“Yes,” he said, when the eager father had concluded, and feeling that he must at once relieve the terrible suspense under which his companion was laboring; “your son lives, and is longing to see his father.”

“Oh, then, I have nothing more to wish for—­the world will be bright to me once more, for he was my all, Doctor Wesselhoff—­my last, and best beloved.  I have laid six children in the grave, and all my hopes were centered in Ray.  My boy! my boy!  I am content to know that you live—­that you are not lost to me!”

The over-wrought man broke down utterly at this point, bowed his face upon his hands, and sobbed almost convulsively.

Doctor Wesselhoff was also greatly moved at the sight of his emotion, but as soon as he could control himself sufficiently, he remarked: 

“I have a very strange story to tell you, Mr. Palmer, and you may be inclined, as your son was at first, to suspect me of complicity in the affair.  I am, however, willing to be subjected to a rigorous investigation, if you demand it; but let me assure you that the moment I discovered the truth, I saw that I, as well as you, had been wretchedly imposed upon, and I was anxious to do all in my power to right the wrong.”

He then related all that he had told Ray, and all that we already know, while Amos Palmer listened with wonder to the unfolding of the bold and cunning scheme which had so baffled the police and the best detectives in New York.

“It is the most devilish plot I ever heard of if you will excuse the expression,” Mr. Palmer excitedly exclaimed, when his visitor had concluded his narrative.

“It certainly was a very brazen one, yet very cleverly arranged, and just as artfully carried out,” Doctor Wesselhoff remarked; and then he inquired, while he regarded his companion with earnest interest:  “But have you no doubts as to the truth of my statements?  Have you no suspicions that I might also be concerned in the plot?”

“No, sir; I am impressed that you are a man of truth and honor.  I have heard of you, and know something of your reputation; and I can but feel thankful that my son fell into your hands, rather than into the clutches of some unprincipled villain,” Mr. Palmer replied, with a hearty confidence in his tones that could not be doubted.  Then he added:  “Excuse me for a few moments while I order my carriage, then you shall take me at once to my son.”

Amos Palmer seemed a changed man now that hope throbbed once more in his heart, and he started up with all his old-time vigor and energy to leave the room.

But Doctor Wesselhoff stopped him.

“My own carriage is at your door—­do not wait for yours; come at once with me and I will have you sent home when you are ready to return; but Mr. Palmer, you must be prepared to find your son greatly changed, for he has been very ill; the worst is over, however, and he will gain rapidly now, if we take proper care of him.”