In February Mr. Trevlyn received a severe shock.  His aged wife had been an inmate of an insane asylum almost ever since the death of her son Hubert; and Mr. Trevlyn, though he had loved her with his whole soul, had never seen her face in all those weary years.

Suddenly, without any premonitory symptoms, her reason returned to her, and save that she was unmindful of the time that had elapsed during her insanity, she was the same Caroline Trevlyn of old.

They told her cautiously of her husband’s old age, for the unfortunate woman could not realize that nearly twenty years had passed since the loss of her mind.  The first desire she expressed was to see “John,” and Mr. Trevlyn was sent for.

He came, and went into the presence of the wife from whom he had been so long divided, alone.  No one knew what passed between them.  The interview was a lengthy one, and Mr. Trevlyn came forth from it, animated by a new-born hope.  The wife of his youth was to be restored to him!

He made arrangements to take her home, but alas! they were never destined to be carried into effect.  The secret fears of the physician were realized even sooner than he had expected.  The approach of dissolution had dissolved the clouds so long hanging over the mind of Caroline Trevlyn.  She lived only two days after the coming of her husband, and died in his arms, happy in the belief that she was going to her son.

Mr. Trevlyn returned home, a changed being.  All his asperity of temper was gone; he was as gentle as a child.  Whole days he would sit in the chair where his wife used to sit in the happy days of her young wifehood, speaking to no one, smiling sometimes to himself, as though he heard some inner whisperings which pleased him.

One day he roused himself seemingly, and sent for Mr. Speedwell, his attorney, and Dr. Drake, his family physician.  With these gentlemen he was closeted the entire forenoon; and from that time forward, his hold on the world and its things seemed to relax.

One morning, when Margie went to take his gruel up to him—­a duty she always performed herself—­she found him sitting in his arm-chair, wide awake, but incapable of speech or motion.

The physician, hastily summoned, confirmed her worst fears.  Mr. Trevlyn had been smitten with paralysis.  He was in no immediate danger, perhaps; he might live for years, but was liable to drop away at any moment.  It was simply a question of time.

Toward the close of the second day after his attack, the power of speech returned to Mr. Trevlyn.

“Margie!” he said, feebly, “Margie, come here.”  She flew to his side.

“I want you to send for Archer Trevlyn,” he said with great difficulty.

She made a gesture of surprise.

“You think I am not quite right in my mind, Margie, that I should make that request.  But I was never more sane than at this moment.  My mind was never clearer, my mental sight never more correct.  I want to see my grandson.”