Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. But in his presence a wall of diffidence and timidity encompassed her. “Agreed,” he said with queer exaltation, and his grip tightened on her hand. ” An awkward moment of silence followed. 6.
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