Whether her love would ever be returned by the one whose glance had awakened it in its might, she dared not even think. She knew not, as yet, in what light he would regard her. Notwithstanding the friendship and esteem manifested by the younger brother, she fully understood the insurmountable barrier which his pride had placed between himself and her. Would it exist in the mind of the elder brother also? Or would his keener insight, his superior perception discern her true position? Time alone would tell.

A little later, calm and queenly as ever, Lyle rejoined the little group, who had strolled out a short distance from the house, and were seated beside the lake, in the cooling shadow of a large rock.

She could not help observing the smile of pleasure with which Mr. Rutherford welcomed her approach, but she would not yet trust herself to hold any protracted conversation with him, and giving him only a bright little smile of recognition, she seated herself beside Ned, and began a playful badinage, as they had been accustomed to banter each other on his former visit. Morton Rutherford watched them curiously, listening to the war of words with a half smile, and evidently absorbed in his own thoughts, as, for a while, Miss Gladden and Mr. Van Dorn had the conversation to themselves, Houston having gone to the mines.

As the shadows began to lengthen, and the sun seemed hovering over a snow-crowned peak that stood out boldly against the western horizon, Houston was seen approaching the house, and at a little distance, Maverick and his two sons. Lyle, who was then standing on the outer edge of the group, talking with Miss Gladden, was quick to observe a sudden movement on Ned's part, as, turning toward his brother, he made some brief remark in low tones, regarding the approaching trio. She well knew the tenor of his remark, and watched closely to see its effect.

She saw Morton Rutherford glance in the direction indicated by a slight motion of Ned's head, and then, though he betrayed no surprise by word or movement, an expression of astonishment crossed his face, but only for an instant. His features grew white and stern, and he watched every movement of the three figures, as, with stealthy, slouching gait and suspicious looks, they stole around the corner of the house, and the expression of his eye seemed to Lyle like that of a judge passing sentence on a condemned criminal.

He did not look at Lyle immediately, perhaps he was conscious of the eyes watching him so narrowly from under the heavily drooping lids, fringed with long, golden lashes, but when he did look toward her, there was a depth of meaning in those dark eyes which she could not fathom.

Twenty-four hours before, Lyle standing there, under those circumstances, would have been crushed with humiliation, but in the light of the revelation of the night before, she met his glance with an expression which to him seemed utterly inscrutable. There was neither shame nor apology written on her face, as with a calm, bright smile, and the same self-possessed manner, she turned and passed into the house.

Upon entering the dining-room, Lyle heard angry words in the kitchen, and paused to listen. The voice was Maverick's.

"Who in hell is that new feller you've got up here?"

"That's the brother of the young feller that was here a spell ago," answered the voice of Minty, who was just emerging from the pantry.

"Damn you! who asked you to say anything? Git out of here," he roared, and Minty made a hasty retreat into the cellar.

"Who's that new feller out there?" he again demanded of his wife.

"His name is Rutherford, and he's a brother of the young man that come out here with Mr. Houston," was her reply.

"What's his business here?"

"I guess he hain't got none, he seems to be out here for pleasure like his brother."

"Pleasure!" growled Maverick, with an oath, "there's too many of 'em, damn 'em, out here for pleasure; I'd give some of 'em some pleasure that they ain't a lookin' for, if I had a chance."

His wife made no response.

"What's that girl Lyle tricked out in such finery for?" he next asked.

"They're clothes that Miss Gladden give her," Mrs. Maverick replied, "and it saves us jest so much, so you needn't growl; besides she looks nice."

"Looks nice!" said Maverick, contemptuously, "you're always bound to stick up for her! Look here, old woman," he added, in a lower tone, but which Lyle could hear, "have you been tellin' that girl anything? She don't own me for her daddy lately, I notice; now, if you've been puttin' her or anybody else onto anything of the kind, I can tell you you'll be damned sorry for it before you git through with me."

"I hain't said a word, it's jest a notion she's took, I dun'no why. I hain't said nothin' nor I ain't a goin' to, as long as you behave yourself, Jim Maverick, but the proofs is all ready in case you don't treat me and her jest as you'd orter."

A terrible oath burst from Maverick's lips, but the entrance of the two boys and Minty, prevented any further conversation on this subject; and Lyle, seated in the little porch whither she had retreated from the dining-room, reflected on what she had just heard, its meaning seeming very clear to her in the light of what Miss Gladden had told her the night before.

There were proofs then in existence, probably in that very house, as to her identity. Her friends were correct in their surmises: she had been stolen, and the villain who had committed the deed, even now trembled with apprehension lest his villainy should become known. Those proofs she must have, and it would be worse than useless to demand them of either Maverick or his wife. She must search for them. This she resolved to do, day by day, as opportunity afforded, until there should be no nook or corner which she had not thoroughly explored.

As Lyle recalled all that occurred within the past twenty-four hours, the most eventful period within her recollection thus far, she felt that she had virtually broken with the old life and all its associations, and that she stood upon the threshold of a new life, higher, nobler,—perhaps sweeter,—than any of which she had ever dreamed.

The return of the little company of friends to the house interrupted her thoughts, but not before she had decided fully as to her future course.

After supper, it was decided to spend that first evening on the summit of one of the nearest mountains, to watch the glories of the sunset, and to give Morton Rutherford a bird's-eye view of the beautiful scenery, before introducing him to its details.

But on the second evening, the entire party set forth for the trip to the cascades, for which Ned was so especially desirous.

Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden led the little procession, Houston carrying her guitar. Ned had constituted himself Lyle's escort by taking the violin, and they came next, while Morton Rutherford and Arthur Van Dorn brought up the rear.

Their two boats were already awaiting them, and Ned, having assisted Lyle to a seat, turned to Van Dorn.

"Mr. Van Dorn," he said in his blandest tones, "may we have the pleasure of your company in our boat?"

As Van Dorn laughingly accepted the invitation, Morton Rutherford turned toward his brother, saying:

"Are you not going to extend an invitation to me, also?"

"Unfortunately," said Ned, with as much dignity as he could assume, "this boat will seat but three people."

"Is that so!" replied his brother, with a curious downward inflection, "unfortunately, then, for Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden, you will have to take the other boat, as I am going in this one myself," and stepping lightly into the boat, he pulled it quickly out into the water, leaving Ned in a state of bewilderment, alone on shore, as Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden were already seated in their boat, and watching this little by-play.

There was a general laugh at Ned's expense, as he clambered into the other boat, exclaiming good-naturedly:

"Well, Mort, that's an awfully shabby trick, but then, it's all I can expect of you, anyhow."

"It's all you deserve, after such attempted selfishness on your part," replied his brother.

They rowed across the lake in the soft light, the glory of the setting sun still reflected from the surrounding peaks, the music of their boat songs accompanied by the dip and plash of the oars.

At last they reached the cascades, and rounding a little promontory, the glory of that wondrous scene suddenly burst upon them. For a moment Mr. Rutherford sat speechless, and Lyle, facing him, silently enjoyed his surprise and his ecstasy as keenly as he enjoyed the wonderful beauty about him. In his face, she read the same capacity for joy or for suffering which Nature had bestowed upon herself, and when his eyes suddenly met hers again, he saw the tears glistening in their shining depths, and with quick, intuitive sympathy, readily understood the cause.

For a while they rowed back and forth in almost silent admiration; then the boats were brought side by side at the foot of the cascades, and the air resounded with song; sometimes their voices all blending together in exquisite harmony, then in twos and threes, while occasionally, some beautiful old song would be given as a solo.

It had been an evening of rare enjoyment for each one, and they were just about to turn their boats homeward, when Ned Rutherford exclaimed:

"I say, don't let us leave this spot until Miss Maverick sings that song she gave us the first time we came out here, the first we ever heard her sing. I never can forget that song, and it is always associated with this place."

The others joined in the request. Lyle hesitated. Could she trust herself to sing that song to-night? It was easy to sing when love had come to another's heart, but could she sing it now that he had come to her own?

She consented, and the oars rested once more. With her eyes fixed on the distant mountains, Lyle began her song:

"Love is come with a song and a smile."

At the first words, Morton Rutherford started, and as he fixed his eyes on the beautiful singer, her fair form and shining hair outlined against the silvery cascades, it seemed to him the loveliest sight of his whole life.

Her voice, exquisitely sweet as she began, gained in expression and power, until she sang as she had never sung before; and as the last notes died away, Houston, bending his head low, whispered to Miss Gladden:

"Leslie, my dear, do you think now that Lyle's heart is not susceptible? She never could sing that song in that way if she knew nothing of love."

