it, somewhere."

"It is not unlikely," she returned, lightly. "It is not at all an
uncommon name. And now that I am properly introduced, don't you
think--?"

He hesitated a moment, then said, deliberately, "My name is Brian Kent."

"That is an Irish name," she said quickly; "and that is why your hair is
so nearly red and your eyes so blue."

"Yes," he returned, "from my mother. And please don't ask me more now,
for I can't lie to you, and I won't tell you the truth." And she saw,
again, the dark shadows of painful memories come into the blue eyes.

Bending over the bed, she laid her soft hand on his brow, and pushed
back his heavy hair; and her sweet old voice was very low and gentle as
she said: "My dear boy, I shall never ask you more. The river brought
you to me, and you are mine. You must not even think of anything else,
just now. When you are stronger, and are ready, we will talk of your
future; but of your past, you--"

A loud knock sounded at the door of the living room.

"There is someone at the door," she said hastily. "I must go. Lie still,
and go to sleep like a good boy; won't you?"

Swiftly, she leaned over, and, before he realized, he felt her lips
touch his forehead. Then she was gone, and Brian Kent's Irish eyes were
filled with tears. Turning to the wall, he hid his face in the pillow.