AFTER what seemed to Captain Osborn to be an interminable length of time, the wounded man arose from his chair and gazed long and earnestly at his reflection in the mirror; then, turning, he said:

“God be praised, Captain Osborn, I remember all. Yes,” he went on, as the two men clasped hands, “I remember my two lives. I’ve lived them all over, even down to the time when I was thrown from the mustang in front of your bank. I must be known as John Bruce Horton, but, for God’s sake, bring me my boy, my son, Hugh. No wonder I took such a strong fancy to him from the first day we met after his arrival in Meade.”

The two men embraced, and then the captain, going to the adjoining room, beckoned to Hugh, who hastily approached. “He remembers all,” said the captain, “both his lives. Go in to your father.” Then, gently closing the door, Captain Osborn turned to the post commander, Captain Painter, and his associates, and explained to them in detail the marvelous story.

An hour later Hugh joined Captain Osborn and his associates. He was noticeably agitated, and his eyes were red with weeping. “Gentlemen,” he said, “my tears have been those of joy at finding my father. I am going to Horton’s Grove.” Then, bidding them adieu, he hastily took his departure.

Arriving at the Grove, he found Mrs. Horton seated on the veranda. “Welcome, Mr. Stanton,” said she, as Hugh, with flushed face, saluted her with more warmth than usual. Without wasting time, he hastily narrated to her all that had occurred. Her expressions of distress and alarm, when told of the accident which had befallen her husband, and of amazement as Hugh’s narrative proceeded, were indeed a study.

“Then you,” she exclaimed, “you, Mr. Stanton, you are my husband’s son, and I—I will be your mother, if you will let me, and you shall be my boy as well as his.” She embraced him warmly, while tears dimmed her eyes. “Oh!” she exclaimed, “it is all so new—so sudden; I can hardly understand the unraveling of such a mystery. Before our marriage he told me that the beginning of all memory with him was his recovery from that ugly wound on his head.”

“And now,” asked Hugh, “where is Ethel—my sister?” Hardly had he asked the question when he heard her singing within.

“Go, Hugh, my son, and tell her all. I am so overcome; I must compose myself and prepare to set out immediately for your father.”

As Hugh turned and walked briskly along the veranda, he saw Doctor Redfield disembarking from a boat-ride. Through the screen door he saw Ethel, whose tender brown eyes and marvelous beauty were daily growing more radiant under the expanding influence of an ennobling and reciprocal love. She was humming a love ditty to herself as Hugh pushed aside the screen and approached her.

“Welcome, my good friend,” said she, looking up and extending her hand, “Jack and I were talking of you while taking our boat-ride, and had made up our minds to go and fetch you, had you not come of your own accord. Now then,” said she, roguishly, “where are your excuses and explanations?”

“Ah, Ethel,” said Hugh, as he still held her hand in his with tenderest loyalty and respect, “I have much to say.” And then, controlling his excitement as much as possible, he hurriedly related all that had happened.

“Poor daddy,” murmured Ethel, while tears trembled in her eyes as she followed the detail with closest attention.

“And have you told mamma?”

“All,” replied Hugh.

“Then we must order the carriage and go at once for my darling father. Ah, Hugh, he is your father as well; and you—you are my brother!” A flood of recollections seemed suddenly to envelop both brother and sister, and for a moment they were stunned.

“Yes,” said Hugh, “you are my sister,” and, taking her in his strong arms, he embraced her fervently.

A moment later they were both startled at a footstep on the veranda, and, turning, they found themselves face to face with Doctor Redfield, who had observed their affectionate embrace.

“Pardon me,” he said, stiffly, and with marked politeness, “I was not aware that our friend had arrived.”

“Yes,” stammered Ethel, while a smile played around her lips, “Hugh has given us quite a surprise, and you don’t know how glad I am that he is here.”

“Yes, I imagine that you are decidedly pleased,” said Jack, in his most frigid tones, while he shot a glance at Hugh as much as to say, “An explanation is in order, sir; otherwise, coffee and pistols for two.” In the meantime, Ethel had quite recovered herself.

“Why, Jack,” said she, “you are usually so jolly; what makes you act so petulantly? I believe you are angry at something?”

“Me angry? Oh, no,” said Jack, coldly; “possibly a little displeased with myself for having interrupted such a pleasant conversation.” He tried to give an expression of indifference and half amusement to his face, but instead it was one of absolute vexation.

“Well, old fellow,” said Hugh, “how are you, anyhow? I saw you getting out of your boat awhile ago, and intended coming down to the boat-house after you, but was detained. You know how fascinating Ethel is. She makes a foolish fellow like myself forget all about time and everything else.”

“It is quite evident that you did not expect me at the house quite so soon,” replied the doctor, quickly.

“To be candid,” replied Hugh, “we did not. You are, nevertheless, welcome. Can’t you say as much to me?” There was a certain dangerous look of passion in Jack’s eyes that filled them with a glowing, searching gaze, as he replied:

“I have never failed, sir, to welcome you at all times, because until now I believed you to be an honorable man.”

Hugh laughed good-naturedly, and, leading Ethel, he went over to Jack, put one hand on his shoulder, and with the other arm he encircled Ethel’s waist. “Now, Jack, old fellow, I know that ‘love maketh a man mad,’ but you surely would not suspect me of a dishonorable act, especially where your interests are concerned.” There was a bewitching sweetness, mingled with amusement, hovering in Ethel’s eyes, while Hugh was speaking.

“Well,” said Jack, as he forced a little husky laugh, “I’ve always supposed you were my friend.”

“Go on believing it,” said Hugh, “and, when you and Ethel are married, remember that you will then become my brother, for this noble girl is my sister,” and there, with one hand on Jack’s shoulder, and an arm about Ethel, Hugh told him the strange story. When he had finished, Jack clasped his hand warmly, and said:

“Hugh, my dear fellow, accept my congratulations. Truly, facts are stranger than fiction. Thank God my confidence in your friendship is unshaken. Ethel, forgive me.”

The Horton carriage was soon ready, and it was not long before John Horton was surrounded by his loved ones from the Grove. During the afternoon the patient was removed to his home. On returning to Meade, Hugh found Captain Osborn at the bank.

While they were talking, little Harry came in. His tiny arms were clasped about bunches of dandelions and wild flowers that he had gathered from the protected nooks and banks of the Manaroya. The captain opened the door of his private office and said, “Come in, Harry, come in here, you little rascal. Where have you been all day?”.....

The child, still holding the flowers in his chubby arms, climbed upon his father’s knee. “I’s been out to det the pretty posies, papa. I bringed ‘ou ha’f of ‘em, an’ I left ha’f of ‘em wiv mamma. I laid ‘em down on dat little place, papa, and I whispered, ‘Mamma, little Harry ‘oves’ou, and papa ‘oves ‘ou, too.’ I listened long time, papa, but I did n’t hear nuffin. I ‘spec mamma was asleep, but maybe she was ‘way wiv the angels. Do you fink so, papa?”

The old captain held the boy to his great heart, while his eyes filled with tears.

“Yes, papa, I bringed ‘ou ha’f of ‘em, an’ I give mamma ha’f of ‘em. I put ‘em all round dat little mound, papa, an’ I stacked ‘em up high, and when mamma turns back from visitin’ the angels, she’ll see ‘em, won’t she, papa? And I wrote her a great big letter and doubled it all up, and put on the outside—’To mamma from Harry.’.rdquo;