And Miss Gladden made no reply, for her own heart was too full for words.

The song was ended, and Lyle's eyes suddenly met the dark ones fixed upon her face, and though no words were spoken, she read in their depths that hers was not the only heart to which love had come.



CHAPTER XXXVIII.

That night the diminutive lamp that did duty in the room assigned to the two brothers burned till long past the hour of midnight. By its dim light, Ned Rutherford indited a letter to his fiancee, while his brother quietly paced back and forth, the entire length of the small apartment, his hands clasped behind him and his head thrown back,—his usual attitude when in deep thought.

"Getting up another article on the application of electric force?" inquired Ned, as he paused to watch his brother.

"No," was the reply, "I am thinking at present of a force far more subtle and more powerful than that of electricity."

"Why, how's that?" asked Ned in surprise, "I thought electricity was one of your pet hobbies."

"Never mind about my pet hobbies," said his brother, with a smile, "just continue your writing for the present."

Half an hour later, as Ned folded and sealed the voluminous letter, and placed upon it the long, foreign address, his brother, watching him with a curious half smile, said:

"I shall have to give you credit for a great deal of constancy, Ned, more than I really supposed you possessed."

"How's that?" asked Ned, with a slight blush, "to what do you refer."

"To your fidelity to your affianced," Morton replied, "under the rather adverse circumstances that attend your suit, and notwithstanding the unusual attractions by which you have been surrounded here."

"Well, as to that," said Ned, slowly, "I don't know as I deserve so very much credit. Houston appropriated Miss Gladden to himself pretty soon after we came here, and besides, she isn't exactly my style, after all; she would suit Houston a great deal better than me."

"Ah," said his brother, quietly, "and what of the younger lady? Perhaps she is not your style, either?"

"Well, no, I should say not," Ned replied, with the least perceptible scorn in his tone, "not but what she is a lovely girl, and I respect her, and feel sorry for her, but I should think one glimpse of her family would decide that question, once for all."

"Ned," said Morton Rutherford, pausing in his walk, directly in front of his brother, "is it possible that you are so blind as not to see that Miss Maverick, as you call her,—I prefer to call her Lyle,—has no connection whatever with the family in which she lives?"

"Do you think so?" Ned inquired, with surprise, "I remember Houston and Miss Gladden expressed the same opinion when I was here before, but I don't think they had any proof that such was the case, and even if it were so, I don't see how it helps the matter much, for nobody knows to what sort of a family she really does belong."

"Ned," said his brother, indignantly, "I know nothing of the opinion of Houston or Miss Gladden upon this subject, but where are your own eyes, and where is your reason? If you discovered one of the rarest and most beautiful flowers known to exist in the plant world, in a heap of tailings out here among these mines, would you immediately conclude that, because you had found it there, it must be indigenous to the spot? Look at that girl, and tell me if there is one trace in feature, in form, in manner, or in speech, of plebeian blood, and then will you tell me that she is in any way connected with people such as these? They are not merely plebeian, they are low, debased, criminal. They are criminals of the deepest dye, not only capable of any villainy, but already guilty, and to such a degree that their guilt has made them shrinking, skulking cowards."

"But, Mort, if you are correct, and I don't say that you are not, how does she come to be in such a place as this, with no memory of anything different?"

"Through the villainy of that man whom you pointed out to me as her father; through his villainy, and in no other way."

"You think she was stolen?"

"I do; I can see in his face that he has committed some terrible crime,—perhaps many of them,—and he is afraid to look a stranger in the eye; and a glance at that beautiful girl is enough to fasten upon him one of his crimes. She is from a family whose blood is as pure from any taint, physical, mental, or moral, as is your own, and unless I am greatly mistaken, she is not wholly unconscious of this herself."

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed the younger brother, "I never dreamed of all this! If it is really as you think, I only wish we could find her true home, and have her restored to it, and make that scoundrel suffer for his crime."

"If it is among the possibilities, it shall be done," said Morton Rutherford, quietly, but in a tone which startled Ned with its volume of meaning. The latter looked up in quick surprise, a question on his lips, but he knew his brother's face too well; the question was not asked, and he only said:

"Good for you, Mort, and here's my hand; I'm with you on this, whatever you do."

For the next few days, nothing of any special import occurred at the camp. Houston, soon after the arrival of Morton and Ned Rutherford, had written to his uncle that preparations were now about completed, and everything was so nearly in readiness that he and his party had better come out immediately to one of the western cities, from which they could be summoned by telegraph on short notice. Accordingly, Mr. Cameron had already left New York, and in company with his attorney and the English expert, was now on his way west, Mrs. Cameron also accompanying him as far west as Chicago, where she was to stop with friends while he went on to the mines, as she had insisted that she would feel much happier to be nearer her husband and Everard, so that she could more easily reach them in the event of any trouble at the mines.

Van Dorn was progressing well with his work, and the machine would soon be ready for its trial test, though he said he would in all probability first have to go to Silver City, in order to have replaced one or two small but important parts which had been broken in the long, westward journey.

Lyle, in the midst of the strange happiness which had lately come to her heart, had not forgotten her resolve to search for the proofs, of such importance to her. On the contrary, she had now a new and powerful incentive which gave additional zest to her efforts, although, thus far, they had proved unsuccessful.

One afternoon, after having made a particularly thorough but fruitless search, she stole quietly out of the house, and following the little path along the shore of the lake, soon found herself in her favorite retreat among the rocks, a secluded place from which there was no sign of human habitation; only the mountains in their vast solitudes were visible, their silent grandeur more eloquent than words. It was a spot that she had loved even in her childhood, and which had, in later years, been her resort for study and reflection.

In a brief interview with Jack, at the cabin, the previous evening, she had told him of her increasingly distinct recollections of her mother, of the angry words between Maverick and his wife which she had overheard, and of her search which she felt would yet result in her obtaining possession of the necessary proofs of her identity.

To her surprise, Jack, while commending the course which she was taking, yet seemed strangely averse to talking much with her upon the subject. At last, as she was leaving the cabin, he had taken her hands in his, saying, in a strangely tender tone:

"My dear Lyle, because I say little, you must not think I take no interest in this affair which concerns you so closely. I am deeply interested, more deeply than you will probably ever know, but it is for many reasons a painful subject to me, one full of bitter memories; but I have one favor to ask of you, my dear child, which I know you will grant for the sake of the memory of the happy hours we have spent together,—it is this; that whatever proof you may succeed in finding, you will first bring to me."

"Certainly I will, dear Jack," Lyle had replied, wondering at his manner, "in whom should I confide if not in you, who have been my first and best friend."

And he, his dark, piercing eyes looking into the depths of her own, their gaze softened by tender affection, had replied:

"Yes, your friend always, Lyle, remember that; none truer or more devoted to you or your welfare; but before long, my dear, your heart will learn, if it has not learned already, the difference between friendship and love."

With burning cheeks and tearful eyes Lyle recalled his words, and pondered deeply on the strange bond that seemed, in some way, to exist between his life and hers, but the longer she tried to solve the problem, the deeper and more obscure it seemed.

In the midst of her reflections, she heard a light step upon the rocky footpath, and looking up, saw Morton Rutherford approaching. So absorbed was he in the study of the masses of rock about him, on which had been traced by the finger of the centuries, in wonderful hieroglyphics, the early history of the earth, that for a time he was unconscious of her presence there. When he saw her he raised his hat and came quickly forward.

"I beg your pardon," he said, in deep, musical tones, "I supposed myself alone with my own thoughts; am I intruding? if so, send me away at once."

"No, stay, if you please," said Lyle.

"Thank you," he answered, seating himself on the rocks at a little distance, "you appeared so lost in thought I feared my coming might annoy you."

"No," she replied, "my thoughts were too perplexing, I was growing weary of them."

Mr. Rutherford glanced at the surrounding mountains; "Were you, too, trying to fathom the mystery of the eternal hills?" he asked.

"No," was her reply, "I have never attempted anything so far beyond me as that; I have found more mysteries in every-day, human life than I could solve."

Morton Rutherford was silent for a few moments, then he said in low tones:

"I hope you will pardon me when I say, that to me, your own life here, under the existing circumstances and conditions, is a mystery, one which seems capable of but one solution."

"And what would be your solution?" she asked quickly.

He saw that she understood his meaning, and was watching him intently, eagerly, and he said:

"Permit me to reply to your question by asking one in return. Do you not believe that your life had a beginning elsewhere than here, and under far different conditions?"

