Take up the pen once more. Banish the fast gathering memories--choke them down. Forget the ACTUAL of your own life, in the ideal to which the pen gives utterance. Brave old pen! Always trusted, never faithless! True through long years of toil, be true and steadfast now; when the face that once watched your progress is sleeping in graveyard dust. And when you write down a noble thought, or give utterance to a holy truth, may be, that face will smile upon your progress, even through the darkened glass which separates the present from the Better World. PART FIRST. "FRANK VAN HUYDEN." DEC. 23, 1844.--EVENING. CHAPTER I. "DOES HE REMEMBER?" "Does he remember?" was the exclamation of Frank, as concealing the history of the Life of NAMELESS within her bosom, a singular expression flashed over her beautiful face. "Does he remember?" was her thought--"Is he conscious of the words which have fallen from his lips? Does he pass from this singular state of trance, only to forget the real history of his life?" The agitation which had convulsed the face of Nameless, at the moment when he emerged from the clairvoyant state (if thus we may designate it) soon passed away. His face became calm and almost radiant in its every line. His eyes, no longer glassy, shone with clear and healthy light; a slight flush animated his hitherto sallow cheeks; in a word, his countenance, in a moment, underwent a wonderful change. Frank uttered an exclamation of surprise. "Ah! I begin to live!" said Nameless, passing his hand over his forehead--"Yes, yes," he uttered, with a sigh of mingled sorrow and delight, "I have risen from the grave. For two years the victim of a living death, I now begin to live. The cloud is gone; I see, I see the light!" He rose and confronted Frank. "There was another child--yes, my mother gave birth to two children, one of whom your father stole on the night of its birth and reared as his own. His purpose you may guess. But what has become of that child? It disappeared, I know, at the time when your father arrived from Paris--_disappeared_, ha, ha, Frank! Did it not _disappear_ to rise into light again, on the 25th of December, 1844, as the _only child_ of GULIAN VAN HUYDEN? Your father is a bold gamester; he plays with a fearless hand!" He paced the room, while Frank, listening intently to his words, watched with dumb wonder the delight which gave a new life to his countenance. "And Cornelius Berman, Frank--" he turned abruptly. "Died last year." His countenance fell. "And Mary--" "Followed her father to the grave." He fell back upon the sofa like a wounded man. It was some moments before he recovered the appearance of calmness. "How knew you this?"