you."

At once the girl sat up, wiped her eyes, and grew still.

"Yes, father, we will not lose them."

She put her hand in his.

"You make me strong, my daughter. I have much to say to you, much to
say to you of my past."

She put her fingers on his lips gently.

"Is that best, father, do you think?" she said, looking lovingly into
his face.

He glanced at her in quick surprise. She was a girl no longer, but a
woman, wise and strong and brave.

"Perhaps you are right, my daughter. But you will remember that it was
for you I lived my lonely life, for you I pursued my fevered quest. You
were all I had left in the world after I had laid your mother in her
grave. I feared to bring you to me. Now I know I need not have feared.
Now I know what I have missed, my daughter."

"We have found each other, dear, dear father," the girl said, and while
her voice broke for a moment in a sob her face was bright with smiles.

"Yes, my daughter, we have found each other at length. The doors of my
heart, long closed, had grown rusty, but now they are wide open, and
gladly I welcome you."

There was silence for some minutes, then the old man went on,
painfully, with ever-shortening breath. "Now, listen to me carefully."
And then he told her the tale of his search for the Lost River, ending
with the eager exclamation: "And last year I found it. It is a mine
rich beyond my fondest hopes, and it is yours. It is yours, my
daughter."

"Oh, father," cried the girl, losing herself for a moment, "I don't
want the mine. It is you I want."

"Yes, my daughter, I know that well, but for the present it is not the
will of God that I should be with you, and I have learned that it is
good to trust to Him, and without fear I give you, my daughter, to His
care."

Again the girl grew steady and calm.

"Call Mr. Macgregor and the doctor, my dear," her father said. "These
gentlemen alone," he continued when they had come to him, "hold my
secret. Even Perault does not know all. He knows the valley which we
explored last year, but he does not know it is the Lost River. Mr.
Macgregor has promised to see the claim staked. Perault will guide him
to it."

"This paper," taking a packet from his breast, "is my will. In it a
full disposal is made of all. Now I will sign it."

The paper was duly signed and witnessed. With a sigh of content the old
man sank back upon his bed.

"Now all is done. I am well content."

For some time he lay with clo