"It is more than a belief with me, it is a certainty, and yet, strange as it may appear to you, this knowledge has come to me but recently, and even now, I know nothing of what those conditions may have been, except that they were totally unlike these that exist here."

"You interest me very much are you willing to tell me how you arrived at this knowledge of which you speak?"

Very briefly, and without going into details, Lyle, in response to the magnetic sympathy of those dark eyes, gave a vivid outline of her life, and of the vague impressions which of late were becoming distinct recollections, and of her hope of soon finding tangible evidence regarding the life which was daily growing more and more of a reality.

Mr. Rutherford listened with intense interest to the strange story, and when she had finished, he said slowly, as he took a short turn up and down the rocky path:

"Believe me, I have not listened to this through mere, idle curiosity; much as your story has interested me, it has not surprised me, for I read the truth almost from our first meeting."

Lyle gave him a smile of rare sweetness and deep significance; "I am glad to know that," she said simply.

"Why so?" he asked, pausing and seating himself beside her; "Did you think I could fail to recognize the soul that looked out to welcome me when I first came, no matter amid what surroundings I found it?" Then, as she remained silent, he continued, his tones thrilling her heart as no human voice had ever done before:

"Since the hour that I first met you, Lyle, life has changed for me,—I think perhaps it will never be quite the same again for either of us. I know that I love you with a love that, whether reciprocated or not, can never die; that henceforth, you will be,—you must be,—a part of my very life. Let me care for you and help you; let me help you in your search for the home for which you were created, and of which you are worthy; but, Lyle, before you search any farther for that home, will you not consent to become the queen of my home, as you are already the queen of my heart?"

Lyle lifted her head proudly, though the tears glistened on the long, golden lashes; "Do you ask me that, here and now, knowing nothing as yet, of what the future may reveal?"

"I do; I have no fear for the future if I but have your love. Do you think that, perhaps, in the days to come, amid other and different surroundings, you might find some one whose love your heart would choose in preference to mine?"

"Never!" cried Lyle, impulsively, turning with outstretched arms to him, "You are the only one I have ever loved,—the only one I could ever love!"

"Then that is enough for me," he replied, drawing her closely to his breast; "you have come forth from the years of the wretched past, with a soul star-white and shining, and I have no fears for the future."

When the little group of friends assembled that evening, it was not long before some one discovered that a small diamond ring, of exquisite, antique design, which Morton Rutherford had worn, had, in some manner, become transferred to Lyle's hand. "Wear this, for the present," he had said, in taking it from his own hand, "until I can obtain a costlier one for you," but Lyle had insisted that once placed upon her hand, there it must remain, as she would prize it far above any other which money could buy; and such had been the final decision.

When this significant fact had been discovered by one of the little company, the intelligence was speedily telegraphed to the rest, and Morton and Lyle soon found themselves the recipients of hearty and affectionate congratulations from the others.

The astonishment depicted on Ned's face, when he comprehended the turn affairs had taken, was beyond description, but in the little excitement which prevailed for a few moments, it passed unnoticed, so that he had sufficiently recovered himself to join very gracefully in the general congratulations when his turn came.

A few hours later, however, as he went out for a stroll with Van Dorn, while his brother and Houston started out in the direction of Jack's cabin, his astonishment found expression.

"Great Scott! but I never was so dumfounded in my life! I tell you what, Van, I believe people lose their wits when they are in love!"

"On whose experience do you base your highly original remark, your brother's or your own?"

"Well, both, and lots of others besides. I never yet saw a person who was in love that didn't act just the reverse of what you would expect, or of what they would under ordinary circumstances. Now, look at us two, for instance. Look at me! Everybody calls me rash and impetuous, and Mort is always lecturing me for it, and it's always my way to rush head-first into anything that comes along, and here I've been making love, in the regular, orthodox fashion, to a girl I've known ever since I wore knickerbockers, and playing propriety and all that to my prospective father-in-law; and now see Mort! the most precise, deliberate fellow you ever saw, never says or does anything that isn't exactly suited to the occasion, you know; and here he goes and tumbles head over heels in love with a pretty girl the first time he sees her, and when he doesn't know a blessed thing about her, and, by George! engages himself to her before he's known her a week! If that isn't a case of clear-gone lunacy, then I never saw one."

Van Dorn laughed; "Well, of the two, I should prefer your brother's form of lunacy to yours; if I ever was to be in love, I should want the misery over as quickly as possible."

As Houston and his friend, having made a brief call at the cabin, rose to take their leave, the former observed Jack watching Rutherford's face with a degree of interest unusual for him to manifest in a stranger.

"I want you and my friend, Rutherford, to know each other the little time he will be here," he said, addressing Jack, "for though I have never known what it was to have a brother in reality, he seems to me to more nearly fill that position than any one I have known, and I have told him of your kindness and assistance, and the strange bond that has seemed to unite us from the first, though we met as strangers, so he naturally wishes to meet you."

There was a peculiar quiver of the lips under the heavy, black beard, as Jack replied, in deep, full tones, "Mr. Rutherford's face carries with it its own recommendation, and the fact that he is as a brother to yourself will insure him a double welcome here as often as he pleases to come during his stay."

Houston passed onward into the outer room, pausing to chat with Mike, while Morton Rutherford lingered, and extending his hand to Jack, said in low tones:

"I have another reason for wishing to meet you. From what Lyle has told me, I know you to have been, until very recently, her only friend, and to you, as to her friend, and perhaps, in one sense, her guardian, I wish to state that I love her, and have been so fortunate as to win her love in return; and that I hope before very long, my home will be hers."

"Yes, I know," Jack responded, briefly.

"What! has she already told you?" Rutherford asked in surprise.

"Only unconsciously; but I read soon after your coming, that her heart was no longer her own."

Then grasping Rutherford's hand warmly, he added, in tones vibrating with some deep emotion.

"You have chosen better than you know. I believe I can trust her and her happiness in your hands. God bless you both! and may He bless you in proportion to your love and fidelity toward her!"



CHAPTER XXXIX.

The following day, Mr. Blaisdell suddenly made his appearance at the camp, accompanied by Mr. Rivers and a mining expert who had come out in the interests of a Chicago firm, looking for good paying investments. Houston had received no word of their coming, and the first intimation which he had of their arrival was the sight of the three gentlemen, as he approached the house at dinner time.

"How are you, Houston?" said Mr. Blaisdell, pausing in his walk up and down before the house, and extending his hand, "How's the work progressing?"

"Finely," replied Houston, "the output is steadily increasing, week by week."

"Keeps you pretty busy, I suppose? Well, I hope we can give you a little help before long; we've located Barden at last, and he starts for the west next week. Let me introduce you to Mr. Parsons, a mining expert from Chicago; Mr. Parsons, this is Mr. Houston, our general superintendent."

Houston exchanged greetings with the stranger, and with Mr. Rivers, the latter watching him closely, though saying very little.

Dinner was served as quickly as possible, as Mr. Parsons was limited for time, and was to return to Silver City on the evening train. Most of the conversation at the table was on mines and mining, Mr. Blaisdell trying to impress each one present, Mr. Parsons in particular, with his extensive knowledge, both theoretical and practical, on all that pertained to the subject, as well as with a sense of the immense value of the properties owned by the company.

"Mr. W. E. Cameron, of New York, owns some very valuable mines out here, I understand," said Mr. Parsons casually, his innocent remark producing rather a startling effect upon the minds of his listeners, though they, one and all, succeeded in preserving a calm exterior.

"He has an interest in some very fine properties," replied Mr. Blaisdell blandly, though with a visible contracting of the muscles about the mouth, "you are acquainted with Mr. Cameron, I presume?"

"Oh, no, on the contrary, I never even met the gentleman, but he is extensively known among the leading business houses of Chicago, and he was pointed out to me, the day I came away, as the owner of some of the finest mines in this locality," Mr. Parsons explained, thereby carrying consternation to the heart of every one present.

"Did I understand you to say that Mr. Cameron was in Chicago?" inquired Mr. Blaisdell, while Mr. Rivers' restless eyes were at once on the alert.

"Certainly, he was there the day I left; at least, a gentleman with whom I happened to be talking about western investments, pointed him out to me, and cited him as the owner of western properties."

"Ah, yes, did you hear anything said as to whether he was coming this way?"

"Nothing, nothing whatever, except what I have stated."

"It's all right," said Mr. Rivers, speaking for the first time, and in his quick, incisive way; he feared Mr. Blaisdell had betrayed his anxiety; "all right, only we would like to know his whereabouts, as it will be necessary to wire him in a day or two, regarding some ore shipments. Can you give us the hotel where he was stopping?"

