 CHAPTER XXIX A ROYAL NAME FOR A ROYAL MINE. Daryl was greatly distressed at the unforeseen and mysterious disappearance of the Daryls, for it made him feel as though he had driven them from their home and usurped their rights. The place also seemed very empty and forlorn, without Mary Daryl's winning face and all pervading presence. For, though he had seen but little of her and had reason to believe that she did not feel kindly towards him, he now realized how much his happiness had depended on the knowledge that she was always close at hand. Then, too, the domestic establishment that ran on so smoothly under the supervision of Auntie Nemo was completely broken up. Nellie Trefithin must, of course, return at once to redjacket, and this she did that very day on Mary Daryl's pony, under escort of Mike Connell, who was only too happy to make the journey on foot. The few men employed by Mr. Daryl having been paid off and discharged, the departure of his two remaining friends left the young proprietor entirely alone, in a place as desolate as though it were beyond the reach of human knowledge. The sky was overcast, making the day dark and cheerless, so that, as Peverell wandered disconsolately about his deserted property, the future looked to him as gloomy as the present. There can't be anything in it, he said to himself, as he gazed moodily down the black mouth of the shaft. Of course, the men who sank a fortune in that hole would have found it out long ago if there were. As for those prehistoric workings on which the major counts so largely, I don't believe but what the old fellows who owned them also made a pretty thorough cleanup of everything in them, certainly the few small piles of copper that they left behind would not now pay for their removal. It has all been very pleasant to dream of becoming a wealthy mine-owner, but the sooner I realize that it is only a dream and wake from it to the necessity of earning a livelihood by hard work, the better off I shall be. At any rate, I know I won't spend another day alone in this place. If I did, I should go crazy. No wonder old man Daryl lost his mind under the conditions surrounding him. I don't believe Major Arkel will come back anyway. Why should he, if, as is probable, he has discovered the utter worthlessness of the property? He knows that if he leaves me here alone I must turn up in red-jacket sooner or later and thinks the bad news he has to tell will keep until I do. Well, I shall throw the whole thing up to-morrow and go to him for a job. There isn't anything else for it that I can see. I guess he will give me something to do, and after a while I shall rise to be a flat man, or timber-boss, or even store-keeper, and then, well, then I can settle down and marry some nice girl like Nelly Truffathon, perhaps achieve fame as a local politician, and so end my days in a blaze of glory. Oh, it's a lovely prospect. As for poor Rose, there's no use in thinking any longer of her, and the sooner she forgets me the better. Probably she has ere this, and if so I can't blame her. At length the long day dragged itself weirdly away and darkness found peverell faint with hunger, for he had not had the heart to prepare a dinner, awkwardly attempting to provide himself with something to eat in Auntie Nemo's kitchen. A single lamp threw a faint ray out from the window, and in all that forlorn little mining village it was the only gleam of light to be seen. Suddenly there came a clatter of hoofs, and a cheery, hello the house. Instantly, forgetful of his culinary operations, peverell sprang to the door, just in time to fling it open and welcome Major Arkel, who was alighting from a weary-looking horse. What will you take for your copper princess, my boy? shouted the newcomer as he entered the room, rubbing his hands and sniffing expectantly at the pleasant odors of cooking with which it was pervaded. About five cents, responded peverell. Done! it's a bargain, cried the other, and will settle the details of the transfer after eating the elegant supper that I discover in process of preparation. But you are not cooking half enough. I could eat twice as much as that and still be hungry. Let me show you how. What has become of Auntie Nemo that I find you presiding over her domain? Never mind. Tell me later, after you've called Connell or someone to look after my horse. I will gladly attend to the horse, Major, if you will take charge of the cooking, said peverell, laughing for the first time that day. You see, I am not an expert at this sort of thing, and— No, I should judge not, interrupted the other, glancing comically at the various burned lumpy and muddy failures with which the stove was covered. But I'll do the trick for you if you will look after the beast. Half an hour later the two sat down to a bountiful and fairly well-cooked meal that in the Major's cheery company seemed to pour hungry peverell about as fine a one as he had ever eaten. While it was in progress he told of the happenings of the past week, including the mysterious disappearance of the derals. But as the Major did not seem to have any news to impart in return, he concluded that there was nothing to tell and so forbore to ask questions. It was not until after they had finished supper and was sitting before a cheerful blaze in the cozy living-room of the Daryl House that the Major said, Now, for our bargain, though I could, of course, hold you to that five-cent deal, I won't do so, but will instead make an offer of ten thousand dollars for one half of your half-interest in the copper princess. What? gasped peverell? Yes, I mean it, and, in addition, if you will devote