He was a tall, dark, gaunt man, whose long, thin, swarthy face was hedged in by a wild, neglected thicket of grizzled black hair and beard, and whose fierce, burning black eyes were overhung by thick, shaggy black brows. He wore an old suit of clothes that might have once been of any color, but was now of none; around his neck a dingy woolen scarf; on his feet a pair of broken shoes; in his hand a torn hat. He was altogether a wayworn, travel-strained, dilapidated and dangerous-looking customer, such as one would not like to meet on a dark night or on a deserted road. The commodore regarded him wrathfully, frowningly—the lady, curiously, wistfully. “Who in the demon are you? What jail have you broken out of? And what in the fiend’s name do you want here?” sternly demanded the veteran; while the lady leaned forward, gazing on the man with a strange, intense and breathless interest. “Good heavens! Do you not know me, then?” demanded the poor tramp in a voice full of anguish. “No! Never saw you in all the days of my life before, and never wish to see you again! Begone!” exclaimed the veteran; while the lady half arose from her seat, stared at the stranger with eyes that widened and widened in amazement, with lips breathlessly apart and color coming and going rapidly. “Did you not get my letter, written from Marseilles, then?” inquired the stranger. “What in the demon’s name are you talking about? You are drunk, man, or mad! Leave the house instantly!” exclaimed the irate old gentleman, starting up as if he would have ejected the intruder by main force, had he been strong enough. “Oh, my soul! my soul! Do _you_ not know me—Lynny?” pleaded the wanderer, turning his wild, sad, prayerful eyes on the intense, listening, breathless, eager face of the lady. The question broke the spell that bound her. “SAVED!” she cried, and her piercing shriek rang through and through the house as she started up, threw herself into the arms of the tramp and fainted dead away. The sight and sound, but not the meaning, of this action met the dulled senses of the aged veteran. Starting to his feet in a fury, he thundered forth: “What in the demon do you mean, you cursed villain, by breaking into this room and frightening a lady into fits? Lay her down on that sofa this instant, and don’t presume to touch her again! Leave the house! Begone! If you stop another second, Satan burn you! I’ll send you to the county jail for six months! I’m in the commission of the peace, and I’ll do it!” “Yes. I had best go for the present. She has fainted. Call her women to her,” said the tramp in a gentle tone, as he laid his burden down with tender care upon the sofa. “If you don’t take yourself out of this room in double-quick time, you tramping thief, you’ll find yourself in a pair of handcuffs on the road to prison before you know it!” roared the commodore, as he seized and jerked the bell rope violently. But the sad wanderer had already left the study.