e given it and grew in strength. One doctor after another
watched and commented on his chances, and in due time Doctor Travers,
hearing of the case, stopped to examine it, and, in the interest of
science, suggested an operation that might possibly return the poor
fellow to a world that had evidently no place for him.

"It's worth trying," Travers said as he and Priscilla stood beside the
bed. "We haven't found out anything concerning him, have we?"

Priscilla shook her head.

"Suppose he--well, suppose he had any claim upon you, would you take the
chance of the operation for him?"

The deep, friendly eyes were fixed upon the girl. She coloured sharply,
then went quite pale. There was a most unaccountable struggle, and
Travers smiled as he thought how conscientious she was to feel any deep
responsibility in a question he had asked, more in idle desire to make
talk than for any other reason.

"Yes," she replied suddenly, as her head was lifted; "yes, I'd give him
every chance."

Just then, in one of those marvellous flashes of regained consciousness,
the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked, first at Travers, then
at Priscilla. Again his gaze shifted, gaining strength and meaning. From
the far place where he had fared for days his mind, lighted by reason,
was abnormally clear and almost painfully reinforced by memory. Then he
laughed--laughed a long, shuddering laugh that drew the thin lips back
from the white, fang-like teeth. Before the sound was finished the light
faded from the black eyes and the grim silence shut in close upon the
last quivering note.

[Illustration: "In one of those marvellous flashes of regained
consciousness, the man upon the bed opened his eyes and looked,
first at Travers, then at Priscilla"]

"We'll take the chance," said Travers. And late that very afternoon they
took it.

A week later Priscilla sat beside the man's bed, her right hand upon his
pulse, her watch in her left. So intent was she upon the weak movement
under her slim fingers that she had forgotten all else until a voice from
a far, far distance seemingly, whispered hoarsely:

"So--so this is--you? I'm not dreaming? I wasn't dreaming before
when--when he and you came?"

They had all been expecting this. The operation had been very successful,
though it was not to give the patient back to life. They all knew that,
too.

"Yes, Jerry-Jo, it's I."

There was no tremor in the low voice, only a determination to kee