emotion, and
hot tears were falling upon my forehead.

"Lilla?" I whispered.

"Harry!" was breathed upon my cheek, as she came forward.

But this was no time for talking, and rallying my strength I rose to my
knees.

"I thought I should never have reached you, Uncle," I said.

"I did my best, Harry," he whispered; "but I felt that when those
blood-hounds leaped suddenly out from the brake that I must push off."

"But what was that struggle I heard? Did I not hear Garcia's voice?"

"Yes," said my uncle, huskily.

"And where is Tom?"

My uncle was silent.

"Poor Tom?" I said, in an inquiring voice.

"Yes," said my uncle, huskily. "It seemed to me that Garcia and another
reached the canoe Tom was in--the gold canoe, Harry--and that then there
was a desperate fight, which lasted some minutes. I had seized the
paddle, and tried to make for where the struggle seemed to be going on;
but first there was a faint, gurgling cry, and then utter silence; and
though I softly paddled here and there I could find nothing. Harry,
that canoe was heavily laden--the gold was a dead weight--"

"And it took down with it what was worth ten thousand times more than
the vile yellow trash," I cried bitterly--"as true a heart as ever beat.
Oh, Uncle--Uncle! I have murdered as noble a man as ever breathed, and
as faithful a friend. Oh, Tom--Tom!" I groaned.

I could say no more; but out there that night on the breast of the
black, swift stream, with not a sound now but the sobs of the women to
break the terrible silence, I--a woman myself now in heart--bent down to
cover my face with my hands and cry like a child.

At last I grew more calm, for there was work to be done. I found that
we had floated on to a kind of mud bank, and were aground, and I had to
help my uncle to get the raft off, which we managed by drawing the canoe
up alongside, and then getting in and paddling hard, with the effect
that the raft at last floated off, and we retained our places in the
canoe guiding the raft down the swiftly flowing stream.

Morning at last, to bring no brightness to my heart.

We paddled on, the little raft, buoyant as possible, following swiftly
in our wake.

"Harry," said my uncle, almost sternly, "I have thought it over during
the darkness of the night, and I cannot feel that we have been wanting
in any way. Poor lad! it was his fate."

"Uncle," I cried, throwing down my paddle, "I can bear this no longer.
I must go ba