rich old fur-trader, who proposed to
leave me all his property at his death: but he was a desperate
woman-hater, and bound me to a promise that I would never marry.

"Tempted by the lust for gold, I yielded, and he drew up a will in my
favor. This was before I met Anita here.

"When we went to Cheyenne, the old man was lying at the point of
death; so I told Anita that we would not be married for a few days,
until we saw how matters were going to shape. If he died, we would be
married secretly, and she would return to your roof until I could get
possession of my inheritance, when we would go to some other part of
the country to live. If he recovered, I would marry her anyway, and
let the old man go to Tophet with his money-bags. I see now how I was
in the wrong.

"Well, that very day, before your arrival, the old man himself pounced
down upon us, and cursed me up hill and down, for my treachery, and
forthwith struck me out from his will. I immediately sent for a
chaplain, and was married to Anita. I then went up to see the old man
and find if I could not effect a compromise with him.

"He told me if I would go with him before Anita and swear that she was
not legally my wife, and that I would never live with her, he would
again alter his will in my favor.

"Knowing that that would make no difference, so far as the law was
concerned, I sent Anita a note apprising her of what was coming, and
stating that she had best return to you until the old man should die,
when I would come for her. Subsequently I went before her in company
with the old man and swore as I had promised to do, and when I
departed she was weeping bitterly, but I naturally supposed it was
sham grief. A month later, on his death-bed, the old trader showed me
the letter I had sent her, and I realized that not only was my little
game up, but that I had cheated myself out of a love that was true. I
was left entirely out of the will, and ever since I have bitterly
cursed the day that tempted me to try to win gold and love at the same
time. Here, Edward Harris," and the young man drew a packet of papers
from inside his pocket, "are two certificates of my marriage, one for
Anita, and one for myself. You see now, that, although mine has been a
grievous error, no dishonor is coupled with your sister's name."

Ned Harris took one of the documents and glanced over it, the
expression on his face softening. A moment later he turned and grasped
McKenzie's hand.