uish three figures,
one was Jim Hathaway, the other two were strangers.

"I beg your pardon, Madame." It was the elder of the two strangers who
spoke; he had sprung from his horse, and taken off his hat. Even in the
dim light Miss Jessie could see that he was a gentleman. His companion
she noticed was much younger, scarcely more than a boy indeed, and he,
too, was regarding her with eager, questioning eyes.

"I must introduce myself," the gentleman went on, courteously. "I think
you may have heard Marjorie speak of me. I am Dr. Randolph, and this is
my nephew Beverly."

Miss Jessie gave a little joyful cry, and held out both hands.

"Is it about Undine?" she whispered breathlessly. "Have you come for
her, and is it really true that the child is your niece?"

* * * * *

It was some time before Undine awoke from the heavy sleep of exhaustion
into which she had fallen. She opened her eyes, gazed about her vaguely,
and murmured, "Mother! I want Mother."

"Yes, dear, I know," said Mrs. Graham, softly kissing the girl's hot
forehead. "Your mother isn't here, but she is safe and well, and you
shall go to her very soon."

Undine smiled faintly, and then a troubled look came into her face.

"I forgot her," she said, dreamily, "I forgot my mother for a long time,
but I remember now, and I want her--oh, I want her." And she stretched
out her arms in helpless longing.

Then Mrs. Graham moved aside, and some one else bent over her.

"Babs," said a low, tremulous voice, "Babs darling, don't you know me?
It's Beverly."

With a great cry of joy Undine started up, and in another second she was
clinging convulsively round her brother's neck.

"Beverly," she sobbed, "oh, Beverly, I remember; I remember everything.
It's all come back; poor Aunt Helen, that dreadful, dreadful time! You
thought I was dead, and you and Mother put flowers on my grave; but I
wasn't dead, I had only forgotten. Hold me, Beverly, hold me tight; I'm
so afraid I'm going to forget again."

CHAPTER XXII

UNDINE TELLS HER STORY

BUT Undine did not forget again, although it was some time before she
was able to give any coherent account of what she could remember.
Indeed, she was in such a feverish, hysterical condition, that Dr.
Randolph would not allow any attempt at questioning her that night.

"She has had a terrible shock, poor child," he said to Mrs. Graham. "The
reading of that letter must have brought ev