The longer he thought, only the more embarrassing grew the stranger’s situation. Would she not laugh to hear that he had come, when the summer-time of life was well nigh passed, weary, and worn out with worldly trials and sorrows and doubts, to simply ask a woman if she remembered him? “I do not know that you remember,” he said at last—but having proceeded thus far he stopped. “Have you ever heard—” he began again, and then he broke off suddenly, seemingly forgetful of the question he had meant to ask. But this hesitation would not do—and the man knew it would not—and so he started up, and, as though the time was short, and they the last words he ever intended uttering, he approached the lady, exclaiming, “Grace Germain, don’t you remember a boy who went to school here long ago, in the old frame school-house, whose name was Hugh Willson?” “Yes—yes—I do indeed! How could I have been so stupid! Hugh, I welcome you back with all my heart,” was the frank and generous answer, and Grace and the _boy_-lover shook hands heartily. The Rubicon was fairly passed; he was remembered, he was welcome! and in his gratitude Hugh forgot to wonder if Grace had a husband living still, and if he had gone off on a journey! He forgot all, save that the child had grown to be a woman he could both love and honor—and for a moment so complete was his happiness, that the words would not have been an empty sound from his lips, “Lord, now let thy servant depart in peace!” And what thought Grace as she looked upon the face of which but one feature, the dark and thoughtful eyes, seemed familiar? _She_ thought, “Does he remember the letter he wrote me from Arabia—and was it truth he wrote?” The Sabbath bell rung vainly in the ears of the long parted boy and girl that afternoon, but at night-fall the wife of Clarence Lovering led the way to the old burial-ground, and showed Hugh Willson the graves of her parents and of her husband. And he on whose arm she leaned then, felt no pang of jealousy when her lip faltered and her eyes wet, as she spoke of the bridegroom of her youth—for Grace had not listened coldly or carelessly to her companion as he had spoken to her such words as these—