Mrs. Beverly picked up the wreath.

She paled as she looked intently at the wreath, for in the centre of the wreath were the words written in bold Spencerian style:^[1] “In memory of: William G. Beverly.”

Then followed a few verses of poetry which we need not record.

Mr. Beverly grasped it. Could he believe what he saw? No! It was too incredible to be believed! He examined the wreath more closely.

“It is the very wreath we had laid on our dear little Willie’s breast!” asserted Mr. Beverly. “The very wreath! Let me look at the other things.” He took up a pretty little dress—a dress suitable for a child of about three years.

“Dora, this is Willie’s dress,” said he, turning to his wife. “Sowers, what have you done? Robbed me of my child, and now trying to turn from your evil ways?”

“I am satisfied,” said Sowers. “I have had revenge. But it has been a miserable revenge! A miserable revenge,” added he. “Those are the proofs that William is your son. I will swear it on God’s holy word.”

“William is really my son?”

“William is really your son,” said Sowers. “Look at the resemblance between William and Albert. They look so near alike that a great many persons has often taken them to be brothers. I am telling the truth.”

“Thank God our son is still alive,” exclaimed Mr. and Mrs. Beverly in one voice. “Yes, this is our own dear Willie,” said Mrs. Beverly as she embraced our hero. “Those beautiful dark eyes tell the tale.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Beverly,” said Wilse Reed—or, more correctly speaking, Fred Lambert: “I have raised your son well. He is the soul of honor, and I want credit for it. Here is my daughter,” continued he, turning to Kate. “Kate, we have not lived together much, but we must die together. I will settle all of this at once. So as to make you all believe for certain that I am Fred Lambert, I have my first wife’s certificate—our marriage certificate, which I had written with invisible ink. I will produce that. Then, I consider my work on Earth done.”

So saying, he felt in his pocket for it.

“I have lost it,” said he, after searching vainly for it. “I carried that certificate a long while but I have lost it at last.”

“And I found it!” asserted Kent as he walked forward and handed a piece of parchment paper to Wilse.

It was the piece of paper he found at the ledge! Wilse showed it to everyone in the room. William was standing near the door which led out into the hall, standing by his sister’s side conversing in low tones. He was the last one that Wilse gave the paper to. Kate was also standing near the door. As Wilse with one hand handed this certificate to William, he with the other hand touched Kate on the shoulder.

“Come, my daughter, come,” said Wilse. “We will not be prisoners any longer. We will go into the old mill. No one will pursue us thither.” He spoke so low and so quickly, no one took notice of him. Kate heeded his words, and before anyone could step between them and the door, they were out and gone.

Kent with several others of the gentlemen gave them chase, but could not overtake them, for they had gotten good head-way. When they caught sight of Wilse and Kate, Wilse had hold of Kate’s hand and was leading—nay, dragging—her through the water. The water ran very swift, and it was a difficult task to get to the mill. The moon shone out bright for about fifteen minutes. Kent and the other gentlemen stood on the shore looking intently at Wilse and his daughter. At last the two fugitives reached the old mill. The water was already up to the second floor. The mill shook as the waters rushed by. Now a large log would strike against the mill and perhaps lodge there. Then fence rails, plank, brush, and a great many other loose articles too tedious to mention.

The gentlemen turned and walked slowly to the house, satisfied that Fred and Kate Lambert had doomed themselves to an inevitable destruction.

“That mill will wash away before morning if I judge aright,” asserted Mr. Beverly.

“Yes, it will,” assented Kent. “Fred and Kate Lambert have willfully planned their own destruction to keep from being prisoners. Mr. Beverly, I am confident that you can’t fully express your joy in finding your son when you thought he was dead these many years,” continued Kent, addressing Mr. Beverly. “I knew that your son was taken out, but never said anything about it for fear I would not be believed. However, I didn’t forget it. I watched and waited. Sowers moved away, but I could not ascertain where he moved to. I obtained a situation as government secret service officer, and I can tell you, I ferreted out every den in New York City. I soon obtained the name of the “Blood-hound detective.” I still kept this graveyard business in my mind. Years passed away. I was at last rewarded for my long watchfulness by receiving an order from the chief to come up here, as this gentleman wanted a detective. I saw the signature: ‘Joshua Sowers.’ I was satisfied, so I came at once, with the result you have already seen.”

“I am overjoyed at finding my son,” said Mr. Beverly. “Words cannot express my joy. My wife has been in comparatively bad health ever since we found him in the wood. I am willing to forgive Mr. Sowers for what he has done. He wasn’t treacherous enough to kill my child. So, Mr. Sowers,” turning to Sowers and extending his hand, “I forgive you, and I trust we shall always be as good friends as we are now. Mr. Kent, you shall receive a large reward for your services also,” continued Beverly. “For finding and proving to me my sister, and also my child.”

