They had, too, in a certain way regained for him his freedom--freedom to go and come and do as he pleased untrammelled by makeshifts and humiliating exposures and concealments.

Best of all, they had given him back his courage, bracing the inner man, strengthening his beliefs in his traditions and in the things that his race and blood stood for.
Then as a flash of lightning reveals from out black darkness the recurrent waves of a troubled sea, there rushed over him the roll and surge of the events which had led up to his rehabilitation.

Suddenly a feeling of intense humiliation and profound gratitude swept through him.
He raised his arms, covered his face with his hands, and stood swaying; forcing back his tears; muttering to himself: "How good they have been--how good, how good! All mine once more--wonderful--wonderful!" With a resolute bracing of his shoulders and a brave lift of his chin, he began a tour of the room, stopping before each one of his beloved heirlooms and treasures--his precious gun that Gadgem had given up--( the collector coveted it badly as a souvenir, and got it the next day from St.George, with his compliments)--the famous silver loving cup with an extra polish Kirk had given it; his punch bowl--scarf rings and knick-knacks and the furniture and hangings of various kinds.

At last he reached the sideboard, and bending over reread the several cards affixed to the different donations--Mrs.Cheston's, Mrs.Horn's, Miss Clendenning's, and the others.

His eye now fell on the lone bottle--this he had not heretofore noticed--and the note bearing Mr.Kennedy's signature.