"No, no!" said John Linden, vehemently. "I do not, I will not, believe
it. He still lives, and I live only in the hope of one day clasping
him in my arms."

"That is very improbable, uncle," said Curtis, in a tone of annoyance.
"There isn't one chance in a hundred that my cousin still lives. The
grave has closed over him long since. The sooner you make up your mind
to accept the inevitable the better."

The drawn features of the old man showed that the words had a
depressing effect upon his mind, but Florence interrupted her cousin
with an indignant protest.

"How can you speak so, Curtis?" she exclaimed. "Leave Uncle John the
hope that he has so long cherished. I have a presentiment that Harvey
still lives."

John Linden's face brightened up

"You, too, believe it possible, Florence?" he said, eagerly.

"Yes, uncle. I not only believe it possible, but probable. How old
would Harvey be if he still lived?"

"Eighteen--nearly a year older than yourself."

"How strange! I always think of him as a little boy."

"And I, too, Florence. He rises before me in his little velvet suit,