merely wished to know if you recognised the subject. Here is another portrait, Solly. Can you tell me who is the original of this?"
Solly stared, as though he could not quite make out the purport of the proceedings. He held out his hand, rather doubtfully, for the fresh photograph which the governor passed to him by way of the chief warder. But when his glance fell upon the
