"John Britton," the other replied.

"Yes, I have awakened, and my life here is like a dream. Sit down, Peter; I want to ask you some questions."

For half an hour they sat together, the younger man asking questions, the other answering in as few words as possible, his keen eyes never leaving the face of his interlocutor.

"Where is this John Britton?" the young man finally inquired.

"In Ophir--at a place called The Pines."

"I know the place; I remember it. How far is it from here?"

"Fifteen miles by rail from the station at the foot of the mountain."

"I must go to him at once; you will show me the way. How soon can we get away from here?"

Peter glanced at the sun. "We cannot get down the trail in season for to-day's train. We will start to-morrow morning."

Without further speech he then went into the cabin and busied himself with his accustomed duties. When he reappeared he again stood silently regarding the younger man with his fixed, penetrating gaze.

"What awakened you?" he asked, at length.

The abruptness of the question, as well as its tenor, startled the other; that was a phase of the mystery surrounding himself of which he had not even thought.

"I do not know," he replied, slowly; "that question had not occurred to me before. What do you think? Might it not have come about in the ordinary sequence of events?"

Peter shook his head. "Not likely," he muttered; "there must have been a shock of some kind."

The young man smiled brightly. "Well, I cannot answer for yesterday's events," he said, "having neither record nor recollection of the day; but I certainly sustained a shock this morning on awaking on the bare rocks at such an alt.i.tude as this and with no trace of a human being visible!"

"On the rocks!" Peter repeated; "where?"

"Yonder," said the young man, indicating the direction; "come, I will show you the exact spot."

He led the way to his rocky bed, near one end of the plateau, then watched his companion's movements as he knelt down and carefully inspected the rock, then, rising to his feet, looked searchingly in every direction with his ferret-like glance.

"Ah!" the latter suddenly exclaimed, with emphasis, at the same time pointing to a rock almost overhanging their heads.

Following the direction indicated, the young man saw a pine-tree on the edge of the overhanging rock, the entire length of its trunk split open, its branches shrivelled and blackened as though by fire.

Peter, notwithstanding his age, sprang up the rocks with the agility of a panther, the younger man following more slowly. As he came up Peter turned from an examination of the dead tree and looked at him significantly.

"An electric shock!" he said; "that was a living tree yesterday. There was an electric storm last night, the worst in years; it brought death to the tree, but life to you."

To the younger man the words of the old hermit seemed incredible, but that night brought him a strange confirmation of their truth. Upon disrobing for the night, what was his astonishment to discover upon his right shoulder and extending downward diagonally across the right breast a long, blue mark of irregular, zigzag form, while running parallel with it its entire length, perfect as though done in India ink with an artist's pen, was the outline of the very scene surrounding him where he lay that morning--cliff and crag and mountain peak--traced indelibly upon the living flesh, an indubitable evidence of the power which had finally aroused his dormant faculties and a souvenir of the lost years which he would carry with him to his dying day.

_Chapter XXIX_

JOHN DARRELL'S STORY

On the following morning the cabin on the mountain side was closed at an early hour, and its late occupant, accompanied by Peter and the collie, descended the trail to the small station near the base of the mountain, where he took leave of the old hermit. On his arrival at Ophir he ordered a carriage and drove directly to The Pines, for he was impatient to see John Britton at as early a date as possible, and was fearful lest the latter, with his migratory habits, might escape him.

It was near noon when, having dismissed the carriage, he rang for admission. He recalled the house and grounds as they appeared to him on his first arrival, but he found it hard to realize that he was looking upon the scenes among which most of that strange drama of the last two years had been enacted. Mr. Underwood himself came to the door.

"Why, Darrell, my boy, how do you do?" he exclaimed, shaking hands heartily; "thought you'd take us by surprise, eh? Got a little tired of living alone, I guess, and thought you'd come back to your friends.

Well, it's mighty good to see you; come in; we'll have lunch in about an hour."

To Mr. Underwood's surprise the young man did not immediately accept the invitation to come in, but seemed to hesitate for a moment.

"I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Underwood," he responded, pleasantly, but with a shade of reserve in his manner; "I remember you very well, indeed, and probably yours is about the only face I will be able to recall."

For a moment Mr. Underwood seemed staggered, unable to comprehend the meaning of the other's words.

The young man continued: "I understand Mr. Britton is stopping with you; is he still here, or has he left?"

"He is here," Mr. Underwood replied; "but, good G.o.d! Darrell, what does this mean?"

Before the other could reply Mr. Britton, who was in an adjoining room and had overheard the colloquy, came quickly forward. He gave a swift, penetrating glance into the young man's face, then, turning to Mr.

Underwood, said,--

"It means, David, that our young friend has come to his own again. He is no longer of our world or of us."

Then turning to the young man, he said, "I am John Britton; do you wish to see me?"

The other looked earnestly into the face of the speaker, and his own features betrayed emotion as he replied,--

"I do; I must see you on especially important business."

"David, you will let us have the use of your private room for a while?"

Mr. Britton inquired.

Mr. Underwood nodded silently, his eyes fixed with a troubled expression upon the young man's face. The latter, observing his distress, said,--

"Don't think, Mr. Underwood, that I am insensible to all your kindness to me since my coming here two years ago. I shall see you later and show you that I am not lacking in appreciation, though I can never express my grat.i.tude to you; but before I can do that--before I can even tell you who I am--it is necessary that I see Mr. Britton."

"Tut! tut!" said Mr. Underwood, gruffly; "don't talk to me of grat.i.tude; I don't want any; but, my G.o.d! boy, I had come to look on you almost as my own son!" And, turning abruptly, he left the room before either of the others could speak.

"He is a man of very strong feelings," said Mr. Britton, leading the way to Mr. Underwood's room; "and, to tell the truth, this is a pretty hard blow to each of us, although we should have prepared ourselves for it.

Be seated, my son."

Seating himself beside the young man and again looking into his face, he said,--

"I see that the day has dawned; when did the light come, and how?"

Briefly the other related his awakening on the rocks and the events which followed down to his finding and reading the journal which recorded so faithfully the history of the missing years, Mr. Britton listening with intense interest. At last the young man said,--