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The officers ridi culed my assertions as pipe dreams, and when, at each Sort, I pleaded to be allowed to communicate with our consul, I was only kept under stricter guard.” And so his story continued, inter rupted at Intervals by questions from one or another of us, until we had the whole wretched tale of cruelty, in cluding the final chapter which pre ceded the rescue. When he learned that every stoker and trimmer, save himself, had been ordered on deck, still hoping against hope that the outside world had at length been moved to intercession in his behalf, he demanded to be allowed to go with the rest. And when his demand was refused he rebelled, fighting his way to liberty with an iron bar from a cinder-tub, which he had purposely concealed for such emergency. I have no inclination to test patience by detailing all the events and recording all the dialogue of that happy day. Much that happened and much that was said I must leave to the imagination of those that read. But I cannot refrain from the statement that Cameron's meeting and reconciliation with his old friend Dr. Addison was one of the brightest spots in a delectable constellation. The meeting between Evelyn and her uncle was an episode, too, to touch the sensibility of the most apathetic. And if there had lingered a single doubt as to the wisdom or expediency of accepting their companionship on my expedition of rescue, it must have been dispelled by the emotional thrill which these scenes provoked. Our homeward voyage, which all of us were anxious should not be delayed, was by way of Naples. Hartley, who appeared to be able to go and come as he pleased, accompanied us that far, and our farewells to him, on the deck of the Koenig Albert, were combined with a fervor of gratitude that exhausted our powers of expression. Evelyn begged me to be permitted to kiss him good-bye, but there I was forced to draw the line. Her caresses in my own direction had not, up to that moment, been so lavish that I felt I could spare any of them, even for this young Englishman, notwithstanding my abundant appreciation of the inestimable service he had rendered, and that was precisely what I told her, when on the first evening out, she had demanded to know my reasons for refusal. “You’re a very selfish man," she retorted, with a pout. “And I’m not at all sure, now, that I shall ever kiss you again. Besides—” And there she stopped. We had reached the after end of the deck in our post-dinner promenade, and had paused there, leaning on the rail, to watch the phosphorescent gleam and glitter among the turbulent white wake-waters. Cameron and Dr. Addison were talking over their cigars in steamer chairs amidships, and the girl and I were alone together for the first time since her uncle’s restoration. “Besides?” I repeated, questioningly. The big blue eyes she turned to me were never more roguish. “Besides,” she said, low-voiced and with a just perceptible quiver, “until you keep your promise, I don’t see that you have any right to dictate to me.” I knew very well what she meant. Ever since Cameron had come running backward around that deckhouse corner—I think even at the minute I recognized his naked, smut-covered shoulders—I had had that promise in mind, and had longed for the moment of its fulfilment. But till now not even the briefest opportunity had offered. Nevertheless, her present mood was too entirely winsomely lovely to be neglected, and the impulse to prolong it by teasing too strong for resistance. “Keep my promise?” I queried, mumbling with assumed perplexity a certain suggestion of injury. "Have I ever failed you in anything?” She turned away now, silently, and the eclipse of the eyes I loved left me suddenly repentant; still I persisted. “Have I ever failed you?” I asked again... Quickly her gaze came back, and her eyes had taken something of the cold, snapping fire of the phosphorus. “Since you don’t remember," she said, “it's of no consequence. Only you were so sure that you couldn't forget." "Give me a hint,” I begged, still cruel. “When did I promise?" "I couldn’t be so unmaldenly," was her retort, looking away again. “Was it before we came over here, or since?” “Before,” after a pause. “Long before?” “Not very.” “Where? At your house?” “Yes.” “In the library?” I asked, with a glance behind for possible intruders. She turned quickly and... Found me laughing. "Oh, you dear, Billy, lovable, delightful child!" I cried, and the echo of my words was carried far astern, as my arms went about her and held her close, and my kisses fell thick and fast on her ripe, tender little mouth. "What need had I to keep such a promise?" I asked, when in mercy I paused that she might