he
pillow. Arthur, completely bewildered, gave the required pledge. I took
young Holliday away with me immediately afterward to the house of my
friend, determining to go back to the inn and to see the medical student
again before he had left in the morning.

I returned to the inn at eight o'clock, purposely abstaining from waking
Arthur, who was sleeping off the past night's excitement on one of my
friend's sofas. A suspicion had occurred to me, as soon as I was alone
in my bedroom, which made me resolve that Holliday and the stranger
whose life he had saved should not meet again, if I could prevent it.

I have already alluded to certain reports or scandals which I knew of
relating to the early life of Arthur's father. While I was thinking, in
my bed, of what had passed at the inn; of the change in the student's
pulse when he heard the name of Holliday; of the resemblance of
expression that I had discovered between his face and Arthur's; of the
emphasis he had laid on those three words, "my own brother," and of his
incomprehensible acknowledgment of his own illegitimacy--while I was
thinking of these things, the reports I have mentioned suddenly flew
into my mind, and linked themselves fast to the chain of my previous
reflections. Something within me whispered, "It is best that those two
young men should not meet again." I felt it before I slept; I felt
it when I woke; and I went as I told you, alone to the inn the next
morning.

I had missed my only opportunity of seeing my nameless patient again. He
had been gone nearly an hour when I inquired for him.

I have now told you everything that I know for certain in relation to
the man whom I brought back to life in the double-bedded room of the
inn at Doncaster. What I have next to add is matter for inference and
surmise, and is not, strictly speaking, matter of fact.

I have to tell you, first, that the medical student turned out to be
strangely and unaccountably right in assuming it as more than probable
that Arthur Holliday would marry the young lady who had given him the
water-color drawing of the landscape. That marriage took place a little
more than a year after the events occurred which I have just been
relating.

The young couple came to live in the neighborhood in which I was then
established in practice. I was present at the wedding, and was rather
surprised to find that Arthur was singularly reserved with me, both
before and after his marriage, on the sub