Kent that only by an effort could he control himself. He was possessed
of the strange sensation of having at some time in the past lived the
identical experience through which he was at that moment passing. "Susan
Wakefield;--a brother John in Buenos Aires, Argentine;--the letter!" It
was all so familiar that the allusion was startling in its force. But
that ominous cloud,--that sense of some great trouble near that filled
him with such unaccountable dread--what could it mean?

An exclamation from Auntie Sue drew his attention. She looked at him
with tear-filled eyes, and her sweet voice broke as she said: "Brian!
Brian! John is dead! This--this letter is from the doctor who attended
him."

Tenderly, as he would have helped his own mother, Brian assisted Auntie
Sue to her room. For a little while he sat with her, trying to comfort
her with such poor words as he could find.

Briefly, she told him of the brother who had lived in Argentine for many
years. He had married a South-American woman whom Auntie Sue had never
seen, and while not wealthy had been moderately prosperous. But he
had never forgotten his sister who was so alone in the world. "Several
times, when he could, he sent me money for my savings-bank account," she
finished simply, her sweet old voice low and tender with the memories
of the years that were gone. "John and I were always very fond of each
other. He was a good man, Brian."

Brian Kent sat like a man stricken dumb. Auntie Sue's words, "he sent me
money for my savings-bank account," had made the connection between the
names "Buenos Aires, Argentine; John Wakefield; Susan Wakefield," and
the thing for which his mind had been groping with such a sense of