"I will be responsible for him," said Allan Garland--the real one; for there could be no doubt that he was what he claimed. "You shall not go near him, father! He will kill you!" cried Sue, terrified, as her father attempted to push her aside, and advance upon the armed young man. "Come! brother Allan," said the soldier: "we can best end this scene by leaving the house." As they approached the door, a hand was placed on the handle outside; but the old man had taken the precaution to fasten it, in order to insure the safety of his prisoner. A heavy knock succeeded. "Who is that?" gasped Sue, afraid that any newcomer would only complicate the difficulties of the moment, and that the bold youth would be compelled to use his pistol. "Perhaps it is Owen," replied the old man, a little calmer than before. "I hope it is." The words sent a shudder through the frame of Somers, as he again thought of Owen Raynes, cold and dead in his oozy grave in the swamp. "Open the door," said a voice from without. Allan Garland drew the bolt, and threw the door wide open. "Why, Allan, my dear fellow!" exclaimed a young man who stood at the outside of the door in his shirt sleeves, as he grasped both of the rebel soldier's hands, and proceeded to make a most extravagant demonstration of rejoicing. "I am glad to see you!" "Owen, my dear boy!" replied Allan Garland, as he returned with equal warmth the salutation of the newcomer. "Where did you come from, Allan? I had given you up for lost?" "I escaped from the Yankees the next day after I was taken, and have been beating about the woods ever since." Somers was thrown all aback by this arrival, which was certainly the most remarkable one that had taken place during the day. He couldn't help feeling very much like the hero of a sensational novel; and realized the very original idea that truth is stranger than fiction. He could not exactly account for the presence of Owen Raynes, whom he had satisfactorily buried in the swamp, and whose clothes he had the honor to wear at that moment. He did not believe in things supernatural, and it never occurred to him that the form before him might be the ghost of Owen. "I am glad you have come just as you did, Owen," said Mr. Raynes. "So am I; otherwise I might not have met Allan. But who is this?" he added, glancing at Somers. "Your most obedient servant," replied Somers, trying to pass him in the narrow entry. "Stop, young man!" shouted the old man. "Don't let him go, Owen!" "Who is he?" "His name is Allan Garland, of Union, Alabama; and he is a private in the Fourth Alabama," replied Allan with a smile, as Owen placed himself between Somers and the door. "What!" Mr. Raynes, being the oldest man present, was entitled to the position of spokesman; and he made a very prolix statement of all the events which had transpired since he first saw the pretended Allan Garland.