er-eyed, she flashed a look from Lane to Doctor Bronson and back
again. Then she fell upon her knees by the bed.

"Do you know me?" she asked, her voice tremulous.

"Sure. You're the wife--of a poor sick soldier--Daren Lane."

"Oh, Doctor, he has come to," cried Mel, in rapture.

"Fine. I've been expecting it every day," said Doctor Bronson, rubbing
his hands. "Now, Daren, you can listen all you want. But don't try to
talk. You've really been improving ever since we got you out here to
the country. For a while I was worried about your mind. Lately,
though, you showed signs of rationality. And now all's O.K. In a few
days we'll have you sitting up."

Doctor Bronson's prophecy was more than fulfilled. From the hour of
Lane's return to consciousness, he made rapid improvement. Most of the
time he slept and, upon awakening, he seemed to feel stronger. Lane
had been ill often during the last eighteen months, but after this
illness there was a difference, inasmuch as he began to make
surprising strides toward recovery. Doctor Bronson was nonplussed, and
elated. Mel seemed mute in her gratitude. Lane could have told them
the reason for his improvement, but it was a secret he hid in his
heart.

In less than a week he was up, walking round his little room, peering
out of the windows.

Mel had told Lane the circumstances attending his illness. It had been
late in February when she and her father had called for him at his
lodgings. He had collapsed in the cab. They took him to the Iden home
where he was severely ill during March. In April he began to improve,
although he did not come to his senses. One day Mr. Iden brought Jacob
Lane, an uncle of Lane's, to see him. Lane's uncle had been at odds
with the family for many years. There had been a time when he had
cared much for his nephew Daren. The visit had evidently revived the
old man's affection, for the result was that Jacob Lane offered Daren
the use of a cottage and several acres of land on Sycamore River, just
out of town. Joshua Iden had seen to the overhauling of the cottage;
and as soon as the weather got warm, Doctor Bronson had consented to
Lane's removal to the country. And in a few days after his arrival at
the cottage, Lane recovered consciousness.

"Well, this beats me," said Lane, for the hundredth time. "Uncle Jake
letting us have this farm. I thought he hated us all."

"Daren, it was your going to war--and coming back--that you were ill
and fell to so