f his profession that he
always loved--surgery. I understand that he has been decorated
several times. And also, strange to say, he is going under his own
name. I am sending this news to you instead of to Ethel direct,
because I feared the effect of a sudden shock on her. You can break
the information to her gently.

"With love to the dear girl,

"Your father,
"STEPHEN MARION."

Roy had little alarm lest his wife should suffer any ill effect from
what she would regard as the best of news.

"My dear," he asked at once, "would you be greatly surprised to get
authentic information that Gifford Garnet is alive and doing wonders in
his profession of surgery? Would you believe it, if I should tell you
that he has been several times decorated for his services on the battle
front in France?"

To his astonishment, Ethel showed no extraordinary excitement, though
her face grew radiant.

"No, Roy," she replied, "I should not be surprised, but I should be very
glad!"

"Your answer sounds strange to me," Roy declared, with a puzzled glance
across the table. "Anyhow, you are calm enough so that I don't need to
hesitate in telling you that your father's letter to me actually
contains this astonishing news."

"Thank God, Roy!" Ethel said reverently. "The madman has become sane
again. Thank God, he did obey my sealed orders."

Roy stared at his wife in open bewilderment.

"What on earth do you mean, Ethel?" he demanded. "Have you been keeping
something from me?"

"Yes, my dear husband, I've been guilty of just that thing. I've just
been waiting and praying for the hour when I could come to you and give
you the very information that father has been able to send you. I'll
tell you the whole story. But, first, I must exact a promise. For
Ichabod's sake, as well as my own, you must not breathe a word of the
truth to Arthur Van Dusen."

Still mightily wondering as to the meaning of all this mystery and eager
for its solution, Roy readily gave the required promise that he would
keep Ethel's secret. Thereupon she told him the story.

"The night Arthur and poor old Ichabod returned to us aboard _The
Hialdo_ with the Doctor's cap and note, I believed as firmly as you did
that the unfortunate man had been swallowed up in the quicksands, or
swept away to death by the tide. At the time when he left me alone in
the shack in order to go for help, I would not let him go until he had
agreed to