that sum to the development of the mine, I will advance an equal amount, or ten thousand dollars more, for the same purpose. Now, don't say a word until I have explained the situation. By a careful searching of old records and maps I have discovered that the princess' property not only embraces our prehistoric mine, but extends some distance beyond it. I think I have also found out why those who originally laid out this mine started their cuts on the wrong side of their shaft. They evidently knew that ancient workings existed somewhere in this neighborhood, but they were deceived as to their location, for on all the maps I find them marked, but the place thus indicated is always in the opposite direction from that in which we now know them to lie. But, began peverell, wait a minute, of course those old fellows may merely have struck a pocket and exhausted it, but I don't believe so, and am willing to risk twenty thousand dollars on the continuance of the vein. If it is there, that sum of money ought to enable us to reach it from your present shaft, and if we do strike it, why, in the slang of the day, the copper princess is simply a peach. Are you game to accept my offer and go in for raising that kind of fruit? I certainly am. Good. Shake. The bargain is made, and the sooner we get to work, the better. Ten days from that time seized the legal formalities of that quickly concluded bargain settled, and the mining village of copper princess presenting a vastly different appearance from that it did on the melancholy day when peverell was its sole occupant. All its houses are now occupied, and from every window cheery lights stream out with the coming of evening shadows. Peverell occupies the comfortable quarters so long ago provided for the manager, and until recently the home of the Daryls. With him lives a young engineer of about his own age, recommended by Major Arkell, and here, too, are the several offices. The nearest cottage to it is that of our old friends the Trephethans, for Mark Trephethan is captain of the mine, and Tom is shaft boss. Mrs. Trephethan and Nelly have their hands full of caring for both these houses and in providing meals for their occupants. Mike Connell is timber boss, and in timbering the ancient mine as well as the new workings is one of the busiest men in the place. Although he has a cottage of his own, it is still a lonely one, and he is looking eagerly forward to the time when the anxiously expected vein shall be struck. Then, and not until then, and in case it is not struck at all, perhaps never, will Nelly Trephethan become his wife. So it is no wonder that the impatient fellow descends the shaft each day to anxiously inspect the new work. With nearly one hundred sturdy miners engaged on it, and the other tasks necessary to its progress, it is driven by night as well as by day, and in reality advances with great rapidity, though to Connell it seems to creep by inches. The great chimney pours forth clouds of smoke, heavy skips hurry up and down the shaft, there is always a cheerful ring of anvils, rafts of logs lie in the landlocked basin, men and teams are to be seen in every direction, and everywhere is heard the inspiring home of many industries, though as yet not one pound of copper has been brought up from the underground depths. For weeks and months the work goes on with unabated energy. Peverell, always willing to listen to advice and never ashamed to ask it from those more experienced than himself, is everywhere, seeing to everything and directing everything, though he is thinner than when we first met him, and his face has taken on an anxious look, it wears at the same time an expression of greater manliness, self-confidence and determination. Major Arkell has not yet appeared on the scene in person, and only the young proprietor is known as the responsible head of all this bewildering activity. It is bewildering to outsiders to see the long-abandoned Daryl's Folly suddenly transformed into one of the busiest mining camps of the Copper Region, for as yet no one except Connell and the Truffathins know the secret hopes of the proprietors. Even those who are driving the new side-cut far beneath the surface straight as a die towards the prehistoric mine, though on a much lower level, know not what they are expected to find. At length three months have passed since the night on which Peverell sold for ten thousand dollars an undivided half of his interest in the Copper Princess. Since that time he has not once left the scene of his labours, his hopes and his fears. He has not even visited redjackets since the morning that now seems so long ago when he left it in charge of a gang of log-wreckers. Now the money put into his new venture isn't very nearly exhausted. It will hold out for one more payday, but that is all, and as yet only barren rock has come up from that yawning shaft that seems to gulp down money with an appetite at once inordinate and insatiable. A huge pile of rock has accumulated about its mouth. If it were copper rock it would be worth a fortune, as it is, it is worse than worthless, for it contains only disappointed hopes, and yet a point directly beneath the ancient workings has been reached and passed. Is the quest a vain one, after all? Is Peverell's as great a folly as Daryl's ever was? It would seem so, and the young proprietor's heart is heavy within him. He has just received the letter in which Mary Daryl declares the copper princess to be a worthless property. With it in his pocket he visits the mouth of the shaft, intending to descend. As he approaches it, a skip containing several men comes to the surface. When