 10. Heroism Rewarded As the story of Peverell's brave act preceded him, it gained so remarkably in passing from mouth to mouth that by the time it reached Mrs. Trephethon she received a confused impression that by some unheard of bravery the young man had saved all in the mine, including her mark and her tome, from instant destruction. Her information having come direct from her dearest friend, Mrs. Penny, she could not doubt its truth, nor had she time to do so before the triumphal procession of miners appeared and halted at her door. Calling upon Nellie to support her, the worthy woman started forth to greet her heroes, and welcome them with all the warmth of her overflowing heart. As she gained the roadway, she was so blinded by thankful tears that she could not distinguish one person from another, but impulsively flung her arms about the neck of the first man she encountered, who happened to be Mike Connell, and treated him to a hearty embrace. Yim on a kiss lass, she called to Nellie, as she loosed her arms and made towards another victim, not too good for thy brave lads this day. O Mark-man, but I be proud, O being thy earthly wife, stead o' seen thee in heaven this blessed minute! This last was addressed to a bewildered stranger whom Mrs. Trephethon had mistaken for her husband, and who was vainly striving to escape from her encircling arms. Hard crazy mother to be hustlin' men in public street thise' way, I be shamed of thee! cried Mark Trephethon, catching hold of his wife at this comment. Come along in house, or if he must have men to hug, take me or Tom here, or maester Perel, who deserves it best of all for this day's work. Nothing loath to do as she was bid, Mrs. Trephethon made a third effort to express her feelings toward Perel in her own peculiar fashion. But he laughingly evaded her, and she fell instead upon the neck of another astonished stranger who happened in her way, and upon whose head she tearfully called down the choicest blessings of heaven. Thees saved me from widow's grave, lad, which the same I frequently says to Miss Penny, I did hope never to live to see, but our heavenly father knows best, and if hits his will, but there I'm that's overset. Nelly, ye master Perel, a kiss, lass, and token of thy forgiveness for what he has done this day. So saying, the well-meaning blunderer released her victim with a view of allowing Nelly a chance to express her gratitude, and for the first time caught sight of his face. These not Dick Perel, she cried, what's thee mean by scandalizing honest woman these way? Isn't thee shamed on the self-thou-grade lump? The poor man tried in vain to explain his innocence of act or intention, but his voice was drowned in the boisterous laughter of his mates, amid which the crowd gradually dispersed, while Mrs. Trephethon, still exclaiming against the duplicity of men in general, was led into the house by her husband and son. In the meantime Miss Nelly had demurely shaken hands with Mike Connell, who was still gasping in astonishment at the warmth of Mrs. Trephethon's reception. Then she kissed her father and Tom, stole one look at Perel's face, and murmuring something about seeing after supper ran into the house. Although Perel had not forgotten the promise to his newly-made friend to inform Nelly of his own engagement as soon as possible, he had no chance to do so that evening, for supper had hardly been eaten when he began to receive visitors eager to congratulate him upon his recent act of heroism. Among these was Major Arkell, general manager of the mine, whom the young man had never before met. The Trephethons were thrown into a flutter of hospitable pride by the coming to their cottage if so distinguished a visitor, but after a courteous greeting to them, he devoted his entire attention to him whom he had come purposely to see. After the latter had been introduced to him as Mr. Perel, he asked so many questions concerning the recent incident as to finally draw out the whole story of that day's experience. He was a good listener, though a man a few words, and during Peverell's narrative gained a very fair idea of our young miner's education and capabilities. When the latter had finished, the Major asked him if he proposed to continue his career as a miner. I expect I shall have to, answered Peverell, seeing that I am entirely dependent upon my own exertions for a livelihood, and have no knowledge of any other business. Do you mind telling me what led you to choose this line of work from all others? Because, replied Peverell, flushing, finding myself in red jacket without a dollar, I was glad to accept the first job that offered. And we was only too glad to have him for one of us, Major, broken Mark Truffathon, seeing as how he introduced himself by saving our Tom's life. Indeed, I hadn't heard of that. How did it happen? Glad of an opportunity for singing his young friend's praises, the Timberboss eagerly related the incident, and when it was told, the manager said with a smile, Well, sir, you seem to have such a happy faculty for life-saving, that I don't know but what we ought to appoint you Inspector of Accidents. Seriously, though, I am very glad to have a man of your evident ability and steady nerve with us. And if you are inclined to remain in our employ, I shall make it my business to see that your interests do not suffer. So, if you will call at my office about eight o'clock to-morrow morning, I shall be pleased to have a further talk with you. Thank you, sir, rejoined Peverell. I will not fail to be there. After the great man had departed, the Truffathans indulged in many speculations as to what he intended to do for their guest. Nura was Peverell himself devoid of a hopeful curiosity in the same direction. Mayhap he'll make ye storekeeper, suggested Mrs. Truffathan. And if he only will, ma'ester