Mr. Letts rose sheepishly, and then to his great amazement a pair of strong young arms were flung round his neck, and a pair of warm lips—­ after but slight trouble—­found his.  Then and there Mr. Letts’s mind was made up.

[Illustration:  “Then and there Mr. Letts’s mind was made up.]

“Oh, Jack!” said Miss Foster, and began to cry softly.

“Oh, Jack!” said Mrs. Green, and, moved by thoughts, perhaps, of what might have been, began to cry too.

“There, there!” said Mr. Letts.

He drew Miss Foster to the seat, and, sitting between them, sat with an arm round each.  There was nothing in sight but a sail or two in the far distance, and he allowed Miss Foster’s head to lie upon his shoulder undisturbed.  An only child, and an orphan, he felt for the first time the blessing of a sister’s love.

“Why didn’t you come home before?” murmured the girl.

Mr. Letts started and squinted reproachfully at the top of her hat.  Then he turned and looked at Mrs. Green in search of the required information.  “He was shipwrecked,” said Mrs. Green.

“I was shipwrecked,” repeated Mr. Letts, nodding.

“And had brain-fever after it through being in the water so long, and lost his memory,” continued Mrs. Green.

“It’s wonderful what water will do—­salt water,” said Mr. Letts, in confirmation.

Miss Foster sighed, and, raising the hand which was round her waist, bent her head and kissed it.  Mr. Letts colored, and squeezed her convulsively.

Assisted by Mrs. Green he became reminiscent, and, in a low voice, narrated such incidents of his career as had escaped the assaults of the brain-fever.  That his head was not permanently injured was proved by the perfect manner in which he remembered incidents of his childhood narrated by his newly found mother and sister.  He even volunteered one or two himself which had happened when the latter was a year or two old.

“And now,” said Mrs. Green, in a somewhat trembling voice, “we must go and tell your step-father.”

Mr. Letts responded, but without briskness, and, with such moral support as an arm of each could afford, walked slowly back.  Arrived at a road of substantial cottages at the back of the town, Mrs. Green gasped, and, coming to a standstill, nodded at a van that stood half-way up the road.

“There it is,” she exclaimed.

“What?” demanded Mr. Letts.

“The furniture I told you about,” said Mrs. Green.  “The furniture that your poor father thought such a lot of, because it used to belong to his grandfather.  He’s selling it to Simpson, though I begged and prayed him not to.”

Mr. Letts encouraged himself with a deep cough.  “My furniture?” he demanded.

Mrs. Green took courage.  “Yes,” she said, hope-fully; “your father left it to you.”

Mr. Letts, carrying his head very erect, took a firmer grip of their arms and gazed steadily at a disagreeable-looking man who was eying them in some astonishment from the doorway.  With arms still linked they found the narrow gateway somewhat difficult, but they negotiated it by a turning movement, and, standing in the front garden, waited while Mrs. Green tried to find her voice.