"No," returned the other. "Phelan." As he spoke the carriage stopped before a rather ornate dwelling, somewhat out of place amid surrounding offices and shops. The stranger started violently as they approached it. Again the gutteral sound came from his lips. The door opened and a woman appeared; a woman tall, sad-faced and eager-eyed. Beside her was a lad as tall as she. They stared at the bearded stranger, the boy wide-eyed and curious; the woman with a piercing, concentrated hope that fears defeat. The man took a stumbling step forward. "Jeanne!" He halted half abashed. But the woman sobbing, ran to him and put her arms about his neck. For an instant he stood, stiffly awkward, his face very red. Then something snapped the shackles of his prisoned memory. A cry burst from him, inarticulately joyous. His arms went round her. * * * * * It required weeks for Stanley to recover all his memories. It was a new world; Jeanne the one connecting link between the present and that still half-shadowy past from which he had been cast by some unceremonial jest of Fate into a strange existence. From the witless, nameless unit of a whaler's crew he had at last arisen to a fresh identity. Frank Starbird, they christened him, he knew not why. And when they found that he had clerical attainments, the captain, who was really a decent fellow, had befriended him; found him a berth in a store at Sitka.... Since then he had roamed up and down the world, mostly as purser of ships, forever haunted by the memory of some previous identity he could not fathom. He had been to Russia, India, Europe's seaports, landing finally at Baltimore. Thence some mastering impulse took him Westward. And here he was again, Francisco Stanley. It was difficult to realize that fifteen years had flown. Jeanne seemed so little older. But the tall young son was startling evidence of Time's passage. Stanley used to sit gazing at him silently during those first few days, as though trying to drink in the stupendous fact of his existence. Old friends called to hear his adventures; he was given a dinner at the club where he learned, with some surprise, that he was not unfamous as an author. Jeanne had finished his book and found a publisher. Between the advertisement of his mysterious disappearance and its real merits, the volume had a vogue. Robert had married Maizie after her mother's death. They lived in the Windham house in Old South Park, for Benito and Alice had never returned from the East. Po Lun and Hang Far had gone to China. Slowly life resumed its formed status for Francisco. CHAPTER LXXIV THE "REFORMER"