get her breath. “Why should I ask you to tell me that you loved me, when I could read it in letters as long as your glances and as bright as your smile?” And if we left Cameron and Dr. Addison much alone together during our homeward voyage, who that still remembers their own happy days of young love dreaming can blame us? For a long while there remained in my mind as legacy from the strange case of Cameron and the Sable Lorcha conspiracy a seemingly insoluble problem. On our return to America, my friend, in spite of all my urging, refused, with stubborn persistency, it seemed to me, to aid in the prosecution of those who, we knew positively, were implicated in the affair. Concerning Murphy, Yup Sing and a score or more of their satellites we could have produced evidence of the most damaging character. But Cameron was not so minded. He even went so far as to discourage my appearance against the former for complicity in the plot to take captive Evelyn and myself on the night of our Pell street visit. Indeed, I have always believed that through O'Hara he was instrumental in securing Murphy's release. And I know for a fact that he provided so generously for the young French driver of the electric brougham, who was so badly injured in that Pell street adventure, that the fellow returned to France a month before the trial of his assailant. All these things, I say, continued to puzzle and disquiet me, long after the sharp edges of rancorous remembrance had been worn away. And invariably at such times there would recur recollections of those early days of the threatening letters and of that elusive something in Cameron's manner which I was never quite able to comprehend or explain. The true interpretation was reserved for the night preceding my marriage with Evelyn, which, by the way, had, at her guardian's wish, been delayed for nearly a year because of what he chose to regard as her unseemly youth. The celebration was to take place at Cragholt and the house was already filled with kinsfolk and intimate friends, including most of the wedding party. It was after midnight, and Cameron and I were alone together in his mahogany and green study; he at his writing table and I in the same adjacent leather chair in which I had sat a twelvemonth ago while listening to the story of the incised portrait. As was not unusual we had reverted to that time and to certain of the incidents therewith connected; and I had been trying to make clear to Cameron, as I had already frequently tried to do, the peculiar difference between McNish’s expression and his. “In individual feature,” I said, warming to my subject, “there never was in all the world before, I believe, such similarity. And in repose, the ensemble, I should say, was equally identical. But when it came to—” And there Cameron checked me. "Clyde," and his tone was strangely grave, it seemed to me, “you’ll pardon! My interrupting you, I know. I understand what you would say, probably better than I could from your putting it into words. And I want to tell you why I understand. Indeed, I’ve wanted to tell you for a long while, but whenever I’ve got to the verge of it, I have balked.” He paused here to shake the ash from his cigar, reaching across his desk for a receptacle, and somehow the gesture reminded me of that of McNish as he had thrown out his arm which held the letter, and so exposed the telltale tattooing. “I have never told you, Clyde,” he resumed, his eyes turned on the glowing tobacco ember which he had just bared, “anything about my birth or my family. But now that you are to become one of us, in a way, it’s only fair that you should know; for though Evelyn’s mother was but my half-sister, still the girl gets the same blood through her grandsire.” “Yes,” I said, "I know that. Evelyn told me that much. I know, too, that you were born in Scotland; and the very name of Cameron is a pretty good guarantee of family worth.” "My father belonged to a rather poor branch," he confessed, “and like many poor men he had a large number of children. There were ten, all told, and when my poor mother died, it became a serious problem how to take care of us little ones. I was among the youngest, not over seven, and I had a twin brother." As he said this, Cameron, who had been desultoriously drawing figures on lifting pad with the end of a pen holder, abruptly shot his gaze to mine and caught the quick question of my eyes. “Yes," he said, without change of tone, “yes, you see, now, don’t you?” "McNish!” I murmured. “McNish,” he echoed. “Donald McNish.” “But,” I began, “I’m sure you’re not going to be a little bit too much.” Don't quite—” and I thought of the letter from McNish’s mother. “Oh, it is clear enough,” he went on. “Some of the