"I recall the incident well," said Mrs. Smith-Jones, "I had the pleasure of entertaining the count and countess when they stopped here upon their honeymoon. They were lovely people, and to think that they met so tragic an end!" The three lapsed into silence. Burlinghame did not know whether he was glad or sorry that he had not found the bones of Waldo Emerson--that would have meant the end of hope for his parents. Perhaps much the same thoughts were running through the minds of the others. Somewhere in the nether regions of the great house an electric bell sounded. Still the three sat on in silence. They heard the houseman open the front door. They heard low voices, and presently there came a deferential tap upon the door of the library. Mr. Smith-Jones looked up and nodded. It was the houseman. He held a letter in his hand. "What is it Krutz?" asked the master in a tired voice. It seemed that nothing ever again would interest him. "A special delivery letter, sir," replied the servant. "The boy says you must sign for it yourself, sir." "Ah, yes," replied Mr. Smith-Jones, as he reached for the letter and the receipt blank. He glanced at the post mark--San Francisco. Idly he cut the envelope. "Pardon me?" He glanced first at his wife and then at Captain Burlinghame. The two nodded. Mr. John Alden Smith-Jones opened the letter. There was a single written sheet and an enclosure in another envelope. He had read but a couple of lines when he came suddenly upright in his chair. Captain Burlinghame and Mrs. Smith-Jones looked at him in polite and surprised questioning. "My God!" exclaimed Mr. Smith-Jones. "He is alive--Waldo is alive!" Mrs. Smith-Jones and Captain Burlinghame sprang from their chairs and ran toward the speaker. With trembling hands that made it difficult to read the words that his trembling voice could scarce utter John Alden Smith-Jones read aloud: _On board the Sally Corwith, San Francisco, California._ _Mr. John Alden Smith-Jones, Boston, Mass._ _Dear Sir: Just reached port and hasten to forward letter your son gave me for his mother. He wouldn't come with us. We found him on ---- ----Island, Lat. 10° --" South, Long. 150° --" West. He seemed in good health and able to look out for himself. Didn't want anything, he said, except a razor, so we gave him that and one of the men gave him a plug of chewing tobacco. Urged him to come, but he wouldn't. The enclosed letter will doubtless tell you all about him._ _Yours truly, Henry Dobbs, Master._ "Ten south, a hundred and fifty west," mused Captain Burlinghame. "That's the same island we searched. Where could he have been!" Mrs. Smith-Jones had opened the letter addressed to her, and was reading it breathlessly. _My dear Mother: I feel rather selfish in remaining and possibly causing you further anxiety, but I have certain duties to perform to several of the inhabitants which I feel obligated to fulfill before I depart._