“No, no, no!” cried Armstrong, “I never wanted to.  It was my trial,” he added, solemnly, “and I shall never have another, Faith.  God is too merciful to try a man twice, so.”

“James,” said Holden, and his voice sounded with unusual magnificence, “dost thou know me?”

“Certainly,” said Armstrong; “it is a strange question to ask me.  You are Mr. Holden.”

“I am thy brother George.”

Without a doubt, without a misgiving, Armstrong, still holding his daughter, extended his hand to Holden.

“So, George,” he said, “you have risen from the dead to save Faith’s life.  I knew God would work a miracle if it was necessary.”

“I trust I have risen from the death of sin but I have never been in the grave of which thou speakest.  Know that in veritable flesh and blood, I am thy brother George, who hath never tasted of death.”

But this was an idea which Armstrong was incapable of receiving.  He shook his head, and muttering to himself, “Can the dead lie?” looked suspiciously at Holden.

The announcement of the Solitary struck Faith, at once, as the truth.  Her mind was in no condition to reason and compare proofs.  She only felt how sweet had been her intercourse with him, and how he had contrived to make her love and reverence him.  She hoped it was true, he was her long lost uncle, and she believed it because she hoped it.

“My Uncle George!” she said, as attempting to rise she received his embrace.  She could say no more.  The agitation of her feelings choked her voice and vented itself in a flood of tears.

“What, crying, my darling?” said Armstrong.  “This is no time for tears.  You should rejoice, for is not George here, who left his grave to save your life, and has not our faith received its triumphant crown?”

“Alas!” exclaimed Holden, by a word and look conveying his meaning.  “As soon as you are able to walk, dear Faith, we had better return to your home.”

“I think I am sufficiently restored,” she replied, “if you will assist me.”

Holden gave her his arm, and supported her to the carriage, followed with great docility by Armstrong, who broke out into occasional snatches of music, once a common habit, but in which he had not been known to indulge for a long time.

CHAPTER XLII.

        O, you kind gods,
  Cure this great breach in his abused nature! 
  The untuned and jarring senses O, wind up!

  KING LEAR.

As soon as they reached the house of Armstrong, Dr. Elmer was sent for, and to him Holden communicated the events of the morning, not concealing his own relationship.  This last particular was a case not provided for in the books, or coming within the scope of the good doctor’s practice.  Contenting himself, therefore, with ejaculating,

  “Is this the lord Talbot, Uncle Gloster,
  That hath so long been resident in France?”