"Good morning, _Brother_ Lawrence," she responded.

"How are you feeling?"

"I am feeling fine. But poor papa--"

"Yes; Uncle Gilbert told me."

"We'll have to remain here until he gets over the attack. Uncle is anxious to get home, and I must admit I'd rather be at Kildare Villa than here."

Then Uncle Gilbert came out with hat and cane. He was going for a walk with Chester, he said, for it would be wiser not to disturb the sleeper.

He explained to Lucy that her father was getting a much needed rest, and that she was to see to it that he was not disturbed. Chester would "keep" with his Uncle Gilbert for a few hours.

The morning was fair, so the two men struck out for Hyde Park. They walked across the big stretches of grass, then rested on a seat by the Serpentine. As yet, not many people were about, and the London hum had not risen to its highest pitch.

Uncle Gilbert wanted to know about Utah, and Chester entered into a detailed description of the state and her people.

"I have, of course, heard of the Mormon people; but I will admit my ideas are somewhat vague. My brother, as a preacher, must of course, have come in contact with all sorts of religious professions. He seems to know considerable about Mormonism. Where did he learn that?"

Chester explained what part Lucy had played in this.

"Well, he agrees very much with her belief, for I have heard conversations which lead me to that conclusion. Of course, all that is their business, not mine particularly. Let's walk out in the middle of the park where we can make believe we are not in London, but out in the beautiful green country which God has made."

The grass being dry, they could sit down on it to rest.

"As you are, I presume, to become a member of the family some day," said Uncle Gilbert, "I am going to tell you something about my brother. It is not a pleasant subject, but I have concluded that you can be told. It is a family secret, you must understand, and must be treated as such. It is only because I believe your knowledge of the truth may help my brother that I am telling you this.

Chester thanked him for his confidence. He would be glad to help in any way he could.

"Well, the story is this: My brother in his younger days before he was married, had an unfortunate experience with a young woman. There was a child as the result. The woman, as nearly as I can make out, married well enough, and later, joined the Mormons and went to Utah. She did not take the child with her, for some reason unknown to me, at least; and so the boy--for it was a boy--became lost to his father, and as far as I know, to his mother also. I don't suppose all this worried my brother as a young man; but recently, within the past few years, I should say, his conscience seems to have pricked him severely. He has some vigorous views of fatherhood and the obligations flowing therefrom--and I can't say but he is right--and now he worries about his own great neglect. He has talked to me about it, so I know. Sometimes he worries himself sick, and then his nervous trouble gets the overhand."

Chester lay on the grass looking up into the sky, complacently chewing a spear of grass, while Uncle Gilbert was talking.

"What was the woman's name?" asked Chester.

"I can't recall it just now. In fact, I don't think I ever heard it.

Now, another thing that you must know, and you must not be annoyed at this: at times, I believe he imagines you to be that boy of his."

Chester sat up, and exactly at the moment when he looked into the face of Uncle Gilbert a cog in the machinery of his own thoughts caught into a cog of the wheel within wheels which the man at his side had been revealing. The cog caught, then slipped, then caught again. Wheels began to revolve, bringing into motion and view other possible developments.

"That's only when his illness makes him delerious," continued Uncle Gilbert. "As I said, you must pay no attention to him under those conditions, but I thought you ought to know."

"Yes; yes," whispered the young man--"Thank you." For him, Hyde Park and London had disappeared: all earthly things had become mist out of which he was trying to emerge.

"You don't know the woman's name," Chester asked again, with dry lips--"Tell me her name."

"I don't remember. I'm not sure, but I believe I have heard my brother, in his times of delerium speak of Anna."

"Anna. Anna," repeated Chester, as he stared into space. Uncle Gilbert looked at the young man, and then repented of telling him. He was a little annoyed at his manner. He arose, brushed the grass from his clothes, and said:

"Well, let's be going."

Chester went along mechanically. At the Marble Arch Uncle Gilbert was about to hail a bus, when Chester stopped him.

"You'll excuse me, wont you for not returning with you--I--I--"

"But I gave my word to Lucy that I would bring you back."

"Yes; I know, I'll come after a while--but not now--you go on,--I--I--there's your bus now; you had better take it."

Uncle Gilbert, still a little annoyed, climbed on the bus and left his companion looking vacantly at the line of moving busses.

Chester went back into the park. There was room to breathe there and some freedom from fellow beings. He left the beaten paths. Oh, that he could get away from everybody for a time! Old Thunder out among the Rocky Mountains would be an ideal place just now.

The wheels of thought went surely and correctly. There was no slipping of cogs now. _The Rev. Thomas Strong was his father._

Every link in the chain of evidence fitted. There was no break. He went over the ground again and again. There came to him now facts and incidents which he had heard from his foster parents, and they all fitted in other facts and strengthened his conclusions. Now he also remembered and understood some of his mother's remarks about ministers.

Yes, Thomas Strong was his father! Lucy's father! Why, he and Lucy were brother and sister!

It is quite useless to try to tell all that was in Chester Lawrence's thoughts and heart from then on all that afternoon. He did not know, neither did he care how long he lay on the grass in the park, but there came a time when his solitude became unbearable, so he walked with feverish haste into the crowded streets. The lamps were being lighted when he came to the Thames Embankment, where he watched for a time the black, sluggish water being sucked out to sea by the outgoing tide. Then he walked on. St. Paul loomed high in the murky darkness. He got into the ridiculously narrow streets of Paternoster Row, where he had on his first visit bought a Bible. The evening was far spent and the crowds were thinning when he recognized the Bank of England corner.

Realizing at last that he was tired, he climbed on top of a bus going in the direction of his lodgings, where he arrived somewhere near midnight.

He went to bed, but not to sleep for many hours.

"Lucy, you are my sister. I love you as that--but my wife you never can be--" yes; he would have to tell her that. But why had this father of his let him and Lucy go on as they had? He had told his father the secret of his life. He remembered distinctly his father's actions how he had even called him "son," which he had thought at the time was for Lucy's sake. Knowing him and Lucy to be brother and sister, why had he permitted them to form ties such as had been formed? Was it a plot on his father's part to again bring misery to human souls, to make to suffer those that were of his own flesh and blood? No, no; that was impossible. Surely he was not that kind of man.

More clearly now the panorama of his life came before him. Where was the Lord in all this? He had thought the Lord had led his steps wonderfully to so meet one who made his life supremely happy--but now--the darkness and the despair of soul came again--was this not a hideous nightmare?

The day would bring light and peace.

Towards morning, Chester dozed fitfully, and at last when he awoke the day was well advanced. He and Uncle Gilbert had been in the park--uncle in reality now. Yes; it all came to him again. It had been no dream.

Chester got up, soused himself in cold water, then as he was dressing said to himself. "Well, what's to be done? I must make this thing sure one way or another." Perhaps there may be a mistake, though he could not understand how. He would go direct to Thomas Strong and ask him.

He had no appetite for breakfast, so he ate none. As early as he thought wise, he set out. How should he meet Lucy? What could he say? If he could only evade her.

No; Lucy was watching for him, with a worried expression on her face, which deepened when she saw Chester's.

"I must see your father," he said with no effort to even take her hand.

"Papa is not any better, I fear."

"But I must see him. Where is Uncle Gilbert?"

"Shall I call him?"

"Yes, _please_."

Lucy returned, and Uncle Gilbert met Chester in the hall.

"He is very nervous again this morning, and I don't think you ought to excite him," explained the brother.