We were alone in the library, Lord Carbis, Lady Carbis, Edgecumbe and myself, and certainly it was one of the strangest gatherings ever I experienced.

The excitement was intense, and yet we spoke together quietly, as though we lived in a world of commonplaces. But nothing was commonplace. Never in my life did I realize the effect which joy can have, as I realized it then. Years before, Lord and Lady Carbis had received news that their son had died in India. What that news had meant to them at the time I had no idea. He was their only son, and on him all their hopes had centred. They had mourned for him as dead, and his loss had meant a blank in their lives which no words can describe.

Then, suddenly and without warning, they had come into a strange house, and found their son standing before them. As I think of it now, I wonder that the shock did not do them serious harm, and I can quite understand the incoherent, almost meaningless words they uttered.

To Edgecumbe the shock must have been still greater. For years the greatest part of his life had been a blank to him. As I have set forth in these pages, all his life before the time when he awoke to consciousness in India had practically no meaning to him. And then, suddenly, the thick, dark curtain was torn aside, and he woke to the fact that his memory was restored, that he was not homeless or nameless, but that his father and mother stood before him.'

'Jack has told me all about you,' Lord Carbis said, as I entered the room; 'told me what you did for him, what a friend you have been to him! God bless you, sir! I don't know how to express my feelings, I—I hardly know what I am saying, but you understand,—I am sure you understand.'

'Isn't it a lark, old man,' Edgecumbe said with a laugh, 'isn't it,—isn't it?—but there—I can't put it into words. Half the time I seem to be dreaming. Things which happened years ago are coming in crowds back to me, until half the time I am wondering whether after all I am not somebody else. And yet I know I am not somebody else. Why, here's dad, and here's the little mater'; and he looked at them joyfully.

I could not help watching him anxiously, for after all he had just gone through an experience which happens to but one man in a million. It seemed to me as though I dimly understood the strange processes through which his brain must have gone in order to bring about the present state of things. During the earlier part of the day, all his past had been a blank, now much of it was real to him. He had been like a man with his life cut in two, one half being unknown to him; and now, as if by a miracle, that half was restored. I wondered how he felt. I feared he would not be able to stand the shock, and that he would suffer a terrible reaction afterwards.

'You are all right, aren't you, old man?' I said. 'You—you don't feel ill or anything of that sort?'

'Right as a skylark,' he said gaily, 'except that I am a bit tired.'

'You are sure, Jack, my darling?' said his mother, looking at him anxiously. 'Sure there is nothing we can do for you? Oh, I wish we were home!'

'Do you?' he said. 'I am not sure I agree with you.'

'Oh, but I do. You see, we don't know the Bolivicks very well, and—and—we didn't come expecting anything like this, did we, John?'

'Anything like this!' ejaculated Lord Carbis, 'anything like this!
Why—why,—Jack, my boy!'—and he rubbed his eyes vigorously.

'I am sure Sir Thomas and Lady Bolivick are only too glad to have you here,' I said, 'and nothing will be regarded as a trouble. Besides, I am not sure that your son does not want to be here. But tell me, old fellow, don't you think you ought to get to bed?'

A look of fear came into his eyes. 'No, not yet, not yet,' he said. 'I think I am afraid to go to sleep; afraid lest when I wake up I shall find that great black cloud lying at the back of my mind again.'

'Then wouldn't it be wise to send for a doctor? The man who lives here is not at all a bad chap;—you know that.'

Again he laughed gaily. 'I want no doctor. The little mother is all the doctor I want.'

Lady Carbis leant over him and kissed him, just as I have seen young mothers kiss their firstborn babies.

'I will sit by your bed all the night, my darling,' she said, 'and no harm shall come to you while you are asleep.'

'But I don't want to sleep just yet,' went on Edgecumbe. 'I feel as though I must tell you all I can tell you, for fear,—that is, suppose when I wake the old black cloud is there? I—I want you to know things'; and there was a look in his eyes which suggested that wistful expression I had noticed at Plymouth Harbour when we first met.

'You felt something was going to happen, you know,' I said.

'Yes, I did. All through the day it felt to me as though some great change were coming. I did not know what it was, and the curtain which hid the past was as black as ever, but I had a kind of feeling that everything was hanging as in a balance, that—that—eh, mother, it is good to see you! to know you, to—to—have a past! It was just like this,' he went on: 'when I came downstairs, and saw George St. Mabyn, I felt that the curtain was getting thinner. I remembered Maurice St. Mabyn,—it was only dimly, and I could not call to mind what happened to him; but something impelled me to speak to him.'

'Don't talk about it any more, old fellow,' I said; 'you are not well enough yet. To-morrow, after you have had a good night's rest, everything will seem normal and natural.'

'It is normal and natural now,' he laughed; 'besides, it does me good to talk about it to you. It is not as though you were a stranger.'

'No,' cried his mother, 'he has told us all about you, sir, and what you did for him.'

'Perhaps, after all,' went on Edgecumbe, 'I had better not talk any more to-night. You—you think I'll be all right in the morning, don't you? And I am feeling tired and sleepy. Besides, I feel like a kid again;—the idea of going to bed with the little mother holding my hand makes me think of——'

'There now, old man,' I interrupted, 'let me go with you to your room. You are a bit shaky, you know, and you must look upon me as a stern male nurse.'

Half an hour later, when I left him, he was lying in bed, and as he had said, his mother sat by his side, holding his hand, while Lord Carbis was in a chair close by, watching his son with eager, anxious eyes.

After a few words with Sir Thomas, I made my way to the village of South Petherwin to find the doctor. Truth to tell, I felt more than a little anxious, and although I had persuaded Edgecumbe that when morning came everything would be well, I dreaded his awakening.

As good fortune would have it, I found the doctor at home, who listened with great eagerness and attention to my story.

'It is the strangest thing I have ever heard of,' he said, when I had finished.

'Do you fear any grave results?' I asked.

'Luscombe,' he replied, 'I can speak to you freely. I will go with you to see him, but the whole business is out of my depth. For the matter of that, I doubt if any doctor in England could prophesy what will happen to him. All the same, I see no reason why everything should not be right.'

Without waking him, Dr. Merril took his temperature, felt his pulse, listened to the beating of his heart.

'Everything is right, isn't it?' asked Lord Carbis anxiously.

'As far as I can tell, yes.'

'And there is nothing you can do more than has been done?'

'Nothing,' replied the doctor; 'one of the great lessons which my profession has taught me is, as far as possible, to leave Nature to do her own work.'

'And you think he will awake natural and normal to-morrow morning?' whispered the older man.

'I see no reason why he should not,' he said. All the same, there was an anxious look in his eyes as he went away.