Mr. Green had scarcely seated himself upon the sofa, when the elderly gentleman whom he had met the previous evening made his appearance, followed by the little boy, and introduced himself as Mr. Devenant.  A moment more, and a lady—­a beautiful brunette—­dressed in black, with long curls of a chesnut colour hanging down her cheeks, entered the room.  Her eyes were of a dark hazel, and her whole appearance indicated that she was a native of a southern clime.  The door at which she entered was opposite to where the two gentlemen were seated.  They immediately rose; and Mr. Devenant was in the act of introducing her to Mr. Green, when he observed that the latter had sunk back upon the sofa, and the last word that he remembered to have heard was, “It is her.”  After this, all was dark and dreamy:  how long he remained in this condition it was for another to tell.  When he awoke, he found himself stretched upon the sofa, with his boots off, his neckerchief removed, shirt collar unbuttoned, and his head resting upon a pillow.  By his side sat the old man, with the smelling bottle in the one hand, and a glass of water in the other, and the little boy standing at the foot of the sofa.  As soon as Mr. Green had so far recovered as to be able to speak, he said, “Where am I, and what does this mean?” “Wait a while,” replied the old man, “and I will tell you all.”  After the lapse of some ten minutes he rose from the sofa, adjusted his apparel, and said, “I am now ready to hear anything you have to say.”  “You were born in America,” said the old man.  “Yes,” he replied.  “And you were acquainted with a girl named Mary,” continued the old man.  “Yes, and I loved her as I can love none other.”  “The lady whom you met so mysteriously last evening is Mary,” replied Mr. Devenant.  George Green was silent, but the fountains of mingled grief and joy stole out from beneath his eye lashes, and glistened like pearls upon his pale and marble-like cheeks.  At this juncture the lady again entered the room.  Mr. Green sprang from the sofa, and they fell into each other’s arms, to the surprise of the old man and little George, and to the amusement of the servants who had crept up one by one, and were hid behind the doors or loitering in the hall.  When they had given vent to their feelings, they resumed their seats and each in turn related the adventures through which they had passed.  “How did you find out my name and address,” asked Mr. Green?  “After you had left us in the grave-yard, our little George said, ’O, mamma, if there aint a book!’ and picked it up and brought it to us.  Papa opened it, and said ’the gentleman’s name is written in it, and here is a card of the Hotel de Leon, where I suppose he is stopping.’  Papa wished to leave the book, and said it was all a fancy of mine that I had ever seen you before, but I was perfectly convinced that you were my own George Green.  Are you married?” “No, I am not.”  “Then, thank God!” exclaimed Mrs. Devenant.  The old man who had been silent