They had reached the house by this time.

About half past ten o’clock the guests began to depart. They said they had seen as good a performance as they would have seen had they been at a theatre.^[2]

Hugh Walters went home too after asking Miss Beverly the privilege of visiting her. He was granted that privilege, and started on his way home in company with his sister. His heart beating wildly, he went to bed soon after he reached home. In his sleep, he dreamed of seeing Dora Beverly and himself standing at the altar, and being made one.

After all the strangers had left Brookland, our characters began talking again upon the subject of William’s birth; also, Mrs. King had a great deal to tell her brother.

Miss Baker, alias Mrs. Barton, sat still. She looked long and earnestly at her lover, Dr. Maltby. Tears trickled down her careworn cheeks. All present had been relieved of their burthen except her. She was still bound to a man with two or three aliases. Mr. Lambert, alias Barton, alias Reed. He was a felon, a murderer. Still she considered herself bound to him by a sacred tie.

Dr. Maltby glanced at Miss Baker. He saw the tears trickling down her cheeks.

“Oh Jennie, if I could only see you happy, I would also be happy. As it is, I can know no peace,” said the doctor.

“I can have no peace on earth,” responded Miss Baker. “The man I married has blighted my fondest hopes. Oh God! Would that I were in my grave!”

“Jennie, please don’t say that,” pleaded the doctor, drawing nearer to Miss Baker. “Why did you marry this man? Did you forget your promise to me? Oh no, you could not forget it, but why hesitate? Tell me all. Did you marry him for love?”

“I did not,” said Miss Baker. “He did a great deal for my mother, and on her death-bed she asked me if I would marry this man. She told me it was her wish that I should marry him. I consented and my poor mother died happy, little thinking I did not marry him for love.”

“God be thanked for that,” muttered the doctor fervently. “You did not forget me?”

“Oh Robert, your words make me suffer so much more than I would if you would not speak!” said Miss Baker. “I could not forget you. I always loved you, but I was determined to obey my mother’s last wish. You don’t blame me, do you?”

“Blame you! No, darling,” said the doctor. “I do not blame you for anything you have done, for I know your heart has ever been true to me. I will give Kent a princely reward for pointing you out to me! Oh, if you could only be mine, my life would be an everlasting heaven to me,” said the doctor passionately.

“Excuse my sudden outburst of feelings,” said the doctor, addressing the host. “I am so glad I have found my sister and my only love, that I cannot restrain my passionate words. Here is a sister I have looked so long for. I have found her at last, or at least Kent found her for me. Where have you been spending the summer, Sister?”

“We have spent the summer at the famous watering-place called Rockbridge Alum. I suppose you know when we came to Winchester?”

“Yes, I recollect,” said the doctor. “I beg to be pardoned, William,” added he, “I really forgot to hail you as my nephew. I am glad I have such a fine and honorable nephew.” He shook hands with William; then, turning to Dora, he said:

“I have also a beautiful niece. I ought to be very proud of her. Give me your hand.” She extended her hand—“And a kiss,” added the doctor in a whisper. He received a warm kiss from the lips of Dora Beverly.

“Thank you, my dear little niece,” said the doctor approvingly. “That kiss is worth a thousand dollars to any man.”

“You are a great flatterer, Uncle Robert,” asserted Dora with a smile. “Well, Uncle, I would like to know where you have been all this time. Ma didn’t tell me you were a doctor, or I should have taken notice of the name. As it was, I took no notice whatever of the name, as there are as many persons by the name of Maltby as by any other name.”

“I was not a doctor when I left home,” asserted the doctor, “but I somehow or other came to learn that profession while out in the Wild West.”^[3]

“You have been out in the Wild West then, Uncle, have you?”

“Yes, I have wandered over all the plains of the far, far west,” replied the doctor. “I amassed a large fortune out there, and as I have now found my sister and my only love, I will retire from practice. And, if I am so fortunate as to get Miss Baker for my wife,” he whispered in Dora’s ear, “I will live happily the rest of my days on Earth.”

After a few more words of love, consolation, and hope, they agreed that it was bedtime. All went to bed, and to sleep.

Mrs. King stayed at Sowers’ that night. In fact, all that stayed till half-past ten, stayed all night at Brookland. William slept quietly. He was satisfied. He knew he had been the victim of a vile conspiracy from his infancy, but he forgave all, as he was at last restored to his parents.

Brookland was still. Nothing could be heard but the pattering of the rain as it had again began [sic] to fall—and the roar of the waters as they hurried on their eastward course. About midnight all were suddenly awaked from their sleep!