In less time than it takes to write it, the anchor is weighed, the sails spread, and the Reindeer moves majestically toward the broad Atlantic. A gentle breeze drove the Reindeer through the rippled water, and just as the sun was setting behind the western hills, Captain Davis had the satisfaction of knowing that his ship was safely out to sea. Yet the Captain felt uneasy. The conduct of the men on shore raised some suspicion in his mind that trouble was brewing. In his officers he had perfect confidence. The night was clear, with just wind enough to fill the sails, and the Captain and his First Lieutenant were sitting on the quarter-deck, discussing the events of the day. By the way, Captain, who was that tall, noble-looking young man, that faced the whole company of cut-throats, and laid them out right and left, as a boy would so many marbles? That is Walter Wallace, the foster child of my friend Charles Webb. Wallace—that is a familiar name to me. Do you know what branch of the Wallace family he descended from? No. Neither do I think he knows himself. Webb found him an orphan, alone, in the woods, and adopted him in his family. They lived at a place called Callicoon, not far from the Delaware river. The river overflowed the banks and drowned all but him. Powers, for such was the Lieutenant’s name, manifested some feeling at this revelation, and exclaimed: Is it possible? Is what possible? asked the Captain. Is it possible that I have found my sister’s child? Sister’s child? exclaimed Davis. How could a sister of yours be living in such a wilderness? By following the dictation of her conscience, and the man she loved, replied the Lieutenant. The story is short and quickly told. A brother and sister married a brother and sister. William Wallace married my sister, Amelia Powers, and Thomas Powers, my brother, married Mary Wallace. For this act they were driven from their home, crossed the Atlantic, and settled in Connecticut. From there they moved west to a place called Callicoon. I received several letters from them for several years, and then all correspondence stopped. I then employed some of the men that trade in furs to make inquiries about them. They reported that both families had resided on the Callicoon, but were all dead, having been washed away and drowned by a water spout at the head of the stream. The last that we heard of them, Wallace had a son named Walter, and Powers a daughter named Amy. You are right, Lieutenant, you must be right. The noble soul that now lies in my cabin unconscious, is your nephew, your sister’s son. Then let us hasten to him. No; not at present. The Surgeon has commanded the strictest silence. Let me see him, Captain, if it is but for a single moment. Let me see my wronged sister’s son.