to this unknown love, notwithstanding that memory now showed
him the picture of another and earlier love in the far East.

But it was the story of John Britton's life which moved him most. With
strained, eager eyes and bated breath he read that sad recital, and at
its termination, buried his face in his hands and sobbed like a child.

When he had grown calm he sat for some time reviewing the past and
forming plans for future action. While thus absorbed in thought he heard
a step, and, looking up, saw standing before him a man of apparently
sixty years, with bronzed face and grizzled hair, whose small, piercing
eyes regarded himself with keen scrutiny. In response to the younger
man's greeting he only bowed silently.

"You must be Peter, the hermit," the young man exclaimed; "but whoever
you are, you are welcome; I am glad to see a human face."

"And you," replied the other, slowly, "you are not the same man that you
were yesterday; you have awakened, as he said you would some day."

"As who said?" the young man questioned.

"John Britton," the other replied.

"Yes, I have awakened, and my life here is like a dream. Sit down,
Peter; I want to ask you some questions."

For half an hour they sat together, the younger man asking questions,
the other answering in as few words as possible, his keen eyes never
leaving the face of his interlocutor.

"Where is this John Britton?" the young man finally inquired.

"In Ophir--at a place called The Pines."

"I know the place; I remember it. How far is it from here?"

"Fifteen miles by rail from the station at the foot of the mountain."

"I must go to him at once; you will show me the way. How soon can we get
away from here?"

Peter glanced at the sun. "We cannot get down the trail in season for
to-day's train. We will start to-morrow morning."

Without further speech he then went into the cabin and busied himself
with his accustomed duties. When he reappeared he again stood silently
regarding the younger man with his fixed, penetrating gaze.

"What awakened you?" he asked, at length.

The abruptness of the question, as well as its tenor, startled the
other; that was a phase of the mystery surrounding himself of which he
had not even thought.

"I do not know," he replied, slowly; "that question had not occurred to
me before. What do you think? Might it not have come about in the
ordinary sequence of events?"

Peter shook his head. "Not likely," he muttered; "the