very long."

Anderson started. With his eyes on the ground and his hands in his
pockets, he inquired the reason for this opinion.

"Arteries--first and foremost. It's a wonder they've held out so long,
and then--a score of other things. What can you expect?"

The speaker went into some details, discussing the case with gusto. A
miner from Nevada? Queer hells often, those mining camps, whether on the
Canadian or the American side of the border.

"You were acquainted with his family? Canadian, to begin with, I
understand?"

"Yes. He applied to me for help. Did he tell you much about himself?"

"No. He boasted a lot about some mine in the Comstock district which is
to make his fortune, if he can raise the money to buy it up. If he can
raise fifteen thousand dollars, he says, he wouldn't care to call
Rockefeller his uncle!"

"That's what he wants, is it?" said Anderson, absently, "fifteen
thousand dollars?"

"Apparently. Wish he may get it!" laughed the doctor. "Well, keep him
from drink, if you can. But I doubt if you'll cheat the undertaker very
long. Good night. There'll be a train along soon that'll pick me up."

Anderson went back to the cabin, found that his father had dropped
asleep, left money and directions with Mrs. Ginnell, and then returned
to his own lodgings.

He sat down to write to Delaine. It was clear that, so far, that
gentleman and Mrs. Ginnell were the only other participants in the
secret of McEwen's identity. The old man had not revealed himself to the
doctor. Did that mean that--in spite of his first reckless interview
with the Englishman--he had still some notion of a bargain with his son,
on the basis of the fifteen thousand dollars?

Possibly. But that son had still to determine his own line of action.
When at last he began to write, he wrote steadily and without a pause.
Nor was the letter long.

CHAPTER IX

On the morning following his conversation with Anderson on the Laggan
road, Delaine impatiently awaited the arrival of the morning mail from
Laggan. When it came, he recognised Anderson's handwriting on one of the
envelopes put into his hand. Elizabeth, having kept him company at
breakfast, had gone up to sit with Philip. Nevertheless, he took the
precaution of carrying the letter out of doors to read it.

It ran as follows:

"DEAR MR. DELAINE--You were rightly informed, and the man you
saw is my father. I was intentionally deceived ten years ago
by a fa