"I am very sorry that I cannot oblige you, but I have not the least idea where he was located; I simply saw him passing on the street."

"It is of no consequence," replied Mr. Blaisdell, with assumed indifference, "we can of course ascertain his present address from the New York house; it will take a little more time, that is all. We had better proceed to the mines at once, if Mr. Parsons is ready."

When they had left and Haight was on his way to the mills, the four young men held a few moments' consultation outside the house.

"By Jingo!" exclaimed Ned Rutherford, "it looks as though old Buncombe was going to get on to our surprise party that we're planning for him! What are you fellows going to do about it?"

"Well," said Van Dorn. "I'm not sure whether this is going to interfere with our arrangements or not; what do you think, Everard? will the company 'smell a rat' anywhere?"

"They are evidently alarmed at the possibility of Mr. Cameron's coming out here, but there is nothing yet to arouse their suspicions against us, so I do not think it will interfere materially with our plans at present. They will be able to learn nothing of my uncle's movements from the New York house, as he will have forestalled them there. He had but just reached Chicago when this Parsons left, and as he and Mr. Whitney wished, if possible, to remain there a few days, to consult with a legal firm who are personal friends of theirs, I think it best, in case this company remains quiet, to take no action yet for two or three days; but if the officers of the company begin to appear suspicious, or as if they were trying to cover their tracks, the sooner we telegraph for our party, the better; get them here as quickly as possible."

"Yes, that will be best," said Morton Rutherford, "if their suspicions are aroused, we cannot be too expeditious, for they will be desperate when they find themselves cornered."

"We must hold ourselves in readiness to act promptly," Houston added, "probably within twenty-four hours we will be able to decide which course to pursue."

Houston went to his work determined to keep a close watch on the movements of Blaisdell and Rivers. A couple of hours later, however, the three men entered the mill where he was engaged superintending the weighing of some ore; Mr. Rivers went at once to Haight's little private office, while Blaisdell approached him with the expert.

"Mr. Houston," he said, "just take Mr. Parsons through the mills and entertain him for the next half hour. Mr. Rivers and myself will be engaged about that length of time."

Houston complied with the request, and in a very short time discovered that Mr. Parsons' knowledge of metallurgy and mineralogy was exceedingly limited, but that in exact proportion to his own ignorance, he had been profoundly impressed by the knowledge which Mr. Blaisdell had aired for his especial benefit, and the parrot-like way in which he repeated some of the expressions which Mr. Blaisdell kept as his "stock in trade," was very amusing.

Meanwhile Houston was deeply interested in the private meeting held in Haight's little dingy room, as he felt certain that some issues were being discussed and decisions reached that would, in their results, be of the greatest importance to him, and he awaited the reappearance of the general manager and secretary with considerable expectancy.

He was not disappointed; a glance at their faces revealed that the subjects under discussion had not been pleasant. Mr. Blaisdell's face was white, and set in hard, determined lines, while that of his companion was flushed with anger, and his cunning, crafty eyes were full of suspicion, as they glanced repeatedly in Houston's direction.

"Mr. Parsons," said Mr. Blaisdell, "we will have to ask you to excuse Mr. Houston, as we have a little business with him, and if you will step over there in the office and sit down, we will have completed our business in half or three-quarters of an hour; by that time the team will be here, in readiness to take us to the train."

After a few moments of desultory conversation about the work which Houston knew to be only preliminary, during which Mr. Rivers moved about in a nervous, restless manner, Mr. Blaisdell said:

"Mr. Houston, we hear some rather strange reports concerning your conduct lately; your actions have certainly been highly censurable, and the least that can be said is that you have exceeded your authority here in a very marked degree."

"In what respect have I exceeded my authority?" demanded Houston, folding his arms, with an expression on his face that made the general manager regret that he had begun the encounter; but it was too late to retreat, besides, Rivers was watching him!

"In your manner of discharging the duties assigned to you; you have taken advantage of your position in the most reprehensible and unworthy way, and have overstepped the bounds when you had no right whatever to do so."

"I shall have to ask you to be a little more explicit, Mr. Blaisdell," Houston replied.

"Why don't you come to the point, Blaisdell?" said Rivers impatiently. "What's the use of beating about the bush? The long and the short of it is just this," he added, turning to Houston, "you have been taking upon yourself what did not concern you, prying around, late at night, in mines with which you had nothing whatever to do, in company with miners who had no more business there than you had."

"To what mine do you refer?" asked Houston, with exasperating persistency.

"I mean the Lucky Chance, and you know it," retorted Rivers angrily.

"Mr. Rivers," said Houston, in a tone that Blaisdell had heard on a former occasion, and with a steel-like glitter in his eyes that was anything but attractive to either of the gentlemen present; "Mr. Blaisdell knows, if you do not, that since my first coming here, whatever kind of work has been assigned to me, I have thoroughly familiarized myself with it. When I was given charge of these mines I had reason to suppose that each and every mine owned by the company was included under my supervision, and if there were any which the officers of the company, for reasons of their own, wished excluded from such supervision, it was their business so to inform me. I have not been so informed. Mr. Blaisdell himself took me into that mine, and nothing was said to lead me to suppose that that mine was any exception to those placed in my charge, and your informant, if he chose so to do, could tell you that I have inspected in like manner each and every mine under my supervision, taking with me one or both of the same men, when the mine happened to be one with which I was not familiar."

"His intentions were all right," interposed Mr. Blaisdell, "he was over-zealous, that was all."

"Intentions be damned!" said Mr. Rivers, angrily, "he was altogether too officious, and I won't have it; people in my employ have to know their place and keep it."

"That is all very well," said Houston, in cutting tones, "but I will not ask you, Mr. Rivers, or any one connected with this company, to tell me my place."

"What!" exclaimed Rivers in a rage, "let me tell you, young man, it is to your interest to be a little careful."

"Is it?" answered Houston scornfully; "Mr. Rivers," he added, advancing toward that gentleman, "why don't you discharge me? Wouldn't that be to your interest?"

Mr. Rivers saw he had gone too far; "No," he answered quickly, though sullenly, "we have said nothing about discharging you; you are too efficient a man for us to lose."

"No, Houston," added Mr. Blaisdell, "we wouldn't think of discharging you, you're too good a man."

"No, I'm not too good a man," replied Houston, facing them both with a look which they understood; "you don't discharge me simply because,—you don't dare to!" and he emphasized the last words with a heavy blow upon a rude desk standing near.

Blaisdell and Rivers exchanged glances, and for a moment were speechless. The former was the first to recover himself.

"Come, Houston," he said, in a conciliatory tone, "we won't have any more words; we all understand one another pretty well, and there'll be no more complaints or trouble. You go on pretty much as you have done, and it will be all right. It's time we were getting back now, but I'll be out here next week with Barden, and we'll fix things up satisfactory all 'round."

"When will he get here?" asked Houston.

"The latter part of next week."

Houston thought an instant, his party would be there the first or middle of the week.

"Very well," he replied, "I tender my resignation now, to take effect when he comes."

"Oh, no, Houston, no indeed, why, we couldn't think of such a thing," said Blaisdell, really alarmed, while Rivers maintained a sullen silence.

"I am not particularly anxious to hold this position, I can assure you; there is very little in it but hard work."

"Oh, well, well, you stay by us a while longer, and we'll take you into the company yet."

"No," said Houston, "it would be no use taking me into the company, I wouldn't know my place, or keep it," and with that parting shot, he turned and left them.

"Blaisdell," said Rivers, his face relaxing for a moment into a grim smile, "it's just as I told you, your smart young man is too smart for you. It's my opinion we've caught a tartar;—we're afraid to keep him, and we don't dare let him go."



CHAPTER XL.

As Houston, on the following morning, in the execution of his daily round of duties, happened to be passing the Yankee Boy mine, his attention was arrested by a quantity of powder deposited near the mouth of the shaft, which the workmen were preparing to take below.

"What is the meaning of this?" he inquired sternly. "Who has given any orders for this powder to be brought here?"

"Them was the boss's orders, sir," replied one of the men, respectfully.

"The boss? whom do you mean?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, I meant the boss as was up here yisterday; Mr. Haight, he told me this morning as these was the orders he give him."

"Haight," said Houston, as, a few moments later, he entered the office of that individual, "did Mr. Blaisdell leave orders yesterday for powder to be taken over to the Yankee Boy mines?"

"Yes," replied Haight, with his usual smile, "and I intended to have spoken to you about it this morning, but I forgot it."

