I roamed restlessly about, and at last found my way to the picture-gallery, which had formed the scene of John's adventure on the previous night.
I had never been in this part of the house before, as it contained no facilities for heating, and so often remained shut in the winter months.
I found a listless pleasure in admiring the pictures which lined the walls, most of them being portraits of former members of the family, including the famous picture of Sir Ralph Temple and his family, attributed to Holbein.

I had reached the end of the gallery and sat down in the oriel watching the snow-flakes falling sparsely, and the evergreens below me waving wildly in the sudden rushes of the wind.

My thoughts were busy with the events of the previous evening,--with John's illness, with the ball,--and I found myself humming the air of a waltz that had caught my fancy.

At last I turned away from the garden scene towards the gallery, and as I did so my eyes fell on a remarkable picture just opposite to me.
It was a full-length portrait of a young man, life-size, and I had barely time to appreciate even its main features when I knew that I had before me the painted counterfeit of my brother's vision.

The discovery caused me a violent shock, and it was with an infinite repulsion that I recognised at once the features and dress of the man whom John had seen rising from the chair at Oxford.