“Yes, ma'am, that he was indeed; and his son will be just like him―just as affable to the poor.”

“That is not very likely;our authority was too good.”

Elizabeth almost stared at her.“Can this be Mr. Darcy?”thought she.

On reaching the spacious lobby above they were shown into a very pretty sitting-room,lately fitted up with greater elegance and lightness than the apartments below;and were informed that it was but just done to give pleasure to Miss Darcy,who had taken a liking to the room when last at Pemberley.

In the gallery there were many family portraits,but they could have little to fix the attention of a stranger.Elizabeth walked in quest of the only face whose features would be known to her.At last it arrested her―and she beheld a striking resemblance to Mr. Darcy,with such a smile over the face as she remembered to have sometimes seen when he looked at her.She stood several minutes before the picture,in earnest contemplation,and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father's lifetime.