She rose to her feet, and, in order to rearrange her scarf, which had fallen a little on one side, she set Nagaski on the ground. Very slowly, he made his way towards me, sniffing all the time. A few feet from the curtain he stopped. His hair stiffened. His little, beady eyes were like black diamonds. He barked angrily.

"Nagaski!" his mistress called.

He did not move. Neither dared I, for he was within a few feet of me.

Adele came across the room.

"Have you any secrets behind that curtain, Sir Gilbert?" she asked.

"A cat most likely," he answered nervously. "Let me pick him up for you."

Adele stooped down, but he eluded her. With a low growl he sprang through the opening, and fastened his teeth in my trousers. Adele turned to my cousin and her face was as pale as death.

"There was only one person in the world," she said, "to whom Nagaski used to behave like that. Sir Gilbert! what is there behind that curtain? I insist upon knowing. If there have been listeners to our conversation, it will cost me my life."

I stepped out. It seemed to me that concealment was no longer possible.

She staged at me in bewilderment. I had forgotten my beard, my spectacles and shabby clothes. She did not recognize me!

"Has this person been here all the time? Is this a trap?" she demanded, turning to my cousin with flashing eyes.

I stepped forward.

"Adele," I said, "don't you know me?"

She started violently. She looked steadily at me for a moment in dumb amazement. Her cheeks were ashen, her eyes dilated. And then recognition came--recognition in which there was also an element of terror.

"Jim!" she cried. "Jim! Oh! G.o.d!"

Her hands went to her throat. Her eyes seemed as though they would devour me. Yet she was not wholly sure! I took her into my arms!

"It was another man whom they shot, Adele," I murmured. "It is I indeed, dearest."

But I spoke as one might speak to the dead. Adele had fainted in my arms!

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

RIFLE PRACTICE

Adele was herself in a very few minutes. My cousin considerately slipped out of the room. Directly she opened her eyes and found me kneeling by her side, her color became more natural.

"Jim," she murmured, "how did you do it? Tell me how it is that you are alive."

"A very simple matter," I answered. "I learned at Lenox all that I came to America to find out. I wanted to return to England without creating suspicion, so I hired a subst.i.tute to continue my trip."

"And he was killed?" she exclaimed.

"Yes!" I answered. "I insured his life, and I presume he knew his risks.

In any case, the life of one man was a small thing compared with--you know what."

She looked into my face, and there was wonder in her eyes.

"How you have changed, Jim," she whispered. "It is you, isn't it? I can scarcely believe it. Can the months really write their lines so deeply?"

"Months!" I answered. "I have pa.s.sed into a different generation, Adele.

It seems to me that my memory stops at a night a few months ago, at the Hotel Francais. The things which happened before that seem to have happened to a different man."

"Could you play cricket now--or shoot partridges?"

"G.o.d knows!" I answered. "This thing has swallowed me up. The only thing that I do know is that I must go on to the end."

She sighed.

"And what is to become of me?" she asked.

I touched her lips with mine--and all the pa.s.sion and joy of another sort of life warmed my blood once more.

"Wait only a few months, dear," I answered confidently, "and I will teach you."

Hope and incredulity struggled together in her face.

"You believe," she exclaimed, "that you will succeed?"

"Why not?" I answered. "I am counted dead. Could you yourself recognize me?"

She shook her head doubtfully.

"Your face itself is so changed," she answered. "My poor Jim, you are a very different person from the good-looking boy whose life seemed to depend upon catching that ball at Lord's. I think that you must have suffered a great deal."

"I have bought experience and the knowledge of life," I said grimly, "and I suppose I have paid a pretty stiff price for it."

I hesitated.

"Are you strong enough, Adele," I asked, "for another shock?"

"I have lost the capacity for surprise," she answered. "Try me!"

"The real name of the man who is pa.s.sing as my uncle--is Leslie Guest!"

She scarcely justified her last a.s.sertion, for her eyes were full of wonder, and she drew a little away from me as though in fear.

"Leslie Guest! The man who died at Saxby!"

"He did not die," I answered. "It was a case of suspended animation. When I read his letter to me, and when I saw you in the morning, I believed him dead. So did all the others. It was in the middle of the next night that the nurse discovered that he was alive! We sent for the doctor, and by the next morning he was able to speak. It was then that we determined to make use of what had happened."

"I see," she murmured. "That is why you changed the place of burial."