children were put out to live amongst neighbors, and eventually, my father and the rest of us came to this country. The others he left behind, promising to send each month the money for their keep. Donald he left with a couple named McNish, who had no brains of their own, and when the boy grew to be a big lad, and my father, who in the meantime had been successful here and married again, sent for him to come to America, word came back that he had been dead a twelvemonth.” “And your father believed it?” “Oh, yes, for they returned the back pay he had forwarded, and sent a lock of my brother’s hair, I think, and a trinket or two that had been his as a kiddie.” “Afterwards, though, you learned that he was still alive?” “No,” was Cameron’s answer. "We never heard. Had it not been for that marked resemblance gathering me in for the net spread for him, I should probably never have known. And, Clyde,” he added, “ever since I learned of his having been there, in town, I have been wondering. Do you think it possible that he ever realized that he was in his brother’s house?” "Hardly,” I said. "It doesn’t seem likely, though; unless, the name and the—He must—Oh, certainly,” I stammered, “he must have realized that we mistook him for—yes, for someone named Cameron. He answered to it readily.” enough; he even insisted that he was Cameron. And if his mind was clear enough to put two and two together, why, knowing that he had a twin brother in America, it would seem— And there I stopped my floundering, for Cameron had risen to his feet, and smiling, tolerantly, was waving a hushing hand at me. “Yes, yes,” he said, “I’ve argued it all out in just the same way, dear friend. And yet we never can be certain, can we? Only I have thought, if he might have realized it, and have been able to have played the part, and stayed, and taken up my life and lived it for the rest of his, I might have gone on and taken his punishment to some purpose. For I have had more than my share of the good things, Clyde, and maybe if poor little Donnie had had even half my chances. It would all have been so very, very different.” He still thought of him as the child brother he had parted from long years ago in Scotland, and as such he would ever remember him. I was glad then that he had stopped me when I had tried to draw for him the difference in their faces. For it was such a difference! Looking at Cameron now with the lamp of true greatness alight behind those plain features, I marveled that I could even have seen a vestige of likeness in the brutal, soulless face of his twin brother. And then, for the first time, too, I really understood. Real Origin of the Pearl Science Has Rudely Shattered Political Ideas That Have Been Held For Centuries. For many centuries, even until comparatively recent times, it was the common belief that pearls were drops that gained entrance into the shell of an oyster, and were there transpired into lustrous gems. Arab and Indian divers still believe that at certain seasons oysters come to the surface and suck in the rain-drops that later become pearls. Science, however, has rudely shattered this poetic fancy, and discovered the real origin to be a worm. Dr. Hugh M. Smith gives some interesting information on this subject in the National Geographic Magazine. We now know that almost any foreign body—a grain of sand, a bit of mud or shell, a piece of seaweed or a small animal—may by its irritation cause the mollusk to cover it with a piece and make it the nucleus of a pearl; but the largest part of the annual pearl-crop of the world is due to parasites that normally pass a part of their life-cycle within the shell of the pearl-oyster. Minute spherical larvae of marine worms known as Cestodea become embedded in the soft tissues, as many as forty having been found in one Ceylon oyster. As the result of irritation, the oyster forms a protecting sac about the intruder, and then, if the larvae dies, its body is gradually converted into carbonate of lime, and the pearly mass proceeds to grow with the shell. If the larvae lives, it may pass into the body of the strong-jawed trigger fishes which prey on the pearl-oysters, there undergoing further development. Ultimately, it reaches the body of the great rays, which in turn eat the trigger fishes. In the rays, the worms attain full development, and produce larvae that are cast into the sea and find lodgment in pearl-oysters. Thus, the cycle is begun once more. We may literally accept the saying of a celebrated French investigator, that “the most beautiful pearl is in reality only the brilliant sarcophagus of a worm.” Callous Indeed. “Well, I must confess I am glad to get back home amongst my friends, where people aren't too busy or too stuck-up to take some interest in one another," said Mrs. Polley. "Now, there’s them post office folks down to Chicago. I found them actually hard-hearted! Why, would you believe it, that man that brings round the letters to Mabel’s, he’s so queer and standoffish that when he handed me husband’s postal card, telling how mother had fell and broke her arm, he never so much as opened his lips to give me one word of sympathy! No, sir, not even enough to say, ‘Too bad!’