"Of what Mr. Morgan do you speak?" The general was puzzled. "The elder, Mr. John Morgan, I think. But what am I saying? I mean Abingdon." "Abingdon? I do not know him." Virdow reflected a moment. "Abingdon was the name by which Edward knew John Morgan in Europe. They met annually and were inseparable companions." "John Morgan--our John Morgan?" "Yes. I am told he was very eccentric, and this was probably a whim. But it enabled him to study the character of his relative. He seems to have been satisfied, and who wouldn't?" "You astound me. I had never heard that John Morgan went to Europe. I did hear that he went annually to Canada, for the summer months; that is all." "Edward never knew of the connection until he came here and saw a picture of John Morgan, drawn by Gerald. We both recognized it instantly." Evan was silent, thinking upon this curious information. At last he asked: "Was Edward Mr. Morgan's only intimate companion?" "The only one." "Did you ever hear why Mr. Morgan concealed his identity under an assumed name?" "No. We did not connect Abingdon with John Morgan until letters were returned with information that Abingdon was dead; and then Gerald drew his picture from memory." And as these two old gentlemen chattered about him, Edward himself was approaching the Montjoys. He found Mary upon the porch; his horse's feet had announced his coming. Her face was flushed and a glad light shone in her eyes. She gave him her hand without words; she had intended expressing her pleasure and her congratulations, but when the time came the words were impossible. "You have been anxious," he said, reading her silence. "Yes," she replied; "I could not doubt you but there are so many things involved, and I had no one to talk with. It was a long suspense, but women have to learn such lessons," and then she added, seeing that he was silent: "It was the most unhappy day of my life: papa was gone, and poor mamma's eyes have troubled her so much. She has bandaged them again and stays in her room. The day seemed never-ending. When papa came he was pale and haggard, and his face deceived me. I thought that something had gone wrong--some mistake had occurred and you were in trouble, but papa was ill, and the news--" She turned her face away suddenly, feeling the tears starting. Edward drew her up to a settee under a spreading oak, and seating himself beside her told her much of his life's story--his doubts, his hopes, his fears. She held her breath as he entered upon his experience at Ilexhurst and Gerald's life and identity were dwelt upon.