The three men entered Mr. Wells’ cabin.  The old missionary, with bowed head and hands clasped behind his back, was pacing to and fro.  He greeted Jim with glad surprise.

“We want Nellie to see him,” whispered Heckewelder.  “We think the surprise will do her good.”

“I trust it may,” said Mr. Wells.

“Leave it to me.”

They followed Heckewelder into an adjoining room.  A torch flickered over the rude mantle-shelf, lighting up the room with fitful flare.  It was a warm night, and the soft breeze coming in the window alternately paled and brightened the flame.

Jim saw Nell lying on the bed.  Her eyes were closed, and her long, dark lashes seemed black against the marble paleness of her skin.

“Stand behind me,” whispered Heckewelder to Jim.

“Nellie,” he called softly, but only a faint flickering of her lashes answered him.

“Nellie, Nellie,” repeated Heckewelder, his deep, strong voice thrilling.

Her eyes opened.  They gazed at Mr. Wells on one side, at Edwards standing at the foot of the bed, at Heckewelder leaning over her, but there was no recognition or interest in her look.

“Nellie, can you understand me?” asked Heckewelder, putting into his voice all the power and intensity of feeling of which he was capable.

An almost imperceptible shadow of understanding shone in her eyes.

“Listen.  You have had a terrible shock, and it has affected your mind.  You are mistaken in what you think, what you dream of all the time.  Do you understand?  You are wrong!”

Nell’s eyes quickened with a puzzled, questioning doubt.  The minister’s magnetic, penetrating voice had pierced her dulled brain.

“See, I have brought you Jim!”

Heckewelder stepped aside as Jim fell on his knees by the bed.  He took her cold hands in his and bent over her.  For the moment his voice failed.

The doubt in Nell’s eyes changed to a wondrous gladness.  It was like the rekindling of a smoldering fire.

“Jim?” she whispered.

“Yes, Nellie, it’s Jim alive and well.  It’s Jim come back to you.”

A soft flush stained her white face.  She slipped her arm tenderly around his neck, and held her cheek close to his.

“Jim,” she murmured.

“Nellie, don’t you know me?” asked Mr. Wells, trembling, excited.  This was the first word she had spoken in four days.

“Uncle!” she exclaimed, suddenly loosening her hold on Jim, and sitting up in bed, then she gazed wildly at the others.

“Was it all a horrible dream?”

Mr. Wells took her hand soothingly, but he did not attempt to answer her question.  He looked helplessly at Heckewelder, but that missionary was intently studying the expression on Nell’s face.

“Part of it was a dream,” he answered,impressively.

“Then that horrible man did take us away?”