Ella had scarcely fallen on the floor before every member of the Sowers family were [sic] in the room, everyone asking the same question. “What is the matter?” they said all in a breath. Kent didn’t answer for the simple [reason] that he could not; he was wondering what was the matter with Ella, but he could form no definite idea what was the matter. So he raised her from the floor and carried her to a sofa and laid her down as tenderly as he would have a child.

“I am puzzled, my friends,” said he, after fixing Ella as comfortable as possible. “I can’t think for my life what caused her to faint. She was looking over the clothes which belonged to this young man, and all at once she gave a scream and fell on the floor before I could catch her.” While he was saying this, he was bathing Ella’s face with cold water. Mattie proposed to take his place, and he complied with her request immediately, saying as he do so:

“I wish some of you would take a look at that shirt, and see if you can solve the mystery, for it beats all I ever saw.”

Ms. Sowers accordingly took the shirt and looked closely all over it as she thought, and finally gave it up as a bad “job.” Ella soon came to consciousness again. She looked wildly around, and said hurriedly:

“Oh! The shirt, the shirt, poor Willie dear. Willie Oh! It will kill me!” She sank again into unconsciousness. Mattie renewed her efforts to bring her to consciousness, but her efforts seemed to be of no avail whatever.

Kent left the room. So did the other portion of the family.

“Mr. Sowers, it seems to me your house is ill-fated,” said Kent, when he and his host were seated in the summer parlor. Sowers gave a start when he heard the words:

“It does seem so, Mr. Kent,” answered Sowers, repressing with a quick and strong effort the agitation he had shown.

“Well, Mr. Sowers, come let us go into your private office and talk as I have something of minute importance to communicate to you,” said Kent, more for the purpose of seeing what effect his words would have than anything else, for Jack had told him that no one but Sowers ever crossed the threshold of [his] private office.

“No sir, you can’t go in there,” said Sowers imperatively. “I don’t allow anyone to go in there but myself, so if you have anything of importance to communicate to me, you are at liberty to communicate it to me right here.”

Kent looked at him furtively for some time. Finally, he said decisively: “I will not tell you here. If we can’t repair to your office, the communication shall not be revealed. That is my decision.”

It was Sowers’ turn now to eye Kent furtively. At last, he spoke:

“I am willing to go out in the wood,” said he. “Anywhere at all except to my office.”

“All right, sir, do as you please,” said Kent. “But allow me to say, Mr. Sowers, I am not a man that will accede to any other person’s wishes whatever, in a case like this.”

“Well, Kent, we are both the same kind of men. When I say anything, I mean it,” said Sowers positively. “And more,” added he: “I wouldn’t let anyone come into my private office. I don’t care what their mission might be.”

So saying, he rose and stalked out of the room. Kent went upstairs again to see his patient, for he was as attentive to the unfortunate young man as he would have been to a relative. He was a man that would always cling to duty, no difference what befell him in his courageous attempts.

The ladies had removed Ella to Mattie’s room, where she still lay unconscious.

The young man slowly opened his eyes and riveted them on Kent as the last named took a seat by the bed.

“Albert King!” said Kent loudly. But there was no sign of comprehension on the young man’s face. The detective continued to doubt the young man’s identity more and more.

He held the sick man’s hand in his own for a long while. His thoughts turned to Sowers and the latter’s private office.

“If I could only get in there, I would bring everything to a crisis at once,” muttered Kent thoughtfully. “I am certain that private office holds a secret, and I say the secret which it holds must and shall be disclosed. Or my name isn’t David Kent.”

Kent was a man of his word. When he said anything “must and shall be done,” he meant it.

He sat there thinking and maneuvering for a considerable time. Finally, he rose and went to Mattie’s room and gave a slight tap on the door. Mattie came to the door in answer to the summons.

“It is you, is it, Mr. Kent? Come right in,” said Mattie cordially. Ella stirred again. For the first time since her second unconsciousness, she opened her eyes and stared around, then she said:

“Oh yes, I remember it all now. Poor Willie!”

She turned her face toward the wall like Hezekiah, King of Israel.^[1] She didn’t want to see the light of the world while she was in trouble. She cried herself to sleep. Mattie’s attempts to get her to say something were all of no avail.

When she had gone to sleep, they all left the room. Mattie went over with Kent to see that individual’s patient.

“Could you not get her to tell you what had happened?” queried Kent, when they were seated in the sick man’s chamber.

“Not a word. She only says ‘poor Willie’ and something about the shirt,” replied Mattie.

“I wish Dr. Maltby was here now,” asserted Kent. “It seems as if there is nothing but sickness here. Perhaps the great one is visiting the—” He did not finish his sentence, but rose and began putting the room in order.

“Why, Mr. Kent, you are as handy as a woman in fixing the room up,” said Mattie appreciatingly.

“Yes, I believe I am as competent as a woman in doing such work,” replied Kent. “It is best for a person to make themselves useful.”

