But he has come back."

"Where is he?" asked Andy.

"At home. He has been hurt, and is feverish and ill. He was doing
sentinel duty for--for the British, and he received a terrible blow from
some one in a cave. I cannot tell what is best to do, Andy, and I must
look to you for help."

Somehow Andy had gotten to his feet, and staggered across the little
room to his mother. Almost roughly he seized her hand, while the awful
truth unfolded itself from the dense darkness of the past.

"Say that again!" he commanded. Janie looked at him in amazement.

"Say what!" she asked.

"That about the blow, and--and the cave!"

Janie repeated it, wondering why that detail should so interest Andy.

"You see," she continued, not heeding his horrified look, "I married
your father when I was very young. I look older than I be, lad. He
brought me nothing but trouble. He was above me in station. He belonged
to his majesty's regiment stationed here, and when the regiment was
recalled he went--back! Little he cared for the girl he left or the baby
that bore his name! I managed, and neighbors helped me to forget,
and--and I could not tell you Andy. I hoped I never would be obliged
to."

"Go on!" Andy still held his mother's hand, but with infinite gentleness
now. Tears stood in Janie's eyes, and the human need for sympathy met an
answering thrill in the heart of the son.

"He--he saw you yesterday at the pass, Andy, when they made you guide
them after the troops, and your face frightened him. He says you look so
like his mother, that it is just terrible. She has recently died, and
her memory and the thought that his son might be alive and here, gave
him a bad turn. He asked your name, and as I kept my own name after he
deserted me, he guessed the truth, and as soon as he could break away
from the others he came to me--and--that is all, Andy. But what shall I
do?"

Andy tried to think. Tried to bring events into orderly line and
coherence, but the more he tried the more detached he felt, and as if
the whole matter was one with which he had nothing to do.

"I was so young, Andy, lad, only seventeen!" When had Janie ever pleaded
before?

"Yes," murmured Andy. "I am nearly seventeen now. Seventeen years are
long--sometimes. But, of course, you were very young."

"And I had no one to guide me, Andy. I was alone. I have always been
alone, and it has been hard." A sob rose to the trembling lips. Andy
looked at his mother, and, oddly