Rosalind could bear it no longer. Whoever reads this story carelessly may see little excuse for her that she should lose her head at the bedside of a dying man. It was really no matter for surprise that she should do so. Consider the perpetual tension of her life, the broken insufficient sleep of the last two days, the shock of "Old Jack's" sudden death a few hours since! Small blame to her, to our thinking, if she did give way! To some it may even seem, as to us, that the course she took was best in the end. And, indeed, her self-control stood by her to the last; it was a retreat in perfect order, not a flight. Nor did she, perhaps, fully measure how near her old friend was to his end, or release--a better name, perhaps. "Major dear, I have something I must tell you." The old eyelids opened, and his eyes turned to her, though he remained motionless--quite as one who caught the appeal in the tension of her voice and guessed its meaning. "Rosey darling--yes; tell me now." His voice tried to rise above a whisper; an effort seemed to be in it to say: "Don't keep anything back on my account." "So I will, dear. Shut your eyes and lie quiet and listen. I want to tell you that I know that my first husband is not dead.... Yes, dear; don't try to speak. You'll see when I tell you.... Algernon Palliser is not dead, though we thought he must be. He went away from Lahore after the proceedings, and he did go to Australia, no doubt, as we heard at the time; but after that he went to America, and was there till two years ago ... and then he came to England." The old man tried to speak, but this time his voice failed, and Rosalind thought it best to go straight on. "He came to England, dear, and met with a bad accident, and lost his memory...." "_What!_" The word came so suddenly and clearly that it gave her new courage to go on. She _must_ tell it all now, and she felt sure he was hearing and understanding all she said. "Yes, dear; it's all true. Let me tell it all. He lost his memory completely, so that he did not know his own name...." "My God!" "Did not know his own name, dear--did not know his own name--did not know the face of the wife he lost twenty years ago--all, all a blank!... Yes, yes; it was he himself, and I took him and kept him, and I have him now ... and oh, my dear, my dear, he does not know it--knows _nothing_! He does not know who I am, nor who he was, nor that Sally is the baby; but he loves her dearly, as he never could have loved her if ... if...."