Hereupon the soldiers thoughtlessly cried out with one voice: "Give us some proof!"
"My dearest daughter," replied the old man, holding up his hands. "If any proof is wanted, it is in your own possession. Before I departed for Japan, I painted a portrait of myself, and left it with your nurse, to be given to you as a memento of me. I have changed since then, but my features are still much the same. May I ask you to compare the picture with me? Then I am sure your doubts will be removed."
"Yes," said Kinshō, "I have that picture."
She took out the portrait which she always carried about her person. She then held up a mirror, in such a way that the moonlight cast a reflection of the old man's face upon it; and she looked intently from one to the other for a considerable time. The jet-black hair and vivacious expression in the portrait contrasted strongly with the wrinkled face and snowy locks reflected in the mirror. But the eyes, mouth, and nose of both were so similar, that it was impossible to doubt his identity.
"Oh, you must be indeed my own true, and long-lost father!" cried the lady. "Forgive me
