d to come here directly, and let him find, if necessary,
where your step-mother and her son are living."

Philip did so, and it was the close of the second act before he
returned. With him was a small, quiet gentleman, of unpretending
appearance, but skilled as a detective.

"Now," continued Mr. Carter, "you may venture at any time to go forward
and speak to your friends--if they can be called such."

"I don't think they can, sir. I won't go till the last intermission."

Phil was forestalled, however. At the close of the fourth act Jonas
happened to look back, and his glance fell upon Philip.

A scared, dismayed look was on his face as he clutched his mother's arm
and whispered:

"Ma, Philip is sitting just back of us."

Mrs. Brent's heart almost ceased to beat. She saw that the moment of
exposure was probably at hand.

With pale face she whispered:

"Has he seen us?"

"He is looking right at us."

She had time to say no more. Philip left his seat, and coming forward,
approached the seat of his step-mother.

"How do you do, Mrs. Brent?" he said.

She stared at him, but did not speak.

"How are you, Jonas?" continued our hero.

"My name isn't Jonas," muttered the boy addressed.

Mr. Granville meanwhile had been eagerly looking at Philip. There
appeared to be something in his appearance which riveted the attention
of the beholder. Was it the voice of nature which spoke from the
striking face of the boy?

"You have made a mistake, boy," said Mrs. Brent, summoning all her
nerve. "I am not the lady you mention, and this boy does not bear the
name of Jonas."

"What is his name, then?" demanded Philip.

"My name is Philip Granville," answered Jonas quickly.

"Is it? Then it has changed suddenly," answered Phil, in a sarcastic
voice. "Six months ago, when we were all living at Planktown, your name
was Jonas Webb."

"You must be a lunatic!" said Mrs. Brent, with audacious falsehood.

"My own name is Philip, as you very well know."

"Your name Philip?" exclaimed Mr. Granville, with an excitement which he
found it hard to control.

"Yes, sir; the lady is my step-mother, and this boy is her son Jonas."

"And you--whose son are you?" gasped Mr. Granville.

"I don't know, sir. I was left at an early age at a hotel kept by this
lady's husband, by my father, who never returned."

"Then YOU must be my son!" said Mr. Granville. "You and not this boy!"

"You, sir? Did you leave me?"

"I left my son wi