Thus muttering to himself, Isaac drew near the front gate, against which, within the pallisades, the stranger in question was leaning, with his hat pressed down over his forehead, as though he desired concealment.  His habiliments, after the fashion of the day, were originally of a superior quality to those generally worn on the frontiers, but soiled and torn in several places, as from the wear and tear of a long, fatiguing journey.  His features, what portion of them could be seen under his hat, were pale and haggard, denoting one who had experienced many and severe vicissitudes.  As Isaac approached, he raised his eyes from the ground, turned them full upon him, and then, taking a step forward, said, in a voice tremulous with emotion: 

“Thank God!  Isaac Younker, I am able to behold you once again.”

As a distinct view of his features fell upon the curious gaze of the latter, and his voice sounded in his ear, Isaac paused for a moment, as one stupefied with amazement; the next, he staggered back a pace or two, dropped his hands upon his knees, in a stooping posture, as if to peer more closely into the face of the stranger; and then bounding from the earth, he uttered a wild yell of delight, threw his hat upon the ground in a transport of joy, and rushed into the extended arms of Algernon Reynolds, where he wept like a child upon his neck, neither of them able to utter a syllable for something like a minute.

“The Lord be praised!” were the first articulate words of Isaac, in a voice choked with emotion.  “God bless you!  Mr. Reynolds;” and again the tears of joy fell fast and long.  “Is it you?” resumed he, again starting back and gazing wildly upon the other, as if fearful of some mistake.  “Yes! yes! it’s you—­there’s no mistaking that thar face—­the dead’s come to life again, for sartin;” and once more he sprung upon the other’s neck, with all the apparent delight of a mother meeting with a lost child.

“Yes, yes, Isaac, thank God! it is myself you really behold—­one who never expected to see you again in this world,” rejoined Algernon, affected himself to tears, by the noble, heart-touching, affectionate manner of his companion.  “But—­but Isaac—­our friends here—­are they—­all—­all well, Isaac?” This was said in a voice, which, in spite of the speaker’s efforts to be calm, trembled from anxiety and apprehension.

“Why,” answered Isaac, in a somewhat hesitating manner, “I don’t know’s thar’s any body exactly sick—­but—­”

“But what, Isaac?” interrupted Algernon, with a start.

“Why, Ella, you know—­”

“Yes, yes, Isaac—­what of her?” and grasping him by the arm, Algernon gazed upon the other’s features with a look of alarm.

“Now don’t be skeered, Mr. Reynolds—­thar han’t nothing happened—­only I ‘spect she’s bin a thinking o’ you—­who every body thought war dead—­and she’s kind o’ grown thin and pale on’t, and we war gitting afeared it might end badly; but as you’ve come now, I know as how it’ll all be right agin.”