It was growing dark when Walter awoke, but between himself and the window he saw the outline of his friend, and knowing he was not alone, fell away again to sleep, resting better that night than he had done before since the commencement of his illness. For many days Captain Murdock watched by him, and when at last the danger was passed, and Walter restored to consciousness, he was the first to know it, and bending over him he breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for the restoration of his son. "Who are you?" Walter asked after objects and events had assumed a rational form. "Who are you, and why have you been so kind to me, as I am sure you have?" "I am called Captain Murdock," was the answer "This is my room; the one I have occupied for a long, long time. I left the city some weeks ago on business and during my absence you came. As the house was full the landlord put you in here for one night, but in the morning you were too ill to be moved. You have been very sick, and as your nurse was none of the best, I dismissed her and took care of you myself, because if I had a son in a strange land I should want some one to care for him, and I only did what your father would wish me to do. You have a father, young man?" The question was put affirmatively, and without looking at the eyes fixed so intently upon him, Walter colored crimson as he replied: "I hope I have, though I don’t know. I never saw him except in dreams." Captain Murdock turned toward the window for a moment, and then in a calm voice continued: "I will not seek your confidence. You said some strange things in your delirium, but they are safe with me,—as safe as if I were the father you never saw. This came for you some days ago," and he held up Mr. Graham’s letter, the sight of which had wrung a cry of pain from his own lips, for he knew whose hand had traced the name that letter bore. "And has anybody written to the people at home?" Walter asked, and Captain Murdock replied: "Yes, the landlord sent a few lines, saying that you were ill, but well cared for. He directed to 'Walter Marshall’s Friends, Deerwood, Mass.,’ for by looking over your papers, we found your family lived there. A grandfather, perhaps, if you have no father?" and Seth Marshall waited anxiously for the answer which would tell him if his aged sire were yet numbered among the living. In his ravings Walter had never spoken of him, and the heart, not less a child’s because its owner was a man, grew faint with fear lest his father should be dead. Walter’s reply, however, dissipated all his doubt. "Yes, my grandfather lives there, but this is not from him," and breaking open the envelope, Walter read what Mr. Graham had written, heeding little what was said of business, scarcely knowing, indeed, that business was mentioned at all, in his great joy at finding that Charlotte and not Jessie was William’s chosen bride.