!—Youth’s Companion. MISSIONAL SCHOOL Lesson (By E. O. SELLERS, Director of Evening Department The Moody Bible Institute of Chicago.) LESSON FOR JULY MOSES' REQUEST REFUSED. LESSON TEXT—Ex. 5:1-14. GOLDEN TEXT—Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted." —Matt. 5:4. Only one incident is mentioned with reference to that long journey Moses had to take in returning from Midian to Egypt. "The Lord met him and sought to kill him," (4:24). Moses was about to pronounce a fearful penalty, see 4:23, and it was necessary that he comprehended the terrible meaning of his threat. Also, he had neglected to observe the sign of covenant peace (circumcision) with his youngest son, and that was a serious delinquency for the future leader of Israel. "It was necessary at this stage of his experience that he should learn that God is in earnest when he speaks, and will assuredly perform all that he has threatened." (Murphy.) Showing himself with Aaron, the elders of Israel are soon convinced that God had sent them and was about to work out through Moses and Aaron the long promised deliverance. Issue Plainly Stated. I. Moses’ Message, w. 1-9. Moses and Aaron plainly stated the issue at the very outset, “Thus saith the Lord God of Israel" (v. 1). This was at once a challenge as to the boasted superior greatness of the Egyptian gods. It also touched Pharaoh's pride for having was an absolute monarch and can he allow these representatives of an oppressed people any liberties? Lastly, it was a question of economic importance. Pharaoh looked upon these Israelites as his own property, now they are claimed for another. "Let my people go." In contempt, Pharaoh exclaims, “Who is Jehovah?” It was in contempt. Answer to that very question Moses had been sent and right well was Pharaoh to learn the answer ere the act. Count is settled. Men are flippantly asking that same question today, both by word and conduct, who will find out to their final sorrow who Jehovah is, and why they should obey his voice. Pharaoh spoke the truth when he said "I know not the Lord," but though he seems to boast of that, he little knew what it means for a man to set up his will against that of God. "I will not" was the proud boast of a weak, wilful, ignorant worm of the dust, for all his exalted position among men. Read 2 Thess. 1:8 and Rom. 1:28. In reply, (v. 3) Moses and Aaron did not seek to argue the case. Very little is ever gained by such a method, much better for us to deliver God’s message verbatim and trust to the holy spirit to bring conviction. Moses and Aaron were far more afraid of the pestilence and sword of Jehovah than the boasted power of Pharaoh. God does punish disobedience whether we like it or not, see Deut. 28:21. Zech. 14:16-19, etc. This fearlessness angered Pharaoh (v. 4) and he commands them and their brethren at once to resume their burdens. The world is constantly accusing the servants of God of unfitting people for their work, see Amos 7:10, Luke 23:2 and Acts 17:6. Truth Confirmed. The truth of this narrative is confirmed by the bricks found in the ruins of cities built during this period of Egyptian history. The bricks were made of clay mixed with stubble, rather than the ordinary straw and timber. Baked in the sun rather than in a fire kiln. II. Pharaoh’s Method, w. 10-15. It. must have been a severe test of faith for the Israelites to have had their hopes thus dashed and more grievous burdens thrust upon them. Before, the government furnished the necessary straw, now they must get it themselves and at the same time keep up the usual toll of bricks. Those who were beaten (v. 14) were of their own number who were held accountable under the Egyptian taskmasters for the conduct of the whole, is this not suggestive of one other than ourselves “who bore our sins in his own body on the tree” and "by whose stripes we are healed?” How little we comprehend, even with centuries of Christian history as our guide and the inspired word as our teacher, the full meaning of Paul’s words, “For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.” Rom. 8:18. But God is mindful of his own and as soon as Moses and Aaron turned to him he gives them a most gracious renewal of his promise and of the ultimate blessing, see Chapter 8:1-8. 