of one hundred dollars per month.

Mr. Houston's parents had died when he was very young, and he had been
tenderly reared in the home of his uncle, his mother's brother, Walter
Everard Cameron. Even now, as he watched the blue coils above his
head, his memory was going back to the time when he had entered that
beautiful home. He recalled the different members of that lovely
family, as they then appeared to him; the dark, patrician face of his
aunt, with its wondrous beauty, which, in the following years had
been so softened and deepened by sorrow that now it was almost
saint-like in the calm look of peace and love which it wore, with the
soft, snow-white hair surrounding it like a halo of glory. Then his
beautiful cousin Edna, with her sunny hair and starry eyes, and her
wonderful voice filling the home with music. She had married soon
after he entered the family, and went with her husband to a distant,
western city, often returning to visit the old home. How well he
remembered the last visit! Her baby was then nearly two years old; he
could not now recall her name, but she was a little, golden-haired
toddler, with her mother's eyes and voice. His cousin was suddenly
called home by a telegram that her husband was ill; then, in a day or
two, came the news of a frightful railroad accident, a collision and a
fire which quickly consumed the wreck. Edna was rescued from the
flames, unconscious and dying, but no trace could be found of the
little one. Then followed word of the death of Edna's husband; he had
died a few hours later than the accident occurred, ignorant of the
terrible fate of his wife and child.

Next came the memory of his cousin, Guy Cameron, but a few years older
than himself; dark and beautiful like his mother, proud spirited and
headstrong, the pride of his parents, but through him came their most
bitter sorrow. Through fast living and gambling he became deeply
involved, and forged his father's name to several checks, amounting to
nearly a hundred thousand; then, overcome by shame and remorse, he had
fled in the night, no one knew whither. His father payed the full
amount of the debt, without even betraying his son's guilt, and then
for years employed the most skillful detectives, trying to bring back
the wanderer to the love and forgiveness which awaited him; but in
vain, no trace of him existed. The father had long ago given up all
hope of ever seeing his boy again, and doubted whether he were living.