“Yes, it is, to be sure,” smiled Mattie as she rose to go to her room. Herbert Armstead was at the mill with his old friend Hugh. Herbert had come over just as Hugh reached the mill, after his last visit to the house.

“Well, old boy, how are you?” said Herbert gaily, as he alighted and secured his horse to a tree.

“I am well, Bertie. How are you?” answered Hugh in a pleasant voice.

“First-rate. I suppose they have gone ere this?” Herbert was alluding to his sister and the Sowers family.

“Well, I don’t suppose they are. So, we differ in that particular supposition.”

“Why, what is the reason they didn’t go? They said they were going this morning.”

“Friend Bertie, circumstances alter cases always. So, according to circumstances, they were compelled to postpone their journey for an indefinite length of time.”

“Oh, don’t trifle so, Hugh. Tell me, what was the reason they didn’t go as they said.”

“The simple reason was this: they, or at least Kent, found Al King,” replied Hugh.

“Yes, and I will thrash him as soon as I can get a chance!” decided Herbert.

“Oh, he is thrashed enough now. Someone caught him in Ash Hollow and beat him black and blue, that is the truth.”

“You don’t say so? Well, I must forgive him for what he has done to me—not to me personally, but I would as lief^[2] he would do me an injury as to threaten my sister.”

“Well, Herbert, let’s go over and see him. I haven’t been long away, but I will be willing to conduct your corporeal system over the space of ground intervening between here and his palatial couch,” said Hugh sarcastically, and he led the way over to the house. He was just coming up the stairs as Mattie went into Ella’s room. They went to the bedside and looked long, earnest [sic], and solemnly at the scarred face. The unfortunate man gazed only at vacancy, for he was in a raging fever. Herbert’s heart relented at the sight.

“Albert, don’t you know me?” said he kindly. Then, turning to Kent, he said: “Why, Mr. Kent, you were lucky in finding him. Please, give me the details of the case.”

Kent related the details in as few words as possible. At the conclusion, Herbert said, “You had quite a romantic adventure.”

Kent said in his usual positive voice, “I was romantic perhaps, but very impressive as well, don’t you think so, Mr. Armstead?”

“I do indeed, sir,” replied Herbert earnestly.

“Have you seen your sister yet? She is in a very precarious condition,” asked Kent.

“No, I have not seen her. Where is she? What is the matter with her?” said Herbert anxiously.

“She is in Miss Mattie’s room, but what the matter is, is more than any of us can tell,” replied Kent. Herbert went to the door and asked for admission. He was admitted, and he went up to the bedside and called out: “Sister, dear Sister, what is the matter? Won’t you speak to me? I am Herbert.”

She turned over at the sound of his voice. “Herbert, dear Brother, is it you?” said she, in a voice that trembled with emotion.

“Yes, dear Sister, it is your own dear brother, Herbert,” said he passionately, as he drew her lithe form to his manly breast, for he loved her dearly—she was the only one of the gentler sex that he loved as well as his mother. His love was strong for his sister. He would have willingly faced death for her sake.

“Oh, dear Brother, I am so sorry! Poor Willie!” she broke out again passionately.

“What is the matter with Willie? I hope he is all right. Dear Sister, don’t fret, you don’t know how your tears pain me—every tear pains me—it pains me to see them fall,” and he drew her still closer to him. They were emblematical of lovers which novelists rave about, but it was brotherly and sisterly love with those two.

She seemed more calm while resting in her brother’s arms than when lying on the bed. Herbert carried her to a chair and sat down with her on his lap.

“Miss Mattie, you will excuse me for taking such liberties, will you not?” queried he, as he seated himself in the chair alluded to.

“Certainly, Mr. Armstead, certainly. I am willing to do anything for Ella that will be likely to alleviate her trouble,” replied Mattie promptly, and Herbert felt his heart flutter for the first time. They were all seated now, and Herbert began talking again.

“What do you mean, Sister, by saying ‘poor Willie’? Have you heard from him yet?” inquired Bertie in a soothing voice.

“I can’t tell you. Oh, was it a dream or was it reality?” groaned she, and Mattie interfered.

“Don’t ask her, Bertie—I mean, Mr. Armstead. Don’t ask her, please, or she might faint again,” said Mattie in a low sweet voice.

“Well, I won’t ask her anything more,” assented Herbert. “But I will ask you to call me Bertie as a favor. Won’t you?” And he looked lovingly at her.

“I will, if you wish it as a favor,” replied Mattie a little bashfully.

“Thank you, Miss Mattie, for your kindness,” asserted Herbert earnestly.

Ella disengaged herself from her brother’s strong arms and said tremulously, “Come with me. I will show you what [it] was that I saw and what made me faint.”

She led the way. The other two person[s] fast followed behind. She went into the sick man’s room and looked about until she found the shirt which she had been looking at when she fainted.

She held up the shirt and beckoned Kent, Mattie, and Herbert to her side.

As they stopped close by her side, she pointed to a certain part of the shirt and said in a hollow voice the one word:

“Look!”