“Every day,” said the visitor, solemnly. “Once when I injured myself out hunting, and was five days without food or drink, it was the only thing that kept me alive.” Mr. Clark’s gibe as to the size of the photograph was lost in Mrs. Bowman’s exclamations of pity. “_I_ once lived on two ounces of gruel and a cup of milk a day for ten days,” he said, trying to catch the widow’s eye. “After the ten days—” “When the Indians found me I was delirious,” continued Mr. Tucker, in a hushed voice, “and when I came to my senses I found that they were calling me ‘Amelia.’” Mr. Clark attempted to relieve the situation by a jocose inquiry as to whether he was wearing a mustache at the time, but Mrs. Bowman frowned him down. He began to whistle under his breath, and Mrs. Bowman promptly said, “_H’sh_!” “But how did you discover me?” she inquired, turning again to the visitor. “Wandering over the world,” continued Mr. Tucker, “here to-day and there to-morrow, and unable to settle down anywhere, I returned to Northtown about two years ago. Three days since, in a tramcar, I heard your name mentioned. I pricked up my ears and listened; when I heard that you were free I could hardly contain myself. I got into conversation with the lady and obtained your address, and after travelling fourteen hours here I am.” “How very extraordinary!” said the widow. “I wonder who it could have been? Did she mention her name?” Mr. Tucker shook his head. Inquiries as to the lady’s appearance, age, and dress were alike fruitless. “There was a mist before my eyes,” he explained. “I couldn’t realize it. I couldn’t believe in my good fortune.” “I can’t think—” began Mrs. Bowman. “What does it matter?” inquired Mr. Tucker, softly. “Here we are together again, with life all before us and the misunderstandings of long ago all forgotten.” Mr. Clark cleared his throat preparatory to speech, but a peremptory glance from Mrs. Bowman restrained him. “I thought you were dead,” she said, turning to the smiling Mr. Tucker. “I never dreamed of seeing you again.” “Nobody would,” chimed in Mr. Clark. “When do you go back?” “Back?” said the visitor. “Where?” “Australia,” replied Mr. Clark, with a glance of defiance at the widow. “You must ha’ been missed a great deal all this time.” Mr. Tucker regarded him with a haughty stare. Then he bent towards Mrs. Bowman. “Do you wish me to go back?” he asked, impressively, “We don’t wish either one way or the other,” said Mr. Clark, before the widow could speak. “It don’t matter to us.” “We?” said Mr. Tucker, knitting his brows and gazing anxiously at Mrs. Bowman. “_We_?” “We are going to be married in six weeks’ time,” said Mr. Clark. Mr. Tucker looked from one to the other in silent misery; then, shielding his eyes with his hand, he averted his head. Mrs. Bowman, with her hands folded in her lap, regarded him with anxious solicitude. “I thought perhaps you ought to know,” said Mr. Clark.