There was no one to be seen. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. Beethoven; he’s the best of them. Yet he was in a state of hopeless bewilderment. "My servants, like Eastern mutes, must have eyes, and ears,— and hands, if need be,—but no tongues. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber.
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