"My grandmother," she says, unveiling the old painting and fixing Harold with her unsettling gaze. "Daughter of the proudest earl in Wales -- and I am exactly like her, am I not? It is the most remarkable resemblance ever to occur in the family."

"Yes," he says, then turns suddenly to the beautiful woman. "I swear I've seen her before. That's why your face was so familiar. I must have seen your grandmother when I was very young!"

"But Harold," she says, elevating her brows. "That is impossible. She died when papa was a little boy!"

Gertrude Atherton tells the story of perilous romance whose effects are felt beyond their time -- and across generations.