"What is his object? any blasting to be done?"

"Yes, we had quite a long consultation together yesterday, he and Rivers and I, and we decided that it would pay to do some extensive drifting in those mines, and a good deal of that rock will have to be blasted."

"How soon is this blasting to begin?"

"Well, I can't say exactly, just how soon, probably within the next seven or eight days."

"In what direction is the drifting to extend?"

Haight looked slightly surprised but replied: "We're a little undecided about that, just what course to take; Rivers was for one thing, and Blaisdell and I for another. After they have blasted a ways, we can tell something from the character of the rock in what direction it will be best to run the drift."

After a few more questions, some of which Haight did not answer so readily as might have been expected, Houston left him. He did not proceed at once to the building where Van Dorn was at work, but first returned to the mines, where he discovered that the powder was not only being stored in the Yankee Boy group, but also in the Lucky Chance, and one or two others of the surrounding mines. A little later he made an errand to that part of the mills where Van Dorn was to be found, and quietly calling him to one side, related to him what he had discovered, and his talk with Haight.

Van Dorn was more familiar with mines, their methods of operation, and the rules governing their underground workings, than Houston, and he immediately exclaimed:

"By George! that fellow is a fool, Everard, or else he was simply 'stuffing' you; to drift in the direction he mentioned would be a useless expenditure of time and money, there would be nothing in it, it is utterly absurd!"

"I mistrusted as much," said Houston, "and I have my own opinion as to the meaning of all this, but I wished to get your idea of the matter. What do you think of it?"

"It looks to me," said Van Dorn slowly, "as though they were making preparations to blow up these mines, at a moment's warning."

"That," said Houston, "was just the conviction that forced itself upon my mind when I saw that powder, though I will admit I had never once thought of their resorting to such measures as that."

"It's about the only thing left for them to do, by George! after the shape in which they have got things; their idea probably would be, in the event of Mr. Cameron's coming, to destroy in this way all the evidence, as they think, existing against them. It shows pretty conclusively that they have no suspicions of us, for if they knew the evidence in our possession they would blow us up rather than the mines. You will telegraph at once for Mr. Cameron, will you not?"

"At once; we must get him here as quickly and as quietly as we can; before they put their plans into action, if possible."

"That is the thing to do; they probably will take no action unless they hear of his coming. We ought to get a dispatch off before night."

"We will," Houston replied, with quiet decision.

"How will you manage it? It will look rather suspicious for you or me to leave our work and go down to the Y with a message."

"Give Morton our dispatch and cipher book, and he will attend to it better than you or I, for he is an expert operator."

"By George! that's so, I had forgotten it; he learned telegraphy there at college just to amuse himself, and had a battery in his room; well, that's fortunate, he will be just the one for us."

"It is nearly noon," said Houston, consulting his watch, "we will see Morton at the house, and arrange the message between us, and he will send it immediately."

After dinner, there was a brief consultation in Houston's room with the result that the following dispatch was formulated, written in cipher, and addressed to Mr. Whitney, at Chicago, the attorney from New York, accompanying Mr. Cameron:

"Come at once, no delay; go to Arlington Hotel, Silver City; keep dark, do not register. Van Dorn will meet you at hotel."

Houston realized that they were now rapidly approaching the final denouement,—the closing act of the drama which might yet prove a tragedy,—and as he placed the folded slip of paper in Morton Rutherford's hand, he said with a sigh:

"This is the beginning of the end."



CHAPTER XLI.

As Morton Rutherford's fingers touched the key of the little instrument that was to send forth that fateful message, it was the unconscious touching of a secret spring which was to set in motion a succession of events of which he little dreamed.

He remained at the station until the answer came back over the wires:

"Leave Chicago to-night; will follow instructions to the letter."

This was on Saturday. On Tuesday the expected party would reach Silver City, where they were to be met by Van Dorn, who would furnish them all details and accompany them on the evening train to the Y, from which point Houston and Morton Rutherford would convey them by team to the mining camp.

From Saturday until Tuesday only! but those intervening days were full of a strange excitement for the little group of friends who were in the secret, and there was that constant sense of expectancy, combined with an alert watchfulness, which kept the nerves tense and rigid, and rendered the mind unusually clear and active.

On Monday, Van Dorn left for Silver City, his errand ostensibly being to replace the broken portions of the machinery, now nearly finished, which were necessary for its completion.

All felt that the climax to which they had looked forward was now very near, and Lyle, who perhaps realized the situation the most keenly of any, was restless and excited, something very unusual for her.

Her search, thus far unsuccessful, had not been abandoned, and as she sat in the little porch on that particular afternoon, idle because she could not fix her attention upon book or work, it seemed as if the years of her early life among the mountains stood out with more than usual distinctness. Among other trifling objects, there was suddenly recalled to her memory a box which used always to stand in Mrs. Maverick's little bed-room, and which had looked wonderfully attractive to her childish eyes on account of a flowered red and green paper with which it was covered. Once, overcome with infantile curiosity, she had tried to open it, and had received a severe whipping therefor. She could remember it very distinctly now, a box about eighteen inches square, with no fastening, but always securely tied with a stout cord. Late years it had been removed to the little attic and she had forgotten it. Where was it now? She had not seen it for months, or was it years? What could it have contained?

Miss Gladden was occupied with a new magazine. Morton and Ned Rutherford had gone out for a stroll among the rocks. Quietly Lyle slipped up-stairs, and going to the dark, dusty attic, began searching for the object so suddenly recalled to mind.

She could find no trace of it, however, and had about concluded that it must have been destroyed, when her attention was arrested by a pile of old clothing and rubbish on the floor in a particularly dark corner, behind some large boxes. A slight examination revealed that there was some solid substance underneath. Hastily overturning the rubbish, her eyes descried in the dim light the identical red and green papered box familiar to her childhood.

With an exclamation of joy she dragged it forth from its hiding place, and going over to the one tiny window, covered with dust and cobwebs, she sat down with the newly found treasure, first arranging a pile of old bedding as a screen between herself and the door, to preclude all possibility of her whereabouts being discovered.

With fingers trembling with excitement, she undid the fastenings of the heavy cord and slowly lifted the cover, not knowing exactly what she expected or hoped to find, but certain that the key for which she had searched was close at hand.

Within the box lay a large parcel wrapped in a newspaper, worn and yellow with age, and pinned to the parcel was a letter, addressed in a cramped, almost illegible hand:

"To Lyle, to be read after my death."

Lyle recognized the writing,—it was Mrs. Maverick's, whose educational advantages, though exceedingly limited, were yet superior to those of her husband, in that she could read and write, though she had little idea of the rules of grammar or orthography.

Lyle unpinned the letter and turned it over curiously in her hands for a moment; then she laid it aside, saying to herself:

"I will first see what this package contains, and will probably open that later."

She lifted the parcel and began removing the paper wrappings, which burst like tissue and dropped in pieces, leaving a mass of fine cambric and dainty laces and embroideries, from which was exhaled a perfume, faint and subtle, and yet which recalled to Lyle so vividly the memories of that long-ago forgotten time, that she seemed like one awakening from a long oblivion to the scenes of a once familiar life. For a moment, she grew faint and dizzy, and, closing her eyes, leaned against the wall for support, while she tried to grasp the vision that seemed just ready to open up before her. But it passed, and with a sigh she opened her eyes, her gaze falling on the contents of the package which had fallen open.

She saw the dress of a little child,—apparently about two years of age,—a marvelous creation of the finest of white linen and the daintiest of embroideries; lying within it was a broad sash of blue silk, neatly folded together, a pair of tiny, blue silk stockings, and little kid shoes of the same delicate shade; but the shoes and sash, as well as the dress, were soiled and blackened as if they had come in contact with charred wood.

The dress and the little undergarments each and all bore the initials "M. L. W.," and Lyle pondered over them with wondering eyes, while handling with reverent touch these relics of her childhood,—a childhood which she could not recall.

As she unrolled the blue sash, there dropped from within its folds a small, pasteboard box, which she hastily opened, exposing to view a tiny gold locket and chain of rare workmanship and exquisite design. Upon touching a little spring, it opened, and Lyle gave a low cry of delight, for there was revealed the same beautiful face which she had seen in Jack's cabin,—the face of her mother. For some time she gazed at it through fast-gathering tears, then happening to note the engraving on the inside of the case, opposite to the picture, she held it closer to the light, to discern the delicate characters of the inscription, and read:

"To Marjorie Lyle Washburn, Upon her second birthday."

