They stared at the
bearded stranger, the boy wide-eyed and curious; the woman with a
piercing, concentrated hope that fears defeat.
The man took a stumbling step forward. "Jeanne!" He halted half abashed.
But the woman sobbing, ran to him and put her arms about his neck. For
an instant he stood, stiffly awkward, his face very red. Then something
snapped the shackles of his prisoned memory. A cry burst from him,
inarticulately joyous. His arms went round her.
* * * * *
It required weeks for Stanley to recover all his memories. It was a new
world; Jeanne the one connecting link between the present and that still
half-shadowy past from which he had been cast by some unceremonial jest
of Fate into a strange existence. From the witless, nameless unit of a
whaler's crew he had at last arisen to a fresh identity. Frank Starbird,
they christened him, he knew not why. And when they found that he had
clerical attainments, the captain, who was really a decent fellow, had
befriended him; found him a berth in a store at Sitka.... Since then he
had roamed up and down the world, mostly as purser of ships, forever
haunted by the memory of some previous identity he could not fathom.
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