Dr. Maltby was sitting in a chair directly opposite Mrs. Beverly. As Pat spoke, the doctor rose from his seat, clasped his hands to his temples, and staggered like a drunken man. He staggered near Mrs. Beverly:

“Great Heaven! This, my sister!” said he, staring wildly at Mrs. Beverly. “Can I believe my ears?”

“Yes, you can, dear Brother!” cried Mrs. Beverly as she grasped her brother and fairly smothered him with her kisses. “I am your sister, Dora! Your long-lost sister! Oh brother Robert, how happy I am! How glad I am that I have at last met you!”

“United at last! Thank God!” exclaimed the doctor. “I knew you had married this man, but I took no notice of the name tonight. Pat—God bless him—told me you married a man named Beverly.”

“Yes, Brother, I married him. He is a noble man,” said Mrs. Beverly in an undertone. “I will tell you sometime of my hardships after you left me. For the present I must forbear. Let me introduce you to my husband,” said she, as she with her brother walked over to where Mr. Beverly sat. “Mr. John S. Beverly, this is my brother William,” said Mrs. Beverly proudly.

“I am happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Maltby. How have you been?” said Mr. Beverly with a low bow as he extended his hand to his brother-in-law.

“I have been well, thank you,” said the doctor. “I hope you have been well.”

Before any other words were said, Mrs. King attracted attention by saying distractedly: “John S. Beverly? Why, my name was Rebecca Beverly before I was married, and I had a brother named John S. Beverly. Can that be my brother?” She said the words as if to herself. She looked in Mr. Beverly’s face inquiringly. He returned the look with interest.

“Your name [was] Rebecca Beverly before you were married?” inquired he anxiously.

“The same,” cried Mrs. King. “And I know you are my long-lost brother!” added she, as she bounded forward and fell into his arms! “Oh John, how glad I am to see you, my dear, dear brother,” murmured she, as she was clasped in his arms in a strong and loving embrace.

“Sister, here is the little chain you gave me before you ran away,” said Mr. Beverly, producing a small gold chain which was attached to his watchguard. “I have kept that chain all this time, hoping to find the donor,” added Mr. Beverly. “Tell me, Sister, where have you been so long?”

“I have been here at Winchester for a good long while. But we will talk of that when a more suitable time comes,” said Mrs. King. “I want to hear your story first. That young lady is your daughter,” said Mrs. King, indicating Musadora Beverly. “How like myself when I were young. I must have a kiss from her.” Mrs. King suited action to her words by going over to where the young lady sat and kissing her plump cheeks.

“My own dear niece,” said Mrs. King.

“Oh, dear Aunt, how glad I am to see you,” said the young lady, whom we will call Dora “for short.” “Father has looked for you so long, so long, but he said he would never give over the hope of finding you.”

“I knew John would hunt the world over for me,” said Mrs. King. “Now I must give you an introduction to my son Albert,” added she, as she led her niece to Albert. “Albert, this is your cousin Dora,” said Mrs. King.

“I am very glad to find you a cousin when I thought you were a stranger,” said Albert, extending his hand. He was surprised when the beautiful girl gave him a kiss.

“I am so glad to find you a cousin, dear Albert,” said she. They sat down an[d] conversed upon the subject which was of interest to them, viz: of their joy at finding relatives among strangers. William, Kent, Wilson, and Sowers sat mute with wonder. Was the world drawing to a close? Oh no, that could not be possible. Well, what was the matter? The question could not be answered.

Sowers was trembling. He had known this gentleman many years and had—

The thought was too bad, and now he sat, expecting every moment to be condemned. Pat cast a mischievous look at Sowers, as if to say, “Your time nixt, ould boy.”

Mrs. Barton turned very pale when she heard Dr. Maltby’s first name called. Pat took notice of it, and as soon as he got an opportunity to speak, he said, as he pointed to the doctor:

“Miss Jennie Baker, there is Robert Maltby, yer long-lost lover. There he stands. Look on his watchguard and ye will see yer own picter in a nice little frame. Go and—”

Pat did not finish his sentence for the doctor finished it in action.

“Jennie Baker did you say? Why, that was my betrothed’s name. Yes, this is her, for I cannot but remember those eyes,” asserted the doctor. “I am Robert Maltby. Come to me, my long-lost love!” The doctor ran forward and threw his arms around Mrs. Barton.

Mrs. Barton disengaged herself from the doctor’s embrace as quickly as possible.

“I love you, Robert Maltby, but I can’t allow you such liberty while my husband lives,” said Mrs. Barton. “My husband still lives, Robert, and I must not perjure^[1] myself. But I love you. Oh so much!”

“Where is your husband, dearest Jennie? Where can he be? Oh, I will go mad,” muttered the doctor. “Can you not get a divorce? But where is he? Oh, do tell me!”

Mrs. Barton, as we still choose to call her, pointed toward Wilse Reed.

“There is my husband!” said she in a sepulchral voice. Before she could speak another word, Pat stepped forward and said: “Docther, I can explain this mystery. That man—the husband of that lady—is an escaped convict from the—”

Wilse was on Pat before he could finish the sentence. “I’ll murder you, you infernal devil,” said Wilse. He tried to hold Pat down, but he could not do it. Pat rose with his antagonist and with a quick movement he clapped Wilse Reed’s hands together and slipped a pair of bracelets on him—government bracelets.