Lyle Maverick no longer, but Marjorie Lyle Washburn! She repeated the name over and over to herself,—the magic talisman by which she was to find the home and friends she sought!

Kissing the locket reverently, she replaced it in the box, and folding together the little garments, she again took up the letter. She studied it for a moment, then resolutely breaking the seal, began to read its contents. It was slow work, for the writing in many places was so poor as to be nearly illegible, but, with burning cheeks and eyes flashing with indignation at what it revealed, she read it to the end.

In uncouth phrases and illiterate language, and yet with a certain pathos, Mrs. Maverick told the story of the death, years before, while their home was east, in Ohio, of her own little girl between two and three years of age, and her inconsolable sorrow. A few months afterward, Jim had suddenly returned from a neighboring town where he was working, bringing with him a beautiful little girl of the same age as her own, but unusually advanced for her years, whose father and mother he claimed had been killed in a railroad accident, and of whose friends nothing could be learned. His wife had accepted his story in good faith, and welcomed the motherless little one to her own lonely heart. Unknown to Jim, who had charged her to burn them, she had also preserved the garments worn by the little stranger on that day.

But the little one did not take kindly to her new surroundings but cried piteously for her mother, night and day, even refusing food of all kinds, until she was suddenly taken with a strange illness which lasted for many weeks. When she finally recovered, all memory of her former life seemed to have been completely blotted out of her mind, and she no longer called for her mother, except occasionally in her sleep. Very soon after they had come out to the mines, and nothing of any importance occurred until Lyle was about seven years old.

At that time, Jim had suddenly made his appearance at the house one day, appearing both angry and frightened, and had ordered his wife to keep Lyle locked up, on pretext of punishing her, until he gave permission for her release. He would give no explanation, and by his curses and threats compelled her to obey.

That day, a fine-looking, elderly gentleman, who had just arrived from the east to purchase some mining property, came to the house for dinner, and took his meals there for the two days following, during which time, Lyle was not allowed her liberty. Not until nearly a year later did Mrs. Maverick learn that the eastern stranger, whose coming had so terrified Maverick, was Lyle's grandfather. Jim then confessed that he had taken the child from the wreck where its mother had lost her life, and brought her west with him, knowing whose child she was, and keeping her out of revenge for some wrong which he claimed this man had done him years before.

In vain his wife urged to have the child returned to her rightful home; he threatened her life if she ever breathed the secret to any living soul. A sense of guilt made her unhappy for a time, but as years passed she grew more indifferent to it, and as she saw, more and more, how utterly unlike any of her own family Lyle was growing, she no longer cared for her as she had done, though she tried to treat her kindly. Jim's hatred of Lyle seemed to increase with every year, until his wife sometimes feared that he would resort to personal violence.

As she found her own health and strength failing she began to reflect upon the terrible position in which Lyle would find herself in case of her own death, left alone with Maverick and his two sons, and to save her from such a fate, she had resolved to write this letter, acquainting Lyle with her own history so far as she was able to give it.

At the close she begged Lyle not to think too harshly of her or consider that she was altogether to blame in this matter, and expressed the wish that she might some day find her own friends from whom she had been taken.

It would be impossible to describe Lyle's emotions as she finished the perusal of this strange letter; joy that she had finally found the evidence she sought, and an intense longing to see those from whom she had been so cruelly separated all these years, mingled with a fearful apprehension lest this knowledge might have come too late, when those whose affection she would claim, might have already passed beyond the limits of finite, human love, into the love infinite and eternal. And deep in her heart burned indignation, fierce and strong, against the one who had wrought all this wretchedness,—carrying additional sorrow to a home already bereaved, robbing her of the love that was rightfully hers and of the dower of a happy childhood which could never be restored,—all to gratify his cowardly revenge!

In the midst of these reflections, Lyle suddenly recalled the promise she had given Jack that he should be the first to learn of her success. It was now time for him to be at the cabin and she would have an opportunity to see him before the return of the others to the house. Accordingly, she restored the empty box to its hiding place, and having concealed the most of its contents in her own room, started forth on her joyful errand, taking with her the tiny locket and the letter.

As she approached the cabin she saw Jack sitting with Rex in the door-way and knew that he was alone. Jack, to whom her face was an open book, read the tidings which she had brought before they had exchanged a word. He rose to meet her, and looking into her radiant face, he said in gentle tones and with a grave smile:

"You have good news! Have you found what you hoped to find?"

"I have," she replied, "and you who have shared all my troubles must be the first sharer of my joy."

Together they entered the cabin, and seated in the little, familiar room, Lyle told the story of her discovery, and opening the locket, placed it in Jack's hands.

For a moment he gazed silently at the little trinket, then he said in low tones, as if half to himself, "It is she, and you are her child, as I have always believed," then added, "I rejoice with you, Lyle, I am glad for your sake."

But even as he spoke, Lyle, notwithstanding the exuberance of her own joy, could not fail to observe in his face indications of poignant pain, as he looked at the lovely pictured face, and as she repeated the name inscribed opposite.

"Jack!" she suddenly exclaimed, "have I made you suffer by my thoughtlessness? Forgive me!"

"No, my dear," he answered tenderly, "you have caused me no pain; if I suffer, it is on account of bitter memories of which you as yet know nothing, and I pray you may never know. What letter have you there?"

Lyle read the letter, Jack silently pacing up and down the room, listening, with a look of intense indignation deepening on his face, until she had finished.

"It is as I have suspected all these years," he said, "the dastardly villain! the scoundrel! Thank God, it is not yet too late, there are those who can and will right the wrong, so far as it is possible to right it."

At Lyle's request, they compared the picture with the photograph in Jack's possession; they were one and the same, except that the latter had been taken a few years earlier.

"Jack," said Lyle earnestly, "can you tell me anything about my relatives? Are my grandparents living? and had my parents brothers or sisters?"

"I have learned quite recently that your grandparents are still living," Jack answered slowly, after a pause, "as to the others I cannot say; even of your own mother I can trust myself to say but very little, it is too painful!"

"What would you advise me to do now?" Lyle asked wistfully, but with slight hesitation. "What would be the best course for me to take?"

With an expression unlike anything she had ever seen on his face, and a depth of pathos in his voice she had never heard, he replied very tenderly:

"I can no longer advise you, my dear Lyle; take these proofs which you have found to Everard Houston; he can advise you now far better than I; show them to him, my dear, and you will have no further need of counsel or help from me, much as I wish it were in my power to give both."

"To Mr. Houston?" Lyle had risen in her surprise, and stood regarding Jack with tearful, perplexed astonishment; there was a hidden significance in his words which as yet she could not fathom. "I do not understand you, Jack; why do you speak as though you could no more be to me the friend and counselor that you have been?"

He smiled one of his rare, sweet smiles. "Do as I have suggested, dear,—then you will understand; and I shall want to see you for a few moments again to-night, after you have seen him."

Somewhat reassured by his smile, and yet perplexed by his manner, Lyle left the cabin and slowly returned to the house, everything about her seeming unreal, as though she were walking in a dream.

Miss Gladden was chatting with Morton and Ned Rutherford, and in reply to Lyle's question whether Mr. Houston had returned, stated that he was in his room, having just come up from the mines.

"Thank you, I will see him just a moment," Lyle responded, passing into the house.

"You have not heard any bad news, have you?" asked Miss Gladden apprehensively, noting the peculiar expression on Lyle's face.

"No," the latter answered with a smile, "it is about nothing regarding himself that I wish to see him, only something concerning myself."

The door stood open into Houston's room, and Lyle could see him standing by the table, arranging some papers which he proceeded to sort and tie up in separate parcels.

In response to her light knock he glanced quickly around, and observing her unusual expression, advanced to meet her, thinking, as did Miss Gladden, that possibly she had heard something appertaining to the present situation of affairs at the camp.

"Good evening, Lyle, come in; you look as though you were the bearer of important news of some kind."

"I have news," she replied, "though of importance only to myself; I need a little counsel, and was told to come to you."

"You know, Lyle, I will only be too glad to give you any advice, or render any assistance within my power."

"Thank you," she answered, at the same time producing the little box and the letter. "Leslie has probably told you of the manner in which I learned that the proofs as to my true parentage and my own identity existed within this house, and of my search for them since that time."

Houston bowed in assent.

"To-day," she continued, "my search proved successful, in so far as that I have discovered my own name, and also the proofs that I was stolen by that villain, Maverick, in a spirit of retaliation and revenge; but I have as yet no knowledge as to who or where my friends may be. Naturally, I took these proofs to Jack, and asked his advice as to the best course to pursue, and he has sent me to you."

