ugh you stand within the shadow of a scaffold; a man, whose heart--O
God!--must speak, or it will break; a friend who loves you, who never
wronged any one, but has been made the puppet of outrageous fortune; a
man who has more wealth than all Virginia, and yet is poorer than the
lowest beggar; a man born to misfortune; a child of sorrow and of tears;
one who never loved, but to see the object of his affections blighted or
stolen; a man to whom dungeons, chains, slavery, death, hell itself
would be heaven compared to what he hath endured; such a poor wretch, my
friends, is now before you."

He could say no more, but, sinking upon a chair, buried his face in his
hands and burst into tears. The three friends gazed at him for several
seconds in astonishment; then they looked at each other for some
solution to this mystery.

"What meaneth this?" Drummond asked when he regained his voice. "Surely
I have heard that voice before. It takes me back, back into the past,
many years ago, when we were all young."

Before any one could say a word, Sir Albert started up, laid aside his
cocked hat and, brushing back his long snow-white hair from his massive
brow, said:

"Drummond, Lawrence, Cheeseman, friends of my youth, look on this face
and, in God's name, tell me you recognize one familiar feature left by
the hand of misfortune."

The three looked,--started to their feet, and Drummond cried:

"God in heaven! hath the sea given up its dead? _It is John Stevens_!"

"It is John Stevens, alive and in the flesh," he quickly answered. At
first they could hardly believe him, until he briefly told them the
story of his shipwreck and wonderful adventures on the island, of the
treasures untold thrown into his hands, and finally of a ship, in search
of water, putting into his poor harbor. After no little trouble he got
his treasure aboard this vessel without the crew suspecting what it was
and sailed to Europe. His vast wealth had procured all else--ship,
faithful men, the king's favor and all needful to his plans.

"Then I sailed for Virginia to meet sorrow, good friends, and live a
living death," he concluded.

"Did you know of her marriage before your arrival?"

"Yes, I was told in London by a Virginian of whom I made some inquiry. I
could not believe it at first, for Dorothe always condemned second
marriages, and oft, when ailing, predicted that I would wed when she
died, and bring a second mother over her children."

Drummond