“Sit down, boy,” said the governor in a voice that was still hoarse.  “Now, then, answer me a few questions.  Did your father ever live in Syracuse?”

“Yep, me and Flea were born there.”

“How old are you?”

“Comin’ sixteen.”

“And your sister?  Tell me about her.  Is she—­how old is she?”

“We be twins,” replied Floyd steadily.

The girl, watching the unfolding of a life’s tragedy, was silent even to hushing her breathing.  The truth was slowly dawning upon her.  How well she knew the story of the kidnapped children!  How often had her own heart bled for the tender mother, spending endless days in vain mourning!  She saw Governor Vandecar stand, saw him sway a little, and then turn toward the door.

“Governor, Governor!” she called tremulously, “I feel as if I were going to faint.  Oh, can’t you see it all?  Where is Mrs. Vandecar?”

“Stay, Ann, stay!  Wait!  Boy, have you ever had any reason to believe that you were not the son of Lon Cronk?” Through fear of making a mistake, he had asked this question.  He knew that, should he plant false hope in the timid mother he had shielded for years, she would be unable to bear it.

“Nope,” replied Floyd wonderingly; “only that he hated me and Flea.  He were awful to us sometimes.”

“There can be no mistake,” Ann thrust in.  “He looks too much like you, and the girl is exactly like him....  Oh, Floyd!”

Vandecar extended his arms, and, with a sob that shook his soul, drew his boy to him.

“You’re not Cronk’s son,” he said; “you’re mine!...  God!  Ann, you’ll never know just how I feel toward you and Horace.  You’ve made me your life debtor; but, of course—­of course, I didn’t know, did I?” Then, startled by a new thought, he realized Floyd.  “But my girl!”

“Horace has gone for her,” Ann cried.

“And I will follow him,” groaned Vandecar.  “Horace—­and he could not interest me in my own babies!  If I’d helped him, my little girl wouldn’t have been taken away!”

In the man’s breakdown, Ann’s calm disappeared.  Unable to restrain her tears, she fluttered about, first to Floyd, then to his father, kissing the boy again and again, assuring and reassuring the governor.

“Just remember,” she whispered, bending over the sobbing man, “Horace loves her better than anything in the world.  Listen, Floyd!  He’s going to marry her.  Don’t you think he’ll do everything in his power to save her?...  Don’t—­don’t sob that way!”

Of a sudden Vandecar leaped to his feet.  Brushing a lock of white hair from his damp brow, he turned to Floyd.

“Before I do anything else, I must take you to your mother.”

“But ain’t ye goin’ for Flea?” demanded Floyd.

“Of course, I am going for my girl,” cried Vandecar, “as fast as a train can take me!” He turned suddenly and placed his firm hands on the boy’s shoulders.  “Before I take you upstairs, boy, listen to me!  You’ve a little mother, a sick little mother who has mourned you and your sister for years.  I’m going to leave her with you while I’m gone for your sister.  Your mother is ill, and—­and needs you!”