The exposure of that night brought on a severe attack of rheumatism, and the next day Henry was tossing about on his bed in agony. His sprained ankle also was very painful.

A doctor was sent for in haste; and under his treatment[198] and Mrs. Mortimer’s watchful care, the boy recovered slowly.

Will was so grieved to see his cousin suffer that he almost fell sick himself; and he took up his stand at the bedside, so that he might attend to his slightest wish.

“I don’t mind being sick so much,” said Henry, as Will was peeling an orange for him, “because it proves that a fellow’s mother and—and—and friends care for him, and want him to get well; but, I don’t want the rheumatism, because it’s mostly old men and hardly used soldiers that suffer with it.”

“What should you like to have?” asked Will.

“Well, Will, I don’t mind telling you. Will, I’ve always had a hankering to be wounded so that it would leave an honorable scar—a scar that I could be proud of, you know.”

The morning after the rescue the demon had a totally different air. He no longer regarded strangers with suspicion, but frankly and promptly replied to all who spoke to him. His eyes were calm and benign, no longer having that “hunted look” which seemed so terrible. In a word, the demon was no longer a madman; “the blow on his head had restored his reason.”

In real life this is, we believe, an uncommon occurrence; but in romance it is becoming intolerably common. It is inserted in novels that are otherwise good; it haunts some writers like an evil spirit; it is tricked up in a new garb, sometimes, to throw the unsuspecting reader off his guard; but if it is there, sooner or later it will crop out—often when least expected, least desired.

In fact, whenever the practised reader picks up a tale in which a harmless maniac figures, his suspicions are at once aroused, and he flings it aside with a gesture of contempt.

Having called Mr. Mortimer to his side, the disenthralled man said, with a pleasant voice, “Sir, I do not know where I am, and I should like to ask you a few questions. Last night I was not in a humor to make inquiries, as I was so tired and weak; but this morning I am much better and stronger. May I ask your name?”

[199]

Mr. Mortimer was surprised at and pleased with the man’s improved appearance.

“I am happy to see that you are so much better, sir,” he said. “As to my name, it is Mortimer; may I, in turn, ask yours?”

“Certainly, sir; I am Richard Lawrence.”

Mr. Mortimer started. He perceived that the man who spoke was in full possession of his reason, quite as sane as he himself. In former years he had been intimately acquainted with Dick Lawrence; the story of the “mysterious disappearance” was familiar to him; and he thought that at last the mystery was to be solved.

He seized Lawrence’s hand and shook it heartily.

“Don’t you remember me, old friend?” he said. “Don’t you remember when you beat me in that race, so long ago? And besides, we are almost related to each other; for, as you surely remember, your brother and I married sisters.”

A long conversation followed between the two reunited friends. The events of other years were spoken of with peculiar pleasure, and Mr. Mortimer told his friend what had been taking place in the world of late years.

“Well, now, I had almost forgotten!” Mr. Mortimer suddenly exclaimed. “Your nephew Will is in this very house! You will remember him as a very little boy; and now he is a—a—now he is a great big boy. I must bring him in immediately.”

He hurried out of the room and soon returned with Will, saying apologetically, “You must excuse me, Will, but when two old friends meet, they forget that there are boys still in the world, and remember only that they were once boys themselves.” Then to his guest: “Mr. Lawrence, I have the pleasure of introducing your nephew Will, who is on a visit to my son. I think it is safe to say that you owe your deliverance to these hare-brained youths. You will hear graphic particulars of it afterwards.”

A happy meeting took place between uncle and nephew, the former being highly pleased with his new-found kinsman.

[200]

“Yes,” Mr. Mortimer resumed, “this is your nephew Will; a fine little fellow, who had a strange interview with you last night. Have you any recollection of it?”

“Not the slightest; so far as I know, I have not seen the boy since, since—when?”

“Ten years, uncle.”

“Then you know nothing about your life in the cave?” Mr. Mortimer asked.

“You are speaking in riddles, Mr. Mortimer.”

“My son, Will’s cousin, is ill to-day, or I should present him; for he, dear boy, was instrumental in your release,” the fond father observed, wishing that his son should receive due honor for his good deeds.

Mr. Lawrence was impatient to see his brother, but there were several matters to attend to before this could be done.

“There is a strange tale yet to be unfolded, Mr. Mortimer,” he said musingly. “I must visit the town where insanity first took hold of me. There are many things not clear to me; but I believe that by going there, I shall be enabled to unriddle the mystery. A foul wrong was done to me in that place, and I will have justice. As I intimated, I know absolutely nothing of what took place while I was insane; but I believe all that can be made clear by making diligent inquiries of people living in R——. Yes, I shall go to this place in a day or so; then take a run down to my brother’s; and come back just in time to go home with Will. But first of all, I shall visit the cave where I spent so many years; and you and my nephew must accompany me. I am full of curiosity to see the place, but I suppose I shall have to be piloted through it.”

A day or so afterwards Mr. Lawrence felt stronger, and the three set out to explore the cave. Will thought that he was going to the Demon’s Cave under very different circumstances, and sighe............