they emerge into daylight they are yelling in delirious excitement. One of them leaps out and runs towards him, shouting incoherently, it is Mike Connell. What has gone wrong? Has there been some terrible accident underground? We've struck it, Mr. Peverell. We've struck the vein, and it's the richest ever node, yells the Irishman. Here's a specimen. Did ever you see the like? It's gold, nothing less. Hooray for us. Hooray for the princess, and hooray for Nell Trefithin. That'll be Mrs. Michael Connell this day week, plays God. A few minutes later every cottage in the settlement holds the specimens of the wonderful rock glistening with glowing metal. Every man is cheering himself horse. The great steam whistle is shrieking out the glorious news, and Richard Peverell, with heavy pockets, is riding like mad in the direction of the red jacket. The copper princess, a royal name for a royal mine, has at last entered as a power the ranks of the world's wealth-yielding properties. End of chapter twenty-nine. CHAPTER XXXV. Peverell inquires in Unshared Interest. An autumn evening, two years later finds Richard Peverell seated in the smoking-room of the university, the most thoroughly home-like and comfortable of all New York clubs. He has dined alone, and now, with a tiny cup of black coffee on the stand beside him, is reflectively smoking his after-dinner cigar. This is his first visit to the east since he left it, more than two years before, almost penniless and well-nigh-friendless on a search for a mine that he was assured would prove worthless when found. Today that same mine is yielding an enormous revenue on which he receives one quarter, or some vastly in excess of his simple needs, for he is still a bachelor, acting as manager of the copper princess, and still makes his home in the little mining settlement on the shore of the Great Western Lake. A fortune twice as large as his own, and derived from the same source, lies idle in the vaults of a trust company, awaiting a claimant who cannot be found. Her name is Mary Darrell, and though from the very first, Peverell has guarded her interests more jealously than his own, and though he has made every effort to discover her, her fortune still awaits its owner. He has not only been disappointed at the non-success of his efforts in this direction, but has deeply hurt that the girl, who has been so constantly in his thoughts during his two years of loneliness, should so persistently ignore him. That she has occupied so great a share of his time for thinking is due largely to the fact that there is no one else to take a like place, for Rose Boniface long since released him from his engagement to her, and he has contracted no other. As soon as he believed his fiance to be in New York, he wrote her a long letter descriptive of his good fortune and promising very soon to rejoin her for the fulfilling of his engagement. To his amazement it was promptly returned to him, endorsed on the outside in Miss Boniface's well-known handwriting. As my last to you came back to me unopened, I now take pleasure in returning yours in the same condition. He immediately wrote again only to have his second letter treated as the first had been, except that this time it came to him without a word. From that day he had heard nothing further from Rose Boniface. Now business had called him to New York, and he had reached the city but an hour before his appearance at the club. Here he gazed curiously about him, as one long strange to such scenes, but who hopes to discover the face of a friend in that of each newcomer. Thus far he had not been successful, nor had he been recognized by any of the men, many of them in evening dress, who came and went through the spacious rooms. Peverell was also in evening dress, for he had conceived a vague idea of going to some theatre, or possibly to the opera, and now he listlessly glanced over the advertised list of attractions in an afternoon paper. While he was thus engaged, a young man, faultlessly apparel'd and pleasing to look upon, stood in front of him, regarded him steadily for a moment, and then grasped his hand, exclaiming, If it isn't old Dick Peverell, come to life again after an age of burial. My dear fellow, I am awfully glad to see you. Where have you been, and what have you been doing all these years? Heard you had gone west to look up a mine, but never a word since. Hope you found it, and that it turned out better than such properties generally do. Was it gold, silver, iron, or what? You may imagine its nature from its name, answered Peverell, who was genuinely glad to meet again his old college friend, Jack Langdon. It is called the Copper Princess. The Copper Princess, cried the other, by Jove, you don't say. Why, that mine is the talk of Wall Street, and if you are any part in it, you must be a millionaire. Not quite that, laughed Peverell, though I am not exactly what you might call poor. I should say not, and only wish I stood in your shoes. But you see, here Langdon plunged into a long account of his own affairs, to which Peverell listened patiently. Finally the former said, By the way, what have you on hand for tonight? Nothing in particular was thinking of going to some theater. Don't you do it, beastly shows all of them, nothing but vaudeville nowadays. Come with me, and I'll take you to a place where you will not only have a pleasant time, but will meet old friends as well. You remember old Owen, dig Owen we used to call him. Yes. Well, he is here in New York, and has made a pot of money. No one knows how, shady speculations of some kind, and between ourselves it is liable to slip through