With a feeling of womanly curiosity Betty looked around the room.

Over the rude mantelpiece were hung a sword, a brace of pistols, and two pictures.

These last interested Betty very much.
They were portraits; one of them was a likeness of a sweet-faced woman who Betty instinctively knew was his mother.

Her eyes lingered tenderly on that face, so like the one lying on the pillow.

The other portrait was of a beautiful girl whose dark, magnetic eyes challenged Betty.