d her, but I was in full swing making my pile, and could not tear
myself away; that must have been about the time my father died. Had I
known I was his heir, I should have sent my wife home. But fool that I
was! I was too wrapped up making money (for the tide had just turned,
and I was floating to fortune) to see that she was slipping from me. I
never dreamed my father would die intestate. I always thought he would
take care of his precious gold. It was well for me he destroyed his
will."

Katherine felt her cheeks glow; but she did not speak.

"Well, I felt furious to think you had been enjoying my money when I did
not even know that my father was dead; but I have changed."

"Why?" asked Katherine, who could not imagine what was his motive for
telling her his history.

"You shall hear. You know I placed my little Marie at school. The
school-mistress employed a dressmaker to whom the child took a fancy;
she insisted on taking me to see her, and to choose some fal-lals." He
stopped again, his mouth twitched, his fingers played with his
watch-chain. "When the young woman came into the room," he resumed, "I
thought I should have dropped. She was the living image of my poor
mother, only younger. I could not speak for a minute. At last, when the
child had kissed her and chatted a bit, I managed to ask if I might come
back and speak to her alone, as she was so like a lady I once knew, that
I wanted to put a few questions to her. She seemed a little disturbed;
but told me I might come in the evening. I went. I asked her about her
parentage; she knew very little, save that she had been born in South
America. She offered, however, to show me her mother's picture, and,
when she brought it, I not only saw it was _my_ mother's likeness, but a
picture I knew well. Her initials were on the case, R. L. Then I told
her everything. I proved to her that I was her half-brother. How
bitterly she cried when I described a little brooch with my hair in it,
which Rachel still keeps. She has seen our mother kiss it and weep over
it. My heart went out to her; she is second now only to my child. Then,
Katherine, she told me her own sad story, and the part you played in it.
How you saved her, and gave her hope and strength. Give me your hand!
I'll never forget this service. It binds me more, a hundredfold more,
than if you had done it for myself. But neither entreaties nor
reproaches could induce her to tell me the name of the villain who--has