Had he looked more closely, the chin was unlike his own girl’s, and there were other differences.  But the first glance revealed a thrilling resemblance.  Hope hurried away from the room, and entered the office pale and disturbed.  “Oh, sir! the very image of my own.  It fills me with forebodings.  I pity you, sir, with all my heart.  That sad sight reconciles me to my lot.  God help you!” and he was going away; for now he felt an unreasoning terror lest his own child should have turned from colored wax to pale.

Mr. Bartley stopped him.  “Are they so very like?” said he.

“Wonderfully like.”  And again he was going, but Bartley, who had received him so coldly, seemed now unwilling to part with him.

“Stay,” said he, “and let me think.”  The truth is, a daring idea had just flashed through that brain of his; and he wanted to think it out.  He walked to and fro in silent agitation, and his face was as a book in which you may read strange matter.  At last he made up his mind, but the matter was one he did not dare to approach too bluntly, so he went about a little.

“Stay—­you don’t know all my misfortunes.  I am ambitious—­like you.  I believe in science and knowledge—­like you.  And, if my child had lived, you should have been my adviser and my right hand:  I want such a man as you.”

Hope threw up his hands.  “My usual luck!” said he:  “always a day too late.”  Bartley resumed: 

“But my child’s death robs me of the money to work with, and I can’t help you nor help myself.”

Hope groaned.

Bartley hesitated.  But after a moment he said, timidly, “Unless—­” and then stopped.

“Unless what?” asked Hope, eagerly.  “I am not likely to raise objections my child’s life is at stake.”

“Well, then, unless you are really the superior man you seem to be:  a man of ability and—­courage.”

“Courage!” thought Hope, and began to be puzzled.  However, he said, modestly, that he thought he could find courage in a good cause.

“Then you and I are made men,” said Bartley.  These were stout words; but they were not spoken firmly; on the contrary, Mr. Bartley’s voice trembled, and his brow began to perspire visibly.

His agitation communicated itself to Hope, and the latter said, in a low, impressive voice, “This is something very grave, Mr. Bartley.  Sir, what is it?”

Mr. Bartley looked uneasily all round the room, and came close to Hope.  “The very walls must not hear what I now say to you.”  Then, in a thrilling whisper, “My daughter must not die.”

Hope looked puzzled.

“Your daughter must take her place.”

Now just before this, two quick ears began to try and catch the conversation.  Monckton had heard all that Colonel Clifford said, that warrior’s tones were so incisive; but, as the matter only concerned Mr. Bartley, he merely grinned at the disappointment likely to fall on his employer, for he knew Mary Bartley was at death’s door.  He said as much to himself, and went out for a sandwich, for it was his lunch-time.  But when he returned with stealthy foot, for all his movements were cat-like, he caught sight of Bartley and Hope in earnest conversation, and felt very curious.