a son, a lad of my
own age or thereabouts, and therefore less than twenty at that time.
Little seemed to be known about him, save that he had been his
mother's sole stay and companion, that they had both lived apart from
their neighbors, and much under the shadow of their distresses. At
her death he had been with her, and he had stood by her grave, but
never afterwards had he been seen by anyone who could make a guess as
to what had become of him. But, whilst I was still in the midst of my
search, the body of a young man came ashore on the island of Engy,
and though the features were no longer to be recognized, yet there
were many in the fishing quarter of this city who could swear, from
evidences of stature and of clothing, to its identity with him I
looked for; and thus the second chapter of my quest seemed to close
at a tomb.

"I cannot say that I was fully satisfied, for nothing that I had
heard of the boy's character seemed to agree with any thought of
suicide, and I noticed that the good old Lutheran priest who had sat
with the poor mother in her last hours shook his head at the mention
of it, though he would give no reasons for his determined unbelief.
But perhaps my zeal was flagging, for my search ceased from that
hour, and as often since as my conscience has reproached me with a
mission unfulfilled I have appeased it with the assurance that mother
and son are both gone, and death itself has been my sure abridgment.

"Some day, dear Greeba, I will tell you who sent me (which you may
partly guess) and who they were to whom I was sent. But it is like
the way of the world itself, that, having set ourselves a task, we
must follow it as regularly as the sun rises and sets, and the day
comes and the night follows, or once letting it slip it will drop
into a chaos. For a thing happened just at that moment of my wavering
which altered the current of my life, so that my time here, which was
to be devoted to an unselfish work, seems to have been given up to
personal ambitions.

"I have mentioned that the good woman had been the daughter of the
Governor-General. His name was Jorgen Jorgensen. He had turned her
adrift because of her marriage, which was in defiance of his wish,
and through all the years of her poverty he had either abandoned her
to her necessities, or her pride had hidden them from his knowledge.
But he had heard of her death when it came to pass, and by that time
his stubborn spirit had begun to feel t