well lost for love? She knew her fate and smiled while
she blindly followed. I know mine, and there is no other path for me but
by the side of Page. Whatever comes I've known his love."

It was not the raving of a hysterical girl; it was the calm utterance of
a woman--one of the East, who in recognizing the call of her destiny
unshrinkingly accepts its decrees of sorrow as well as of joy. By
training, environment and inclination Zura Wingate might be of the West;
but her Occidental blood was diluted with that of the East, and wherever
is found even one small drop, though it sleep long, in the end it arises
and claims its own as surely as death claims life.

It was only a little while since Kobu had left us to go to the station
to bring the unwelcome visitor from America.

The hills had scarcely ceased the echo of the shrieking engine, it
seemed to me, when I heard the tap of the gong at the entrance. I
started at once for Page's room where Zura and Jane were on watch.

Kobu and his companion were ahead of me. The brilliant light of a sunny
afternoon softened as it sifted through the paper shoji, suffusing room
and occupants in a tender glow. Through it, as I reached the door, I saw
Zura half bending over the bed, shielding the face of the sick boy, Jane
at the foot with lifted, detaining hand, Kobu's face as he pointed to
the bed, saying, "There, sir, is the thief--I mean prisoner," and his
startled look as the tall, gray-headed stranger went swiftly to the bed
and gathered Page into his outstretched arms.

"A thief!" he cried. "Somebody's going to get hurt in a minute. He's my
son. Oh! boy, boy, I thought I'd lost you!"

XIX

"THE END OF THE PERFECT DAY"

Jane was the first in that astonished group to recover, and her voice
was as sweet and clear as a trumpet-call of victory, singing her
gladness and trust: "I knew it! I knew it! But who are you, sir? Page
said his father was dead."

"I? My name is Ford Page Hamilton, and this is my boy. I've been looking
for him for months."

Page's eyes intently searched his father's face, as alternate fear and
joy possessed him. The moment was tense; we waited breathlessly; at last
Page asked: "But, Father, what did I do with them?"

"With what, son?"

"The bags of money--the collection I was to turn over to the firm."

"You delivered them sealed and labeled, then you disappeared off the
map, just as if you had melted."

The word "melted" seemed to open in t