Dick appeared somewhat stronger after the meal. Every now and again, he would look up at the colonel in a dazed fashion, as if unable to believe the evidence of his senses. At last, he spoke again. "I suppose--my brain isn't what it was. But I'm feeling better. Tell me again what my mother said--and my father." The colonel detailed all that he knew, displaying considerable irritation in the process. This attitude of ignorance and innocence nettled him. He wound up with a soldier-like abruptness. "Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to remain dead?" "I'm going home." "To be arrested?" "No, to ask some questions." "Don't be a fool. You'll be arrested at the station." "No, I sha'n't. I've done a little dodging lately. I shall travel to some other place, and walk home. I've faced worse things than--" The sentence was never finished. He seemed to realize that there could be nothing worse than to be falsely denounced by his own mother--the mother whom he loved and idolized, the most wonderful mother son ever had, the most beautiful woman in New York, the wife of John Swinton, chosen man of God. "You'd better not come home," urged the colonel; "at any rate, as far as we are concerned." "Ah, that means you intend to cut me." "Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned--Well, the fact is, she's engaged to Ormsby now." "Engaged to Ormsby?" Dick put out his hand almost blindly to take his cap, and adjusted it on his head like a man drunk. He arose and staggered from the table. This was the last straw. "Look here, boy--you want some money," exclaimed the colonel, brusquely. "I've come prepared. You'll find some bills in this envelope. Put it in your pocket." Dick's hands hung limply at his sides. The colonel seized him by the loose front of his ulster, and kept him from swaying, at the same time thrusting the envelope into one of his pockets. Then, he took the young man's arm, and led him out into the vestibule. "Bear up, my boy--bear up," he whispered. "You've got to face it. You're dead--remember that. Nobody but myself knows the truth. Be a man, for God's sake--for your mother's sake--for your father's. You've got the whole world before you. If things go very wrong--well, you can rely upon me for another instalment--just one more, like the one in your pocket. Write to me under some other name. Call yourself John Smith--do you hear?" "Yes--John Smith," echoed Dick, huskily. "Well, good-bye, my boy--good-bye," the colonel exclaimed. "I must catch my train." He tried to say something else. Words failed him. He turned and ignominiously escaped, leaving Dick standing alone, helpless and dazed. "I'm going home--I'm going home," muttered Dick, as he thrust his hands into his ulster pockets, and tottered along toward the elevator, for he felt that he must get to his room at once. "My own mother!--I can't believe it." CHAPTER XX THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED