 CHAPTER XIII The Brewster Mansion, in which is explained, at last, how and why Belle Charmiot was so ubiquitous, and the reason she offered a reward for a missing fiancée. They reached the house and rang the bell. Fenton, expecting a maid to answer, was composing his mind to wait in excited suspense the ten or fifteen minutes. That would probably elapse before Miss Charmiot should appear. Looked up suddenly to find her, the very girl of his dreams, at the open door. He turned white, Belle Charmiot blushed vividly. The two might have stood there staring at each other indefinitely, had not the reporter smiling at their embarrassment taken off his hat and introduced John Fenton. She looked at him, how she looked at him, as if he were a ghost. But recovering her equanimity before he did, she graciously invited the two men into the back parlor. You'll pardon my surprise, Mr. Fenton, she explained, but I hadn't expected to see you so soon. Indeed, I had sent my maid for you only just now. Richmond spoke before Fenton could answer. I'm sure you must want to see Mr. Fenton alone, he said. Suppose I wait in the dining-room. He gave a glance at Fenton, for the reporter had the bag of jewels ready under his overcoat. Oh, I have nothing I'm not willing for you to hear, Mr. Richmond, she said. Indeed, if I'm not mistaken, it may give you a good story. Mr. Richmond reluctantly sat down, and Fenton still beauty-struck and dumb, still feasting his eyes on Bel Charmian, followed his example. She turned to him gravely. Mr. Fenton, she said, you have no doubt wondered why, at such a time as this, with my half-brother lying dead, I should ask you, a perfect stranger, to come here to see me. Fenton tried to speak. The words, a perfect stranger, hurt him keenly, but she went on. The fact is that if what I suspect is true, finding you is almost as important to me as losing my half-brother. As to him, I need only say that there was never much love lost between us. I could never either like or respect him, but he is dead, I need not enlarge on my reasons. When my mother married Mr. Brewster, it was a great blow to me, and I have never reconciled myself to it. After she died a year ago, I knew that it would not be possible for me to keep even the semblance of a friendship with Gordon for long. As you may know, two months ago I left this house to live at the Plaza Hotel, and I have scarcely seen Gordon Brewster since. Miss Charmian, Fenton said, at last finding his tongue. Before you go on, I ought, I'm sure, explain why, the last time I saw you, I was pretending to be someone else. Only it was with the best intentions. She laughed. Oh, I rang up Marguerite Morgan and asked about you. She explained all that, and I understand. What I want more to understand is what you know about this little ornament. She handed him the golden heart-shaped locket set with the diamond star, which she had tried to get from the cab driver. When I met you at the Hotel Astor, she said, I was going to ask you then, but I feared I had made a mistake. You see, you were dressed in gray tweed, while only an hour before I had seen you in a brown coat and overalls. Her eyes twinkled. I would have asked you at the Morgans, in spite of your having been introduced to me as the Count Capricorni, but that telephone message left me no time. It was lucky that Mr. Richmond had given me your address earlier in the evening. Now that locket has a history. I scarcely dare ask you what you know of it, whether it is yours or not. But if it is, I have much to tell you. Miss Charmian, I believe that is my locket, said Fenton, examining it excitedly. At least I remember seeing it when I was about eight years old in the possession of a man named O'Shea, whom I have reason to believe, kidnapped me. And if that is true, my real name is Bruce Courtney. Miss Charmian gazed at him with heightened color. Her lips parted, her face strangely expressive. She had stretched out her hand to him, and was just about to speak when she was interrupted by a long ring at the front door-bell, and hurriedly excusing herself, saying that it must be her maid returning. She left and went into the hall. Now's my time, Fenton, cried Richmond, jumping up. I've located the dining-room. Back there. I'm going to have a look at that safe. He darted to the doorway, gave a look down the hall, and disappeared toward the rear of the house. Fenton, for a few minutes, paced up and down nervously. It was annoying to have the conversation interrupted just at the moment when, apparently, he was to find out whether his suspicions about his own identity were correct. When he was to find, too, what secret connected him with Bel Charmian. But if Richmond could succeed in replacing the jewels in the safe without her knowing it, the accident was well timed. Then as he listened for her return he heard a strangely familiar voice which rose steadily higher. He went to the door to hear more clearly. Do you mean to say that I have made an incipient octagon of myself running around this hologastric town for nothing? Fenton thundered, and Fenton was amazed to recognize it as Dr. Hop Bottom. I'm very sorry, said Miss Charmian. But by the pancyclic septuagint, wasn't it on your business? It's too bad you were forestalled. Forestalled? Do you mean you'd take the word of a seventeen-cent hyper-corosive blastoderm like that braumpropionic reporter rather than mine? Miss Charmian burst out laughing. You're a day late, Doctor, but I'm very busy at present, and I'll have to say good morning. Well, by Zarathustra, you'll have to give me that super hyphenated locket, or pay for it, then. I think I shall have no trouble improving that it is my property, or that of Mr. Fenton, said Miss Charmian calmly, and so unless you wish me to call him, or his friend, I really think you'd not better stay. Fenton appeared in the hall at the same moment. Your hop-bottom took one look at him, and put on his hat. Then he opened the front door, and shook his bony finger at his former ward. You'll come to a health-saform end, sir, he declaimed. You see if you don't. I knew you were nothing but a semi-colonial, anthropoid, anacoluthon when I first saw you. Good day, Miss Charmian! Good day! The next time I spend my time looking up a post-impressionistic, Pliocene friend of yours, I'll gym-prickulately well know it, and he stalked out of the door and slammed it. At that moment Richmond touched Fenton on the shoulder. Great, he whispered, just as I thought. The door of the safe was shut, but not locked. The jewels are safe. At last, Fenton replied, I only hope I'll never have to see them again. They moved back from the doorway just as Miss Charmian returned. Well it seems that wasn't your locket after all, she cried smiling. Look at this, and she held out one exactly similar. Where in the world did that extraordinary old doctor get it? Do you suppose? I see, said Fenton. He must have got it somehow, from O'Shea. But how in the world should he look it up? Oh, that simple, Miss Charmian volunteered. Don't you know that for a year I have offered a thousand dollars reward for you? He blushed prettily and gave him her hand. Richmond groaned whimsically. I wish I'd known that, he said. Miss Charmian turned to him. Oh, it doesn't matter. You are the one who brought him, and the money is yours. I can never be grateful enough for what you've done, Mr. Richmond. Isn't it strange that when I first saw Mr. Fenton, or, of course, I must say Mr. Courtney now, I had an intuition that he was the man I wanted to find. And when I saw the locket and heard what you told me of it, Mr. Richmond, I was sure. But interrupted Fenton. Would you mind telling me why you were so anxious to find me? I'm dazed. I know very well why I wanted to find you. But do sit down and I'll begin at the beginning, said Miss Charmian. I don't mind Mr. Richmond's hearing it, for there's no reason why this shouldn't be known. They took chairs near her, and she began. My mother, then, Mrs. Charmian, and yours, Mrs. Courtney, were great friends. Well, you and I were born on the same day, twins, so to speak. We were brought up together as near neighbors and friends, that is, till we were four years old. That scene you have described on the ferryboat I recall perfectly. You see, we each had a locket like these. And it was mine you snatched away from me. Did you had it when you were kidnapped, the same day? And that is the one Dr. Hop Bottom has so miraculous that restored just now. You see, there seems to have been some queer fate all through it. We couldn't be separated in spite of everything. Well, your disappearance was a terrible thing. Your mother became ill, and she really died as a consequence of the shock and the horror of it. Your father spent almost every cent he had in trying to find you. And from the day you were lost nothing was ever heard by which anyone could trace you. You simply disappeared off the face of the earth. Your father died a few years afterward, a broken down old man, entrusting the search to my father and mother. Until my own father died the search was never abandoned. Then my mother married Mr. Brewster, and the thing was given up as an insoluble mystery. But a year ago I determined to try again, and I offered the reward in hopes that, by this time, someone might be willing to give information. But Miss Charmian, Fenton interrupted. It was fine of you to do that, but what really did it matter, whether I was found or not, at this late day? I don't quite see. Ah! she said, smiling. I haven't told you the main point. Will you come into the dining-room for a moment? She rose and led the way. Fenton and Richmond exchanged a glance of surprise and followed her, wondering what was to come next. Miss Charmian went to the safe and began to turn the combination. In a moment she threw open the door and looked in. Why, how funny, she exclaimed, as she drew out the leather bag. Oh, I suppose Gordon was intending to take it to the safe deposit vaults. He probably wanted to economize room here. But how extraordinarily careless! She rose and handed the bag of jewels to Fenton. For the fourth time within twelve hours, then, he received this astonishing collection of precious stones. Each time had been sensational. Each time had been unlooked for. Each time had been more dramatic than the last. This time capped the climax. Amazed and dazed, he found no words to express his wonder. He stood holding the bag, looking at Miss Charmian stupidly. They are yours, said Bel Charmian. He could only repeat, Mine? Yes, she replied. I told you that your father spent almost his last cent on the attempt to trace you. But these jewels were your mother's, and she wished them kept in case you should be found. But despairing of that, she directed in her will that if you should not be found by the time I, and of course you, was twenty-one years old, that they should become mine. Well, I am twenty-one today, and so are you. It is our birthday. She looked at him with laughter in her eyes. But do you mean to say, Fenton cried, that you offered a thousand dollars reward for me, so that you might not come into possession of these jewels? She nodded gravely. Why not? It was all he could do to prevent himself rushing to her and taking her in his arms. He knew now, though he had always felt intuitively what sort of woman she was, how fine and how loyal, to discover also what old bond connected them. Thrilled him. It gave him a claim on her affection, a right to her. It explained and justified the romantic attraction she had had for him. It made reasonable and sound what might otherwise be distrusted as a two-picturesque love at her sight. Did she feel that also? He must find out. Richmond's presence embarrassed him. He gave the reporter an appealing glance. Richmond was no fool. He arose immediately. If you don't mind my having this story, Miss Charmian, he said, It's really news, you know, and mighty romantic. I don't mind, she replied. Then, if you'll excuse me, I'll go into your library and begin it. I can get any details I want later, and with a wink to Fenton he left the room. Fenton could not realize that the wealth represented by the jewels was now his. He dared not estimate their value. He only knew that he was now rich, that his future was assured. Even this, however, did not excite him. There was something far more important, far more precious, far more romantic agitating him. His mind, as well as his eyes, were too full of Bel Charmian. She seemed melting, as if she herself could no longer resist the power, which had for so long been drawing them together. He glanced at her, and she answered without a word. It made him tremble, but he dared not quite believe. It seemed audacious to risk his happiness upon so subtle a sign. Yet in his heart he knew, as well as if she had spoken aloud, that she was his, that it would be grotesquely impossible for her to be any others. So, trepid, nervous, his courage growing momentarily, he watched her beautiful expressive face, saw it soften as she looked at him. It was Bel Charmian who first broke the silence. I haven't told you of one strange thing, she said softly, as if afraid to speak aloud. Last night I felt queery. I had a sort of intuition that something was about to happen. It was the eve of my birthday, and I knew that tomorrow, if you were not found, the jewels would be mine. I didn't want them. It was hateful to me to take them. Well, I went. I wonder if you can understand just why. To a fortune teller. She told me some strange things about myself, and about you. She paused and blushed. Was it Madame Oswald? Leapton asked impetuously. Miss Charmian nodded, astonished that he should know. The fortune teller's prediction leaped in Defenton's mind. He was, she had said, to marry a girl with the initials, B.C., and marry with money. And now, did she know your name, he asked suddenly. She looked up, a little pale with emotion. No, but I remembered afterwards that I had a shopping bag with my monogram on it. Perhaps that's how she got my initials so mysteriously. Fenton smiled, reached over, and now boldly took her hand. I think I know what she said of me, he said. She said it to me, too. And I hope it will come true. So now that I have found the answer to the question that has been in my mind so persistently for twelve hours. What question, she asked wonderingly, she did not withdraw her hand. The question, who is Bel Charmian? She drew away her hand and jumped to her feet. Oh, she cried. I haven't told you the strangest part of it all yet. I didn't want to speak of it before your friend Mr. Richmond. But you could never answer that question, till I have told you. What? he exclaimed. Surely you are Bel Charmian, aren't you? He looked at her in amazement. Sit down, she answered. I want to tell you a story. A story that you ought to know. And reseeding herself, she began the tale. Reason versus instinct. I don't know exactly how it happened. The mix-up of two babies that led to the queerest year two mothers ever had. Your mother and mine. I know only that they were at the same hospital, and that we were born at the same time, almost the same minute, and that the place caught fire before we were well into the world. The patients were bundled out in blankets, and there was a tremendous excitement everywhere. When the two babies were brought out to the two mothers, lying in cots on the lawn that May night, it occurred for the first time to the nurse who brought them that she had no idea which child belonged to which. You can't imagine anything funnier or anything at the same time more tragic as well. One baby was a boy and one a girl. But which was Mrs. Courtney's child, and which was Mrs. Charmian's? Nobody there could tell. If that nurse had realized the importance of the situation, or had thought of it a moment sooner, she would undoubtedly have decided the question for herself, taken the babies and delivered them as chance would have it, and no one would ever have known. But she hesitated just a moment too long. Both the women were nearly distracted and waiting in nervous suspense to know whether or not their children had been saved. Ill as they were, nothing could satisfy them, till they had seen their own children safe. So waiting there in the midst of all that horror, they were quite able to notice the nurse's perplexity. There was nothing for the nurse to do therefore but to acknowledge her dilemma. The infants were safe. That was all she could say. It was enough at least to reassure both mothers' minds, for the time being, and both of them collapsed, and were taken away to the nearest house, after being assured that the problem would be settled satisfactorily as soon as those who knew the facts could be questioned. The next day, however, it was found that the only ones who knew the answer to the riddle, one of the house physicians and two nurses who had stayed in the burning building, caring for the patients, had been burned to death, or had died from the effects of their injuries. There was therefore absolutely no knowing how to assign the children. It was a question for the mothers to decide between themselves. That's how the trouble began, and it wasn't soon over. In the first place the boy-baby had red hair, not much but enough to serve as possible hereditary evidence. Now Mrs. Courtney had aw-burned hair, but on the other hand, so did Mr. Charmian. Mrs. Courtney argued that a child usually resembles, physically, its parent of the opposite sex, that is, a boy resembles his mother and a girl her father. But Mrs. Charmian found plenty of evidence to disprove that theory. Mr. Charmian's father, for instance, had had red hair, as well as Mr. Charmian himself. This discussion was kept up for a week, while the two women stayed at the house that had been rented as a temporary hospital ward. Mrs. Courtney and Mrs. Charmian had beds in the same room, and the children were cared for in want adjoining. Night and day the argument was kept up, sometimes excitedly as the two women grew nervous from their suspense, and sometimes amicably weeping with laughter at the comedy of the situation. Mothers were college women and could discuss the subject scientifically. Of course that was in 1890, before Mendel's law had been rediscovered, or else I suppose there would have been a great deal of evidence, as to whether red hair was a dominant or a recessive factor. As it was they quoted Darwin, Lamarck, and Weisman on heredity and mutation, and they must have got a good deal over their heads. Mrs. Courtney would exploit a theory over one baby, and then exclaim, Now let me see the other one. Mrs. Charmian would send for books and encyclopedias, and then cry, Give me that child quick, and so it went. Meanwhile the two fathers were fighting it out together in the same way. Mr. Courtney would talk it over with his wife. He would talk it over with Mr. Charmian. He would talk it over with Mrs. Charmian. You'll easily see that there were six combinations of pairs possible, and each pair had it out. Well both the mothers and the babies throve, despite the uncertainty of parentage. The parents declared an armed truce on the red hair question, and turned from specific to general traits. Which set of parents did each child most resemble? That was the question. You can foresee the difficulties of identification. The boy had Mr. Courtney's eyes and Mrs. Charmian's nose. He was sure to have Mrs. Courtney's hands and Mr. Charmian's ears, and so on. Neither of the children's resemblance to either of the parents was pronounced enough to determine the question for the four adults involved. Family pictures were produced, old photographs, daguerreotypes, oil portraits, even tin types. Some seemed to show a marked resemblance in a possible ancestor, but as soon as one child appeared to be proved to descendant. The other one evidenced proof of acclaim to the same line. The two babies had to all intents and purposes during the first fortnight. Four parents apiece. Mrs. Courtney, as she convalesced, studied the boy for hours, while Mrs. Charmian inspected the girl. And the two women would compare notes, exchange babies, and the trouble would begin all over again. Of course there was no envy. It was not a question of each woman wanting the best, or handsomest, or healthiest, or brightest child. Each woman wanted her own, that was all. But that was enough to keep each mother uncertain. This of course couldn't go on forever. The women wanted to go to their homes, and each wanted to take a baby. But naturally it was necessary to decide which child each should take. The fathers grew impatient, and jacosly proposed that they should draw lots for the babies. The mothers couldn't see the joke, and wept when it was suggested. It was a serious matter. The fathers next offered to move into a double house, and wait for time to decide the question by developing the children's characteristic differences. The mothers wouldn't agree to that, either. And so for a few days the matter was at a deadlock, with the women in tears and the men surly. But by this time the mothers had come to an agreement upon one important question. They decided that whatever were their last names, the boy should be called Bruce and the girl Belle. No girl ever yet liked her given name, and I don't like mine. But Belle Courtney, or Belle Charmian, one or the other, I had to be. Well this sort of thing finally became intolerable, and the two women grew desperate. It was working on their nerves so badly that the question had to be decided some way. Now Mrs. Courtney had wanted a son tremendously. Her husband had also, although a father's influence isn't supposed to mean much. On the other hand, Mrs. Charmian and Mr. Charmian had both hoped for a little daughter. So on the basis of these two strong desires, and their prenatal influence, the matter was settled. The courtes took Bruce home to East Orange, and the Charmians took Belle to their house in Orange Centre. This was when the children were three weeks old. Neither of the women was really satisfied. There was a horrible doubt in each mother's mind, that perhaps she was nursing some other woman's baby, and this kept both of them so worried that neither recovered rapidly. It occurred first to Mrs. Charmian to watch for peculiar inherited traits, and see if the ancestry couldn't be traced along that line. A baby of three weeks old, however, is little more than a breathing automaton. While its acts are instinctive, or mere physiological reflexes, it is rehearsing in its development the history of the race. Babies are really more like apes than human beings. At the same time, family traits are deeply seated, and will come out. This was Mrs. Charmian's view. About two days after the families had separated, the Courtney house Belle was rung loud and long at about three o'clock in the morning. Mr. Courtney got up, threw on his bathrobe, and came down to the front door to find Mr. Charmian shivering on the stoop. Say, do you like to have the soles of your feet tickled? Was the first thing Mr. Charmian said. Do you mean to say you've got me up in the middle of the night to ask that, Mr. Courtney exclaimed? Good heavens, no! I can't bear it! Mr. Charmian persisted. Does your wife like it? She demanded? I don't know that it's any of your business, Mr. Courtney replied. It seems to me to be a rather personal question. But as you seem to be serious, I'll tell you that she could be tortured to death that way, or else she'd go insane in about three minutes. Thank God, Mr. Charmian answered, and started off, when Mr. Courtney called him back. Say, for heaven's sake, Charmian, what in thunder does all this mean, he asked? Why, said Mr. Charmian, I enjoy having the soles of my feet tickled, and so does Mrs. Charmian. She adores it. It's fine. Confounded, it's restful. It eases the nerves, you know. It makes you relax. Well, Mr. Courtney just stood there and stared at Mr. Charmian, too angry for words. Well, he said at last, sarcastically. Now this important question is settled. I suppose I may go to bed? Wait a minute till I get Belle. Then you can wake up Bruce and tickle his feet, and we'll know. What in the devil do you mean? Are you crazy or what? cried Mr. Courtney. Then Mr. Charmian explained. Mrs. Charmian, it seemed, had awakened in the middle of the night, thinking of the fact that she liked to have the soles of her feet tickled, and so did her husband. It was a rare trait. Most people can't bear it. Perhaps it would do for a test. She called the nurse and had little Belle brought in, and they carefully, anxiously, solemnly tickled her little soles. She coughed, sneezed, cried, and, more important than all that, she contracted the muscles of her toes and curled them up like little fists. This is no child of mine, Mrs. Charmian announced to her husband, nor of yours either. Take her over to the Courtney's immediately, and try Bruce. Mr. Charmian obeyed. Well, Mrs. Courtney got up and put on a wrapper. The nurse was awakened, and little Bruce was brought in and tickled in state. He smiled, relaxed his toes, and opened them as wide apart as possible. Could anything be more convincing? The babies were swapped. And Mr. Charmian drove home with Bruce, so Belle Charmian became Belle Courtney. Mrs. Courtney couldn't deny the force of this test. Yet she was so worried about it that she nearly made herself ill, thinking over it. The result was that one afternoon she took Belle and drove over to the Charmians in great excitement. Mrs. Charmian began to tremble at sight of her. Mercy, Mrs. Courtney, what is it, she asked? Have you discovered anything? We've got to get both children asleep immediately, said Mrs. Courtney. Belle simply won't sleep on her back. And the Courtney's as a family are noted for that. My husband always sleeps on his back. So did his father and grandfather. I don't, but my father and all my brothers do. Do you, Mrs. Charmian? She asked anxiously. No, indeed, said Mrs. Charmian. It makes one snore. Oh, that's nothing. The Courtney's, without exception, all snore, said Mrs. Courtney. My husband is simply dreadful. I always have to sleep two rooms away. Of course, Belle is too little to snore. But she won't sleep unless I lay her on her side. That is funny, said Mrs. Charmian. I've had lots of trouble getting Bruce to sleep. I never tried to put him on his back. Some doctors do say it's more helpful, though, that way. We'll try it immediately. The two children were rocked and cuddled and sung to, and finally deposited on a double bed, both on their sides. Belle went to sleep instantly. Bruce would not close his eyes. Both babies were then laid upon their backs. Bruce went instantly to sleep. Belle wailed. Bruce was then made comfortable. And when both children were in dreamland, the two mothers cried it out together. Isn't it awful to have to decide such an important question on such a little thing as that, said Mrs. Courtney, gazing at the babes? Look at Belle's hand, cried Mrs. Charmian suddenly. Now that settles it. I'm positive you're right. See she holds the thumb inside her fist. Just like all the Charmians. Bruce keeps his thumb outside. Don't the Courtney's endure people clench the thumb outside their fists? Of course they do, said Mrs. Courtney. It's a sign of a weak will to keep the thumb inside. Shaw! No one ever accused a Charmian of having a weak will. And I'm sure that thumb doesn't mean anything of the kind. But at any rate it proves pretty conclusively that your inference was right from her sleeping posture. When they get old enough to roll over of themselves, there'll be no possible doubt of it. You'd better take Bruce right back with you, Mrs. Courtney. And I'll take my girl. So Bruce Charmian became a Courtney again. Well I can't begin to tell you all the curious ins and outs of that ridiculous case. Bruce was taken back from the Courtney's. Early one morning he was seen to wiggle his ears. An immemorial Charmian characteristic. And Bell was proved to be a true Charmian after that, upsetting all previous evidences on account of her fear of cats, a trait for which the family had always been noted. Of course if the ladies had not been well educated enough to know that the doctrine of transmission of acquired characteristics had been exploded, there would have been many more complications. As for instance, in Bell's delight when the piano was played, and Bruce's aversion to blue, these things, of course, came later when the babies had begun to manifest intellectual powers. But there was quite enough else to keep the two families busy. The two children had scarcely time to get used to their mothers before they were whisked back. Soon every aunt and uncle, not to speak of the grandparents of the two babies, were brought into the controversy. Family councils were held and both babies were hurriedly sent for, inspected, analyzed, and judgment passed. Maiden aunts and interested cousins would insist that resemblances were unmistakable on one side, and immediately sisters-in-law and step-children on the other side would veto the verdict. The two families naturally got pretty well acquainted. In spite of the occasional quarrels and jealousies, the two sets of fathers and mothers became great friends. Mrs. Courtney and Mrs. Charmian met often to sew on the baby's layouts, for since it was never certain who was to do the dressing of either the boy or the girl, it was advisable that both mothers' tastes should be consulted, so they embroidered and stitched and folded and tucked as they talked the matter over. The fathers discussed the same subject from a different point of view, on board the train every morning on the way to their business in New York. So finally it was decided, half in jest and half in earnest, that the boy and girl should be formally engaged to each other. In the ancient royal style two similar gold lockets were bought, each with a diamond star on the front, and each child received one as a troth-plite token. If the two children should marry as planned, when they reached the age of twenty-one, it would settle all property rights at least, although whether the two contracting parties themselves would ever consent to this arrangement was, of course, another matter. This was the way matters stood when the two children were thirteen months old. The Courtney's and the Charmians had gone away to the main coast for their summer vacation, taking one large cottage for the two families. The children slept upstairs in a large nursery, one night as the two women were sitting sewing, discussing the inevitable topic. Mrs. Courtney smelled smoke. She spoke of it to Mrs. Charmian, who confirmed her suspicion, and the two went out into the hall together to investigate. An overturned lamp lay on the floor under the stairs. The oil had spread over the carpet and was burning fiercely. The inside of the closet under the stairs was all a fire. With simultaneous screams the two women started running upstairs for the children. They were almost out of their heads with terror, and they fought their way, crowding one another like maniacs up to the top, equally anxious to rescue the children. More correctly, I suppose, each mother was anxious to rescue her own child. By the time they reached the door of the nursery, the smoke filled the hall, and the women were frantic. They were beyond reason. They acted automatically. They burst through the door together. The children's cots stood side by side, and the way was clear to both. The mothers knew perfectly well which baby was in each cot. There was not a word spoken after they entered the room. But as if by a prearranged plan, the mothers each took a different cot, ran and grabbed the child it contained, then rushed downstairs through the smoke and flames till they were safe upon the lawn. Then they turned and looked at each other in wonder. At this time Bell had been with the Courtney's for some months, and Bruce with the Charmians. The affair had been virtually decided forever. But when the two women came to their senses they found that, without reason or will, without conscious intent that they could remember, acting merely upon blind impulse, Mrs. Courtney had saved Bruce, and Mrs. Charmian had rescued Bell, and without even discussing it, understanding each other and themselves without words, each mother knew that she had acted upon instinct and that her instinct had been true. The fathers were never so sure. But from that day neither Mrs. Courtney nor Mrs. Charmian doubted that she had her own child. And so, Miss Charmian concluded, there will never be an answer to your question. Who is Bell Charmian? For no one will ever know. Charmian arose and put his arm about her, with a little shiver of delicious excitement. She put up her face to his without fear. It doesn't matter anyway, my dear, said he, smiling down at her, because her name is going to be Bell Courtney again as soon as I can get a marriage license. Haven't we been engaged for twenty years? Her reply was smothered in his kiss. But whatever she said, it is safe to believe that it was not no.