iety had entered the girl's mind; and it
might, perhaps, bear fruit of no engaging quality. In her own home,
however, it was a picture to see her with her younger sisters and
brothers, and invalid mother. She went about very brightly and sweetly
among them, speaking to them as if she was mother to them all, angel
of them all, domestic court for them all; as indeed she was. Here there
seemed no disturbing element in her; a close observer might even have
said (and in this case I fancy I was that) that she had no mind or heart
for anything or anybody but these few of her blood and race. Hers was a
fine nature--high, wholesome, unselfish. Yet it struck me sadly also, to
see how the child-like in her, and her young spirit, had been so early
set to the task of defence and protection: a mother at whose breasts
a child had never hung; maternal, but without the relieving joys of
maternity.

I knew that she would carry through her life that too watchful, too
anxious tenderness; that to her last day she would look back and not
remember that she had a childhood once; because while yet a child she
had been made into a woman.

Such of the daughters of men make life beautiful; but themselves are
selfish who do not see the almost intolerable pathos of unselfishness
and sacrifice. At the moment I was bitter with the thought that, if Mrs.
Falchion intended anything which could steal away this girl's happiness
from her, even for a time, I should myself seek to retaliate--which was,
as may appear, in my power. But I could not go to Mrs. Falchion now
and say: "You intend some harm to these two: for God's sake go away
and leave them alone!" I had no real ground for making such a request.
Besides, if there was any catastrophe, any trouble, coming, or possible,
that might hasten it, or, at least, give it point.

I could only wait. I had laid another plan, and from a telegram I had
received in answer to one I had sent, I believed it was working. I did
not despair. I had, indeed, sent a cable to my agent in England, which
was to be forwarded to the address given me by Boyd Madras at Aden. I
had got a reply saying that Boyd Madras had sailed for Canada by the
Allan Line of steamers. I had then telegraphed to a lawyer I knew in
Montreal, and he had replied that he was on the track of the wanderer.

All Viking and Sunburst turned out to Phil Boldrick's funeral.
Everything was done that he had requested. The great whistle roared
painfully, revol