"I am more than glad to hear this, my dear Lyle," responded Houston cordially; "I have always felt a great interest in you, and it will give me much pleasure if I can assist you in finding your friends, and I shall appreciate it highly if Jack has intrusted me with this responsibility."

Taking the locket from the box, Lyle handed it, unopen, to Houston, saying as she did so, "This is the only clue I have by which to find my friends; it contains my mother's picture, and my own name,—Marjorie Lyle Washburn."

"Washburn!" exclaimed Houston in surprise, pausing as he was about to open the locket. "Washburn! Marjorie Washburn! That sounds familiar, both those names occur in my uncle's family, his wife and his daughter,—ah, I recall it now, that was the name of my cousin's little daughter. Strange!—what! what is this?" He had opened the locket and was gazing in astonishment at the beautiful face. "This,—this is her picture, the picture of my cousin, Edna Cameron Washburn! What is the meaning of this?" And, unable to say anything further, he looked to Lyle for an explanation.

She, too, was nearly speechless with astonishment. "What did you say was her name?" she stammered.

Houston repeated the name, while a strange light began to dawn in his face.

"She was my mother," Lyle said simply. She could say nothing more, the walls of the little room seemed to be whirling rapidly about her, and she could see nothing distinctly.

Faintly, as though sounding far in the distance, she heard Houston's voice as he exclaimed:

"Can it be possible? and yet, you resemble her! Why have I never thought of it before? She had a little daughter Marjorie, whom we always supposed was killed in the wreck in which her own life was lost."

"And this," said Lyle, holding out the letter, but speaking with great effort, for the room was growing very dark, and a strange numbness seemed stealing over heart and brain, "this tells that I was stolen from the side of my dead mother who was killed in a wreck—" She could get no farther, and she knew nothing of his reply. A thick darkness seemed to envelop her, fast shutting out all sense even of life itself. There was a sound for an instant like the deafening roar of waters surging about her, and then she seemed sinking down, down into infinite depths, until she lost all consciousness. For the first time in her life she had fainted.

Houston caught her as she was falling, and a moment later the little group outside were startled by his sudden appearance.

"Leslie," he said, in quick, low tones, "you and Morton come to my room. Lyle has fainted."

"What is the trouble, Everard?" asked Ned, springing to his feet. "Anything serious?"

"I think not," was Houston's reply. "Her fainting was the result of over-excitement. Come into my room, Ned, when she has revived, I think I have made a discovery in which we will all be interested."

When he returned Lyle was beginning to revive, though unable to speak, and leaving her in the care of Leslie and Morton for a few moments, Houston hastily scanned the letter which Lyle had given him, soon reading enough of its contents here and there to get a correct idea of the whole.

Both Miss Gladden and Morton Rutherford realized that something had transpired out of the usual order of events. Each believed it connected with some discovery relating to Lyle's early history, but of what nature the discovery might be they had no clue.

As soon as she was able to speak Houston was at her side, and she read in his face the confirmation of the truth which had dawned upon her mind as he had repeated her mother's name, but which had seemed to her past belief.

"It is really true, and I have not been dreaming?" she asked.

"It is most certainly true, my dear Lyle," Houston replied, "and I am very glad to find that you, who have seemed to me like a sister from our first acquaintance, will soon be my sister in reality."

Stooping, he kissed her on the forehead, and then in reply to the glances of astonishment on the part of the others, he said:

"Leslie, I will have to prepare you for a double surprise, and since we four are now members of one family, I can speak here without reserve. When I first won your love, my dear, it was as the salaried clerk of a disreputable mining company. I was old-fashioned enough to wish to win your love with love, to feel assured that you cared for me for my own sake. Lately, you have known that I was the representative of Mr. Cameron, of New York, but you did not know that I was Mr. Cameron's nephew and adopted son,—his son in all respects, excepting that I have not taken his name." He paused a moment, and laid his hand affectionately on Lyle's shoulder. "I now have a pleasant surprise for you both. I wish to introduce you to Marjorie Lyle Washburn, my cousin and my adopted sister."

With a burst of tears, Miss Gladden knelt beside Lyle, throwing her arms about her neck, while Lyle whispered:

"Dear Leslie, you have been like a sister to me in my poverty and loneliness. I am glad we will not be separated in the life of love and happiness that awaits me. We will be sisters still, more closely united than ever."

Turning to Morton Rutherford, whose emotion seemed nearly as deep as Miss Gladden's, Houston said:

"Morton, you remember hearing of my beautiful cousin Edna, and of the sad death of herself and her little daughter, as we always supposed. This is her daughter, and I know that when my uncle and aunt meet her, they will adopt her as their own daughter in her mother's place."

It would be impossible to depict the scene that followed, the surprise and delight of Miss Gladden, or the deep joy of Morton Rutherford, but by and by, when they had become more calm, a knock was heard. Houston opened the door, and Ned Rutherford, looking in, was entirely unable to comprehend the scene. Houston held in his hand a small gold locket and a photograph which he seemed to be comparing with each other. Lyle looked very pale, but radiantly happy. Morton was standing near, while Miss Gladden still knelt at her side, her eyes overflowing with tears of joy.

"Come in, Ned," said Houston cordially. "We want you here to complete the family group."

Ned looked rather bewildered, as he replied: "I just wanted to inquire for Miss Maverick, to know if she was better."

"She is much better," said Houston with a smile, but before he could say anything further, Morton turned toward his brother, saying in gentle, quiet tones, but with a look in his eye which spoke volumes to Ned's inner consciousness:

"Ned, this is Miss Maverick no longer, but Miss Washburn, the grand-daughter of the Mr. Cameron whom we expect here to-morrow."

Poor Ned Rutherford! If he had ever laid any claim to dignity and self-possession, they both deserted him now. Utterly bereft of speech, he stood for a moment as if petrified. Then approaching Lyle, he stammered:

"I beg your pardon, Miss,—Miss Washburn, but that is always Mort's way, to spring anything on me in such a fashion as to knock me out completely. I beg your pardon for appearing so stupid, and I congratulate you on the good news, and extend you my best wishes, Miss——"

"Oh, call me Lyle," she interrupted, with a rippling laugh. "I have a right to that name yet."

"Is that so?" said Ned, with the air of a drowning man clutching at a straw. "Thank you; I'm glad that's left for a sort of land mark, you know. I'll call you 'Lyle' then, 'till I can get accustomed to the new name," and he sank in a heap in the nearest chair.

The letter was read, and bitter were the denunciations against Maverick.

"The scoundrel! He ought to be lynched this very night," said Ned. "That's the way they do those things out here."

"Not late years, Ned," corrected his brother, "and even if they did, that would not be best."

"It is a question with me," said Houston, "situated just as we are at present, and with Mr. Cameron expected in a few hours, whether it would be wise to do anything about this until after his arrival."

"I think not," said Morton, "under the circumstances, you do not want to arouse the antipathy of any of the miners before Mr. Cameron's coming, and as Maverick knows nothing of this discovery, he will of course remain here, and Mr. Cameron can advise in this matter as he thinks best."

And this was the final decision.



CHAPTER XLII.

A few hours later Lyle stood in the gloaming, taking leave of Jack, in the quaint, cozy room in the cabin, little dreaming that they stood there together for the last time.

They had talked long and earnestly of the new life opening up before her, and her tears flowed fast as she recalled the happy hours they had spent together, or as she anticipated the days to come. Her tears were not the only ones, but the friendly twilight, rapidly deepening, concealed the others.

"And to think that you have known so much of this all the time, and did not tell me!" she exclaimed.

"It was best, my little one, best for each of us. I was constantly planning how I might bring this about when the right time came. That time has come, and as my little girl, whom I have loved as deeply as any one in the future can ever love her, and whom I have cherished and helped to the extent of my limited power, goes forth into this new life, I can and will rejoice in the joy, the love and the happiness that will be hers. And I know that amid new scenes, new friends and new loves, she will never quite forget the old friend and the old love."

"Never, Jack; I could never forget you, and Everard and Morton will never forget you. They are coming to see you to-night. Dear Jack, why could you not give up this lonely life, and go with us to the east? We would all love you and make you one of us, and our home would be yours."

"My dear child," he replied with a slight shudder, "you know not what you ask. I know the love that prompted it, but never ask it again."

"Very well," said Lyle, with a sorrowful submission, "but I know what I can do." And she put her arms about his neck. "I will come out to the mountains and visit you here."

Then, as he remained silent, she queried:

"You would be here, wouldn't you, Jack, where I could find you?"

