Mrs. Mapleson, who had come on from the South to be present upon the occasion, was strangely impressed by the circumstance. Colonel Mapleson had been called out West on business, and could not return in season to accompany her, so she had been forced to come alone. She was a magnificent-looking woman; tall, with a stately figure, a brilliant brunette complexion, with dark hair and eyes, and beautiful teeth, such as a youthful belle of twenty might envy. “It is the strangest thing in the world, Everet,” she remarked to her son after the exercises of the day were concluded. “I mean this wonderful resemblance between you and that young man. If I had not known the Maplesons all my life, and that our family is the last of the race, I should be tempted to believe that he belonged to us in some way.” “Pshaw! mother, that is all nonsense!” her son replied, a hot flush of resentment rising to his brow. “Don’t, for pity’s sake, suggest that any of our blood flows in his veins!” “Why, Everet? He appears like a fine fellow—handsome, manly, and he is certainly extremely clever,” returned Mrs. Mapleson, with some surprise. “Granted; though that may sound rather egotistical, since we are considered the counterparts of each other; but for all that he has been a thorn in the flesh and a marplot to me ever since he entered college, and I detest him!” “That is not a very good spirit, I’m afraid, Ev.,” Mrs. Mapleson said, abidingly. “But who is he? Geoffrey D. Huntress, I believe, was the name on the programme, but where does he belong, and what is his family?” “Nobody knows who or what he is; there is a queer story connected with his life. I heard, while I was in New York, that this Mr. Huntress found him several years ago wandering in the streets of the city in a demented condition. He became interested in him, took him to some hospital, and had an operation performed—a piece of bone was pressing upon the brain, and was removed, I believe, and he recovered his senses immediately, but appeared more like a child five years old rather than like a boy in his teens.” “How very strange!” exclaimed Mrs. Mapleson, deeply interested; “but could he tell nothing about himself after his mind was restored?” “No, nothing of any consequence; all that he could remember of his previous life was that he had lived with some people named Margery and Jack, and that his name was Geoffrey Dale——” “Dale! Dale!” repeated Mrs. Mapleson, with a start. “There used to be a family of Dales living near Vue de l’Eau before I was married; at least there was a widow and her daughter, a girl named Annie. They were poor people; they lived in one of those cottages near the old mill, and after the mother died the girl suddenly disappeared, and was never heard of again.” “Mother, what is this you are telling me?” cried young Mapleson, a strange look flashing over his face. “The girl went away and never came back?” “Yes.”