photograph his first sight of it; and even the camera had taken on the semblance of the tripod of a tragic pythoness.
Payne was surprised, when taking his leave a little while after, at something which showed that the Australian was already less unconscious of his surroundings. He said in a low voice:
"Don't go . . . or come again soon. You look like a human being. This place fairly gives me the jumps."
When Payne emerged out of those almost subterranean halls and came into the night air and the smell of the sea, he felt as if he had come out of that underworld of dreams in which events jumble on top of each other in a way at once unrestful and unreal. The arrival of the strange relative had been somehow unsatisfying and, as it were, unconvincing. The doubling of the same face in the old portrait and the new arrival troubled him like a two-headed monster. And yet it was not altogether a nightmare; nor was it that face, perhaps, that he saw most vividly.
"Did you say?" he asked of the doctor, as they strode together across the striped dark sands by the darkening sea, "Did you say that young man was betrothed to Miss Darnaway by a family compact or something? Sounds rather like a novel."
"But an historical novel," answered Dr. Barnet.
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