Oh, the agony which his strong, loving heart endured! How could he tell her that even then he never expected to look upon her face again! He could not. He only said:

"I cannot tell, dear, my life is an erratic and wandering one. No one, not even I, can say where I may be."

"But you have not lived a wandering life lately; you have lived here for many years."

"Because the lodestone, the magnet of my heart was here," he answered half-playfully, half-tenderly. "When that is gone, I shall be likely to fly off in a tangent again."

"Oh, Jack, you must not talk so. I want to see you in the years to come. I must and I will. I feel it," she added brightly.

For answer, Jack, for the first time, placed his arms about her, and for a moment folded her closely to his breast. Then, bending his head, he kissed her reverently, first on the forehead, then on the lips, saying, "God bless you always, my dear child!"

She returned the kiss, and as he released her, she whispered:

"Good-night, dear Jack!"

"Good-night, my dear," he answered, adding under his breath, "and good-bye!"

After she had gone, he sat in the gathering darkness alone, lost in thought. The collie, returning from attending Lyle on her homeward walk, divined, with keen, unerring instinct, the sorrow in his master's heart, and coming close, laid his head upon his knee, in mute sympathy and affection. His master stroked the noble head, but his thoughts were far away, and he was only aroused at length by the sound of voices, as Everard Houston and Morton Rutherford entered the cabin. The moon had now risen, and the little room in which he sat was filled with a soft, silver radiance.

Jack rose to meet his guests, and his quick ear detected the vibration of a new emotion in Houston's voice, and as they exchanged greetings, there was something in the clasp of their hands that night that thrilled the heart of each one as never before.

At heart, Jack was glad of the presence of Morton Rutherford. He feared that alone with Houston, after the events of that day, and in the light of the anticipated events of the morrow, his own emotions might prove too strong, weakening the perfect self-control which he felt he must now exercise. The presence of Rutherford acted as a tonic, and restored the desired equilibrium.

"Mr. Houston already knows my aversion to a lamp, and if you do not object, Mr. Rutherford, we will sit for a while in the moonlight."

"By all means," said Rutherford. "I myself dislike the glare of a bright light for genuine, friendly intercourse. A soft, subdued light is much more conducive to mutual confidence and interchange of thought and feeling."

"Jack, my dear friend," said Houston, after a few moments of general conversation upon indifferent subjects, an effort on Jack's part to ward off the inevitable which he felt was surely coming, "You have added very materially to our happiness to-day, in that you have helped us to a happy solution of some of the mysteries that have perplexed us, and in doing this, have brought us all into much closer relations with one another."

"You refer, of course, to Lyle," Jack replied, "but while I am very glad to have contributed to your happiness, I really deserve no credit therefor. I have suspected the relationship for some time, and was only waiting for the necessary proofs, which I felt would be found in good time."

"But that is not the only mystery you have solved for us, or for me," said Houston. "I think we now have a reason for the interest you have manifested in Lyle, and the kindness you have shown her; and, speaking for myself, I believe I have found a clue to the strange bond of mutual sympathy which has united us almost from our first meeting, even before we had exchanged one word; notwithstanding the coldness and reserve of your manner, I felt that back of it all you were my friend, and so it has proved. There has sprung up between us an affection which I believe to be mutual, and of a depth and power remarkable for such a brief acquaintance. But to-night there seems, to my mind, to be a reason for this, which I have been so blind as never to suspect."

"And what may that reason be?" inquired Jack, calmly.

"You will understand of course, my dear friend, as I have often said to you, I have no wish to question you regarding your life in the past, or to lead you to make any statements regarding yourself which you would not make freely and voluntarily; but to me it is evident that, although we met as strangers, you must sometime have been at least a trusted friend of the members of my uncle's family, if not more intimately connected with them."

After a pause Jack replied, slowly:

"As you are aware, I once knew Lyle's mother, and her memory is still unspeakably dear to me. I also knew the other members of Mr. Cameron's family, but that was all long ago in that past which is gone beyond recall, and to which any reference only brings the most bitter pain. When I learned your name and your true business here, I knew, of course, to what family you belonged, and I may have felt some degree of interest in you on that account, but the deep affection between us, which is, as you say, mutual, is, on my part, wholly for your own sake, because I knew you worthy of it. Regarding Lyle, I observed the wonderful resemblance between her and her mother, and it has been to me a source both of joy and of pain, especially of late, since it has grown so marked, and I have sometimes wondered that you did not observe it for yourself."

"Now that I can see the resemblance so plainly, it seems strange that I did not think of it before," Houston replied. "She has always reminded me vaguely of some one, I could not recall whom. I can only account for it from the fact that I really saw my cousin Edna but seldom after I went to my uncle's home, as she was married very soon, and then we saw her only occasionally until her death, which occurred when I was only about twelve years of age. Consequently, my recollection of her was not particularly distinct. I am anticipating the meeting between her and my uncle and aunt,—they will recognize her immediately, and I am confident they will adopt her as their own daughter, in her mother's place."

Jack started almost imperceptibly. "You do not expect Mrs. Cameron here with her husband?"

"She will not come out with him, but she insisted on coming as far as Chicago, so that she would be able to reach us more readily in case of trouble, and I have thought to-day, since this recent discovery, that if the case against the company seems likely to take some time, I might go on to Chicago and bring her out to meet Lyle, and I would, of course, like her to meet Leslie, also."

Jack remained silent, and withdrew a little farther into the shadow. It was Morton Rutherford who spoke now.

"Did you not once tell me, Everard, in the old college days, that Mr. Cameron had lost a son also?"

"Yes," said Houston, with a sigh. "That was a far heavier blow for them than the death of their daughter. He was their joy and pride, their hearts were bound up in him."

"Ah," said Jack, in a voice almost cold in its even calmness. "I remember that Miss Cameron,—as I knew her,—had a brother. Is he also dead?"

"We are compelled to believe that he must be dead," Houston answered, after a pause, in a tone of deep sadness. "He left home soon after his sister's death, and we have never heard from him since, though his parents searched for him, not in this country alone, but in others as well."

"I beg your pardon for having alluded to it, Everard," said Rutherford, "you never told me the particulars, and I did not realize they were so painful."

"No apologies are necessary among us three friends," Houston replied. "Guy's parents and I are the only living human beings who know, or ever will know, the reason for his leaving as he did. My uncle spent vast sums of money and employed detectives all over the world in his efforts to find him, and to let him know that the old home was open to him, and would always be just what it had been in the past. But it was of no avail, we could not even get any tidings of him, and uncle, long ago, gave him up for dead, though Aunt Marjorie believes that he is still living, and that he will yet return."

"The faith of a good woman is sometimes simply sublime," replied Rutherford, "and a mother's love is something wonderful. To me it seems the nearest divine of anything we meet on earth."

There was no response from the figure sitting motionless in the shadow. At that moment it required all the force of his tremendous will power to stem the current of almost uncontrollable emotion, surging across his soul.

But the moments passed, other topics were introduced and discussed, and Jack joined in the conversation as calmly as the others.

"I suppose," he remarked, as, a little later, he accompanied his guests to the door, "I suppose that before this time to-morrow, Mr. Cameron will have already arrived at the camp?"

"Yes," Houston replied, "we expect him over on the evening train, with Van Dorn."

As Houston and Rutherford took leave of Jack, there was something in his manner, something in the long, lingering hand-clasp which seemed more like a farewell than like a simple good-night, at which they silently wondered.

Could they have looked in upon him an hour later, they would have understood the cause. Silently he moved about the room, gathering together the few little keepsakes among his possessions which he most prized. These he placed in a small gripsack which he carefully locked, saying to himself, as he looked around the room with a sigh, "Mike can have the rest."

Then going to the window, he stood looking out upon the calm, moonlit scene, which for many years had been the only home he had known.

"This is my last night here," he soliloquized, "my work here is done. After to-morrow, Everard Houston will need me no longer, everything in which I can render him assistance is now done, and his friends will afford him all needed protection. Lyle has found her own, her future is provided for. The wrongs which I have witnessed for years in silence, will be righted without any assistance of mine. There is nothing more for me to do, and to-morrow I will start forth on the old, wandering life again."

His head dropped lower; he was thinking deeply.

"He said the old home was open, and would always be what it had been in the past. Home! What would that not mean now, after all these years! But that was long ago. I am dead to them now,—dead and forgotten. They will be happy with their new-found daughter, and Everard will be to them as a son, their happiness will be complete, and I will not mar it by any reminders of the wretched past."