Sir Harold--for it was indeed he, returned that day to England, after a prolonged journey from India--smiled his old warm smile, and held out his hand. “Sir Harold Wynde!” repeated Atkins, not taking the hand--“who--who died--” “I can give you the best of proofs, Atkins, that I did not die in India,” said the baronet, with a cheery little laugh. “You look at me as at a ghost, but I’m no ghost. Feel my hand. Is not that real flesh and blood? Atkins, you are giving me a sorry welcome, my old friend.” Atkins still stared with a wild incredulity at his old friend and employer. He could not yet comprehend the glad truth. “I--I must be dreaming,” he muttered. “I felt queer to-night. I--” Sir Harold advanced and, pulling off his glove, laid his hand on that of Atkins. Its touch was chill, but unmistakably human. “What!” cried the baronet. “Do you believe in ghosts, my friend? I wouldn’t have believed a bona-fide wraith could have so startled the hard-headed Atkins I once knew. I was not eaten by the tiger, Atkins, but I have been kept a prisoner in the hands of human tigers until I managed to escape last month. You know me now, and that I am no ghost?” Atkins rose up, pale and trembling still, but with an unutterable joy on his face. “It is Sir Harold alive, and in the flesh!” he ejaculated. “Sir Harold whom we mourned as dead! This is a miracle!” He clasped the baronet’s hand, and laughed and cried in a breath. He seemed overflowing with his great joy. The baronet held the trembling hand of his friend in a strong, restful pressure for some minutes, during which not a word was spoken between them. Their hearts were full. “I am not myself to-night, Sir Harold,” said Atkins brokenly, after a little. “I have been upset lately.” He drew Sir Harold toward the fire, helped him off with his greatcoat, and ensconced him in the lounging chair before the fender. Then he drew a chair close beside the baronet’s, and asked tremulously: “Have you been to Hawkhurst yet, Sir Harold?” “No, not yet. You could not think I would leave home again so soon, if I had gone there? I only landed in England to-day, coming through France. I am a week overdue. I arrived in Canterbury an hour ago, and as soon as I had food I came to you. I saw your light through the shutters, but if I had not seen it I should have rapped you up, in my impatience. I want you to go with me to Hawkhurst, and to break the news that I still live to my wife and daughter. My appearance shocked you nearly into an apoplexy. I must not appear unannounced to them.” Mr. Atkins trembled, and covered his face with his hands. “You would go to-night--in this storm?” he asked.