“There, ye spalpeen ye,” said Pat as soon as he had got Wilse handcuffed. “I reckon ye wonder where I got those bracelets—well, I brought them here on purpose to make you a present of them, and you want to raise the divil about it, you ugly spalpeen ye.” Then, turning to the doctor, he said: “I will go on with my story; this lady married this spalpeen under the name of Matthew Barton. Well, that is a false name, and so is Wilse Reed. The dirty rascal’s right name is Fred Lambert, the same as I tould ye up at yer office not long since. He always was a highwayman and he has carried a plot through with another man—carried it successfully through for a good many years. He is a capital rascal.”

“Kate, then, is his daughter?” said the doctor inquiringly, looking at Pat.

Mrs. Barton—or, more properly, Miss Baker—spoke instead of Pat.

“Kate is the daughter of his first wife,” said Miss Baker, for we have no right to call her Mrs. Barton, since we have found that that isn’t her name. William was astounded then, sure enough. “Why, Father, you are not what you said you were,” said William. “And I beg you to tell me truly: who are my parents? Others are finding their relatives when they were not expecting it. So I want to find my true ones, if you please.”

“You can easily do that,” said Wilse calmly. Sowers tried to stop Wilse from saying anything, but Wilse was determined to tell all.

“I am not your father. Mr. John Beverly is your father. You are his oldest son. I know that, and so I had as well make a full confession of all I have done to keep you from your parents. Mr. Sowers there was a lover of Mrs. Beverly’s when she was very young. Pretty soon after Dr. Maltby went away, well, Sowers got drunk and insulted her, so she gave him the ‘sack.’ He vowed vengeance to her at some future time. I met him the very day she sacked him and he made himself acquainted with me and got me to be his accomplice in his vengeance on Mrs. Beverly. I was going then by my right name, Fred Lambert, but I changed my name at once to Wilse Reed as soon as I saw Sowers’ purpose. His first plan—”

Sowers had sprawled Wilse Reed on the floor with a chair. “Lay there, you infamous liar!” said Sowers. He was going to give Wilse another crack on the head with the chair if Pat had not interposed.

“He is telling the truth, Meister Sowers,” said Pat. “And ye must let him tell.”

“I’ll not be misrepresented in this style in my own house before strangers!” thundered Sowers, fairly boiling with rage. “I’ll put you out of here as well as Wilse, you blasted, Irish devil!”

“Be ’asy now or I’ll put you out, Meister Sowers,” said Pat coolly. Sowers was spoiling all the “fun” by his interference.

It was a lively party.

Wilse Reed, as we shall continue to call him, had been knocked senseless, but being of a strong nature, he soon rallied.

“I am more determined than ever to expose you,” said Wilse as Pat assisted him to his seat. “I’ll tell all if it sends me to the gallows the moment after I finish. His first plan was to kill Mr. Beverly, but he couldn’t get that done so easily, so he abided^[2] his time for another plan. When Miss Maltby and Mr. Beverly were married, he, with my assistance, was to capture her, and he would make her his wife. He was not worthy of her. I knew that, but I was making money, so I didn’t care what became of Sowers or his bride. He could not get that plan through, so he resolved upon another—”

“I’ll shoot you if you say another word, you infamous liar,” Sowers said, again interrupting Wilse. “Every word you speak is a lie, except about the loving of Dora Maltby. Any person would love her.” Then, turning to Mrs. Sowers, he said: “Mary, I have deceived you all my lifetime with you.”

“You have deceived me? Oh God!” said Mrs. Sowers, and she fell over in a dead faint. Cold water was brought, and her temples were bathed. Mattie was mystified. What could all this mean? Was her father mad? Why was [sic] the doors locked? Who was this Son of Erin? How did he find out so much? A thousand questions presented themselves in a hundred different ways, but she could not answer them. They were too hard for her. William was interested in his own history, as given by the man that had always called himself his father.

Albert was still sitting beside his lovely cousin. The middle doors were thrown open so as all the guests could be together, for the noise in the back parlor had already excited the curiosity of the ladies in the front.

William was eager to hear Wilse’s story.

“Where is Kent, I’d like to know,” whispered William to Ella. “I can’t think where he can be, for my life!”

“Well, I don’t know, I am sure,” replied Ella. “Isn’t this a great pleasure party?”

“Yes it is, and I expect to get my true name before this party comes to a close,” answered William. “Ah, Mrs. Sowers is coming around at last. Poor woman, she has a vile husband, I am afraid, for Wilson has told the truth, I do believe.”

Mrs. Sowers was at last restored to consciousness. She sat up and looked bewildered for a while. Finally she, with the assistance of Miss Baker, went to the large sofa and sat down.

“Deceived, deceived,” was all she muttered.

Pat thought it was time to start Wilse again. He accordingly said:

“Proceed, Mr. Lambert. I will keep Meister Sowers from trying to steal your bracelets. I will give him a pair if he don’t stop his foolishness.” Pat looked at Sowers as he spoke. Sowers gave him a defiant look. “Proceed,” said Pat again. “Proceed with yer story.”