ght she caught the notes of a little tune. And in another
moment he broke into the air, singing softly the opening line:--

"There never was a sweetheart like this mother fair of mine!--"

He had sung no more when the face of Mrs. Collingwood appeared in the
doorway. Her eyes were wide and staring, her features almost gray in
color.

"Who--who _are_ you?" she demanded, in a voice scarcely louder than a
whisper. The stranger gazed at her with a fixed look.

"Arthur-- Arthur Calthorpe!" he faltered.

"No--you are not!"

They drew toward each other unconsciously, as though moving in a dream.

"No one--no one ever knew that song but--" Mrs. Collingwood came closer,
and uttered a sudden low cry:

"_My son!_"

"_Mother!_"

The two girls, who had been watching this scene with amazement
unutterable, saw the strange pair gaze, for one long moment, into each
other's eyes. Then, with a beautiful gesture, the man held out his arms.
And the woman, with a little gasp of happiness, walked into them!

CHAPTER XVI

JOYCE EXPLAINS

"Joyce, will you just oblige me by pinching me--real hard! I'm perfectly
certain I'm not awake!"

Joyce pinched, obligingly, and with vigor, thereby eliciting from her
companion a muffled squeak. The two girls were sitting on the lower step
of the staircase in the dark hallway. They had been sitting there for a
long, long while.

It was Joyce who had pulled Cynthia away from staring, wide-eyed, at the
spectacle of that marvelous reunion. And they had slipped out into the
hall unobserved, in order that the two in the drawing-room might have
this wonderful moment to themselves. Neither of them had yet
sufficiently recovered from her amazement to be quite coherent.

"I can't make anything out of it!" began Cynthia, slowly, at last.
"_He's dead!_"

"Evidently he isn't," replied Joyce, "or he wouldn't be here! But
oh!--it's true, then! I hardly dared to hope it would be so! I'm _so_
glad I did it!" Cynthia turned on her.

"Joyce Kenway! _What_ are you talking about? It sounds as though you
were going crazy!"

"Oh, of course you don't understand!" retorted Joyce. "And it's your own
fault too. I'd have been glad enough to explain, and talk it over with
you, only you were so hateful that I just went home instead, and thought
it out myself."

"Well, I may be stupid," remarked Cynthia, "but for the life of me I
can't make any sense out of what you're saying!"

"Listen, then," said