For all of the warm August sun shining without, a chill struck to her bones as they passed through the vast, closed rooms. She held her now sleeping baby close to her breast as she followed the old man about from picture to picture.

“Yes, a many do come ‘ere — especially hartists — to see this gallery. They say as ‘ow ‘is lordship wouldn’t take a thousand pounds for this one, ma’m. We’ll let in a little more light. A Vandyke — and worth it’s weight in gold.”

Cassandra watched him cross the floor, his short bow legs reflected grotesquely in its shining surface as he walked, then turned and gazed again at the life-size, half-length portrait of a young man with sunny hair like David’s and warm brown eyes.