"I do not recollect the name," replied Jane. "Let me see the
picture." "The poor fellow was lost overboard on our trip down the
coast," she said, as she handed the print to Jane.

"Lost over--Why, Hazel, Hazel--don't tell me that he is dead--drowned
at sea! Hazel! Why don't you say that you are joking!" And before
the astonished Miss Strong could catch her Jane Porter had slipped
to the floor in a swoon.

After Hazel had restored her chum to consciousness she sat looking
at her for a long time before either spoke.

"I did not know, Jane," said Hazel, in a constrained voice, "that
you knew Mr. Caldwell so intimately that his death could prove such
a shock to you."

"John Caldwell?" questioned Miss Porter. "You do not mean to tell
me that you do not know who this man was, Hazel?"

"Why, yes, Jane; I know perfectly well who he was--his name was
John Caldwell; he was from London."

"Oh, Hazel, I wish I could believe it," moaned the girl. "I wish
I could believe it, but those features are burned so deep into my
memory and my heart that I should recognize them anywhere in the
world from among a thousand others, who might appear identical to
any one but me."

"What do you mean, Jane?" cried Hazel, now thoroughly alarmed.
"Who do you think it is?"