‘How did you come here?’ asked the stranger, quickly, excitably, passionately almost. Arthur related briefly what had happened from the time of his first taking the bed at the inn. ‘I am indebted to Mr. Holliday’s son then for the help that has saved my life,’ said the medical student, speaking to himself, with a singular sarcasm in his voice. ‘Come here!’ He held out, as he spoke, his long, white, bony, right hand. ‘With all my heart,’ said Arthur, taking the hand-cordially. ‘I may confess it now,’ he continued, laughing. ‘Upon my honour, you almost frightened me out of my wits.’ The stranger did not seem to listen. His wild black eyes were fixed with a look of eager interest on Arthur’s face, and his long bony fingers kept tight hold of Arthur’s hand. Young Holliday, on his side, returned the gaze, amazed and puzzled by the medical student’s odd language and manners. The two faces were close together; I looked at them; and, to my amazement, I was suddenly impressed by the sense of a likeness between them—not in features, or complexion, but solely in expression. It must have been a strong likeness, or I should certainly not have found it out, for I am naturally slow at detecting resemblances between faces. ‘You have saved my life,’ said the strange man, still looking hard in Arthur’s face, still holding tightly by his hand. ‘If you had been my own brother, you could not have done more for me than that.’ He laid a singularly strong emphasis on those three words ‘my own brother,’ and a change passed over his face as he pronounced them,—a change that no language of mine is competent to describe. ‘I hope I have not done being of service to you yet,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ll speak to my father, as soon as I get home.’ ‘You seem to be fond and proud of your father,’ said the medical student. ‘I suppose, in return, he is fond and proud of you?’ ‘Of course, he is!’ answered Arthur, laughing. ‘Is there anything wonderful in that? Isn’t _your_ father fond—’ The stranger suddenly dropped young Holliday’s hand, and turned his face away. ‘I beg your pardon,’ said Arthur. ‘I hope I have not unintentionally pained you. I hope you have not lost your father.’ ‘I can’t well lose what I have never had,’ retorted the medical student, with a harsh, mocking laugh. ‘What you have never had!’ The strange man suddenly caught Arthur’s hand again, suddenly looked once more hard in his face. ‘Yes,’ he said, with a repetition of the bitter laugh. ‘You have brought a poor devil back into the world, who has no business there. Do I astonish you? Well! I have a fancy of my own for telling you what men in my situation generally keep a secret. I have no name and no father. The merciful law of Society tells me I am Nobody’s Son! Ask your father if he will be my father too, and help me on in life with the family name.’