his fingers at any moment. But that's neither here nor there. He married about a year ago, a nice enough girl who has apparently lived broad all her life, rather a lightweight but entertains in great shape. Always has something good on hand, generally music. They give a blowout to night, to which I am going to drop in for a while, and of course they will be delighted to see you. So don't utter a protest, but just come along. In accordance with the program thus provided, Peverell found himself an hour later entering the drawing-room of a spacious mansion on Upper Fifth Avenue. It was already so well filled that it was some time before the newcomers could approach their hostess. When they finally reached the place where she was talking and laughing with a group of guests, her face was so averted that Peverell did not see it until Langdon had said, Good evening, Mrs. Owen. You have gathered together an awfully jolly crowd, and I have taken the liberty of adding another to their number. He is an old college friend of your husbands, and quite a lion just now, and he is the owner of the famous copper princess that everyone is talking about. May I present him, Mrs. Owen, my friend Mr. Richard Peverell. From this Langdon stepped aside, and Peverell found himself face to face with Rose Boniface. For an instant she was deadly pale. Then, with a supreme effort, she recovered her self-possession, the blood rushed back to her cheeks, and extending her hand with an engaging smile she said, This is indeed an unexpected pleasure, Mr. Peverell, and I am ever so much obliged to Mr. Langdon for bringing you. Did he know, I wonder, that you were an old friend of mine as well as of Mr. Owen's? No? Then the surprise is all the pleasanter. Oh, there is Mama, and she will be delighted to meet you again. Mama, dear, here is our old friend Mr. Peverell. So pleased and hope we shall see you often this winter. Other newly arrived guests demanding Mrs. Owen's attention at this moment, Peverell found himself born away by her mother, who had greeted him effusively, and now seemed determined to learn everything concerning his western life to its minutest details. To accomplish this she led him to a corner of the conservatory for what she was pleased to term an uninterrupted talk of old times, but which really meant the propounding of a series of questions on her part and the giving of evasive answers on his. While Peverell was wondering how he should escape, a hush fell on the outer assembly, and some one began to sing. At first sound of the voice the young man started and listened attentively. Who is she? he asked. Nobody in particular, responded Mrs. Bonife, only a girl whom Rose met when she was studying music in Germany. I fancy she spent her last cent on her musical education, which I fear won't do her much good after all. For as you must notice she is utterly lacking in style. She is dreadfully poor now, and earns a living by singing in private houses. All her voices really fit for you know. So Rose takes pity on her and has her in once in a while. Why, really, they are giving her an encore. How kind of them! And yet they say the most wealthy are the most heartless. But you are not going, Mr. Peverell. I haven't asked you half. Peverell was already out of the conservatory and making his way towards the piano as though irresistibly fascinated. For her encore the singer was giving a simple ballad that had been very popular some years before. The last time Peverell heard it was when cruising along a shore of Lake Superior and it had come to him from somewhere up in the red-stained cliffs. At last he had found Mary Daryl, his Mary as he called her, in quick resentment of the smiling throng about him who paid her to sing for them. He did not speak to her then, nor allow her to see him, but when, with her task finished, she left the room, his eyes followed her every movement, and lingered lovingly on her beautiful face. For it was beautiful. He knew it now, as he also knew that he loved her, and always had done so from the moment that he first beheld her a vision of the cliffs. When, accompanied by faithful anti-nemo, she left the house, he was waiting outside. She tried to hurry away as he approached her, but at the sound of his voice she stood still, trembling violently. An hour later in the modest apartment far downtown, which was the best her scanty earnings could afford, he had told his story. Mary Daryl knew that she was no longer a poor, struggling singer, but an heiress to wealth greater than she had ever coveted in her wildest dreams. But to this she gave hardly a thought, for something greater, finer, and more desirable than all the wealth of the world had come to her in that same brief space of time. She knew that she was loved by him whom she loved, for he had told her so. Even now he stood awaiting with a trembling eagerness for answer to his plea. Could she not love him a little bit in return? Would she not go back with him as his wife, to the house that had been hers, and still awaited her by the shores of the Great Lake? But I thought, Mr. Peverell, I mean, I heard that you were engaged. So I was. I was engaged to Mrs. Owen, at whose house you sang this evening, and where I was so blessed as to find you. But she thought me unworthy and let me go. I know I am unworthy still. But, Mary dear, won't you give me one more chance? Won't you take me on trial? Well, then, on trial, she answered, though in so low a tone that he barely caught the words. In another instant he had folded her in his arms, for he knew that she was wholly his, and that in this copper princess his interest was unshared.