l your kindness
to me since my coming here two years ago. I shall see you later and show
you that I am not lacking in appreciation, though I can never express
my gratitude to you; but before I can do that--before I can even tell
you who I am--it is necessary that I see Mr. Britton."

"Tut! tut!" said Mr. Underwood, gruffly; "don't talk to me of gratitude;
I don't want any; but, my God! boy, I had come to look on you almost as
my own son!" And, turning abruptly, he left the room before either of
the others could speak.

"He is a man of very strong feelings," said Mr. Britton, leading the way
to Mr. Underwood's room; "and, to tell the truth, this is a pretty hard
blow to each of us, although we should have prepared ourselves for it.
Be seated, my son."

Seating himself beside the young man and again looking into his face, he
said,--

"I see that the day has dawned; when did the light come, and how?"

Briefly the other related his awakening on the rocks and the events
which followed down to his finding and reading the journal which
recorded so faithfully the history of the missing years, Mr. Britton
listening with intense interest. At last the young man said,--

"Of all the records of that journal, there was nothing that interested
me so greatly or moved me so deeply as did the story of your own life.
That is what brought me here to-day. I have come to tell you my
story,--the story of John Darrell, as you have known him,--and possibly
you may find it in some ways a counterpart to your own."

"I was drawn towards you in some inexplicable way from our first
meeting," Mr. Britton replied, slowly; "you became as dear to me as a
son, so that I gave you in confidence the story that no other human
being has ever heard. It is needless to say that I appreciate this mark
of your confidence in return, and that you can rest assured of my
deepest interest in anything concerning yourself."

The younger man drew his chair nearer his companion. "As you already
know," he said, "I am a mine expert. I came out here on a commission for
a large eastern syndicate, and as there was likely to be lively
competition and I wished to remain incognito, I took the name of John
Darrell, which in reality was a part of my own name. My home is in New
York State. I was a country-bred boy, brought up on one of those great
farms which abound a little north of the central part of the State; but,
though country-bred, I was not a rustic, for my mother,