wild desire to be rid of the place forever seized him, and he stepped
backward. At the same minute he observed for the first time what
looked like some faded letters painted upon the wall directly beneath
the four mysterious portraits. Examining these with his candle, he
saw that they formed the words:

"_The last of the Guirs_."

"No wonder Dorothy said that she was afraid of them," Paul reflected;
"their portraits alone would drive me mad." He took another long
searching look; and as his eyes grew accustomed to the faded
coloring, he observed how cleverly the work had been done. Evidently
the pictures had been painted from life, though under what
circumstances Henley could never imagine. The faces were all those of
a feminine type; they were of young women, apparently but little more
than girls, and each with this life-like, though dreadful expression.
As Paul stood marveling and wondering, a new interest seized him. At
first he could not quite understand what it was, but it became
stronger and better defined, he knew, for he recognized one of the
faces. Yes, there could be no mistake about it; the picture on the
left was a _portrait of Dorothy herself_. Henley rubbed his eyes, and
looked again and again; he could not believe their evidence, but they
had not deceived him. He tried to make himself believe that it was
the likeness of some ancestor, to whom she had a strange resemblance;
but, despite the look of pain, it could be no other than Dorothy, and
indeed this very expression helped to heighten the likeness, for had
he not seen a similar expression at the breakfast table? The longer
he gazed at it, the more convinced he became that this was a portrait
of Miss Guir. At last, thoroughly mystified, he turned away,
intending to leave this grewsome chamber of horrors forever; but now