tion.

For more than three hours Darrell entertained his friends; quaint
medleys, dreamy waltzes, and bits of classical music following one after
another, with no effort, no hesitancy, on the part of the player. To
their eager inquiries, he could only answer,--

"I don't know how I do it. They seem to come to me with the sweep of
the bow across the strings. I have no recollection of anything that I am
playing; it seems as though the instrument and I were simply drifting."

Late in the evening, when they were nearly ready to separate for the
night, Darrell sat idly strumming the violin, when an old familiar
strain floated sweetly forth, and his astonished listeners suddenly
heard him singing in a rich baritone an old love-song, forgotten until
then by every one present.

Mrs. Dean had already laid aside her work and sat with hands folded, a
smile of unusual tenderness hovering about her lips, while Mr. Britton's
face was quivering with emotion. At its conclusion he grasped Darrell's
hand silently.

"That is a very old song," said Mrs. Dean. "It seems queer to hear you
sing it. I used to hear it sung when I was a young girl, and that," she
added smiling, "was a great many years ago."

"And I have sung it many a time a great many years ago," said Mr.
Britton. And he hastily left the room.

_Chapter VII_

AT THE MINES

Once fairly started on the road to health, Darrell gained marvellously.
Each day marked some new acquisition in physical health and muscular
vigor, while his systematic reading, the soothing influence of the music
to which he devoted a considerable time each day, and, more than all,
his growing intimacy with Mr. Britton, were doing much towards restoring
a better mental equipoise.

The race to which he had challenged Dr. Bradley took place on a frosty
morning early in November, Mr. Underwood himself measuring and marking
the course for the runners and Mr. Britton acting as starter. The result
was a victory for Darrell, who came out more than a yard ahead of his
opponent, somewhat to the chagrin of the latter, who had won quite a
local reputation as an athlete.

"You'll do," he said to Darrell, as he took leave a few moments later,
"but don't pose here as an invalid any longer, or I'll expose you as a
fraud. Understand, I cross your name off my list of patients to-day."

"But not off your list of friends, I hope," Darrell rejoined, as they
shook hands.

When Dr. Bradley had gone, Darre