Peverell, me and Miss Penny'll take all our trade to thy shop, though they do say, as our company gingums won't wash, while has for white goods they've pour a stock and haul red jacket. Same time, there's many other little things can be ad-reasonable, and Miss Penny's a lady as isn't above buying her own groceries, which hits a treat to see her taking, a taste o' this or a nibble o' that, and always givin' shopkeeper the benefit o' her experience. Storekeeper be damned, growled Mark Truffathan. Tisn't likely they'll try to make a counter-jumper out o' a lad of ma'ester Peverell's size and way to fist, to say nothing o' his learnin'. No, no. More like, he'll get a good berth underground, formin' of gang, or plat boss, or somethin' like that. Tom thought it might be a job connected with the railroad, which was his own ambition, while Nellie, usually so ready with her tongue, for a wonder kept silent and made no suggestions. On the following morning, when promptly at eight o'clock, Peverell presented himself at the manager's office, his patience was tried by being compelled to wait in an anti-room for more than an hour while the great man dispatched an immense amount of business with many subordinates. Richard could not help overhearing many of the conversations carried on in the private office, and as he listened was filled with admiration at the decisive readiness with which the manager disposed of one difficult problem after another. Finally, when all the others had been dismissed, Peverell was summoned to the inner room, where, after a word of regret at having kept him so long in waiting, the manager baited him be seated and said, Mr. Peverell, it is so evident that you have been accustomed to a position far removed from that of a common labourer, that I am desirous of knowing something more of your life before entrusting you with a responsibility. Do you mind telling me what brought you to this section of country? No, sir, I don't know that I do. I came out here ruined in fortune, though no fault of my own, to seek information concerning an old, and I believe, a long ago abandoned mine known as the Copper Princess. Ahm! I remember hearing the name, and if I am not mistaken, it applied to a worthless property on which a large sum of money was squandered many years since. Yes, sir. How are you interested in it? My father was an owner, and I was his heir. I am glad you told me this, and relieved to find that no worse folly has caused a gentleman to seek employment as a common miner, though I cannot hold out the slightest hope that you will ever recover a dollar from your property. Still, I will make inquiries and let you know anything I may learn. Thank you, sir. Do you know anything about boats? Ask to the manager, abruptly changing the subject. Yes, sir. I have handled boats more or less all my life. Good! Then I want you to take charge of a gang of men whom you will find awaiting you on the company's tug down at the landing. They are going some distance up the coast, to recover whatever may be found of a valuable timber raft belonging to us and wrecked near Laughing Fish Cove during the Gale of two days ago. All our logs are marked W.P. If you find any such in possession of other parties you may lay claim to them, and even take them by force if necessary. The tug will leave you at the Cove, where you will establish a camp, and to which you will raft the recovered logs, holding them against your return, which will be in about a week. Here is a note of introduction to her captain. Do you understand? Yes, sir, I think I do. Then you may start at once. Very well, sir. And the young man, realizing his employer's love of promptness, rose to leave. By the way, said the other, as he reached the door, is your name Perl? No, sir, it is Peverall. Richard? Yes, sir. Then this letter is probably for you. It has lain here several days awaiting a claimant. With this Major Arkel handed the young man a dainty-looking missive that he acknowledged to be for him, and which, as he thrusted into his pocket, he saw with a thrill of joy was addressed in the handwriting of Rose Boniface. CHAPTER XI. Nellie Trephethon finds a letter. Having donned his best suit for the interview with Major Arkel, and realizing that his mind-clothing would be more in keeping with the job now on hand, Peverall first hastened home to make the change. He found only Mrs. Trephethon in the house, and at sight of him she expressed an eager curiosity to learn the result of his recent interview. It's all right, he laughed, as he bounded up the narrow stairway leading to his room. I am to turn sailor, and be captain of a craft somewhere up the coast. Wait, Aver, can lad mean? exclaimed the perplexed woman. I must sailor. Did Aver anyone ear the like of that? Oh, maester Perl, be Aver coming back? Of course I am, shouted Peverall from the little upper room in which he was hastily changing his clothing. I shall be back whenever my ship comes in, which will probably be in a week, or it may take a few days longer. There's a wreck, you know, and I am going to save the pieces. But I'll be down directly. A rake, gasped Mrs. Trephethon, and he am in it. Save us, but will be worse than down-shaft. Shaft be dry land, anyway, but they awful see that rageth like a lion seeking whom it may devour. Oh, maester Perl! Yes, coming. The young man was just then making a hasty transfer of the contents of his pockets, besides cramming into those of his working-suit several articles that he imagined might prove useful. At that moment an impatient whistle from the timber-train that would take him to the landing warned him that he had no more time to spare, and snatching his hat, he sprang down the stairway. Good-bye, Mrs. Trephethon, he cried. Tell Miss Nelly she shan't be turned out of her own room any longer. And tell her, but never mind. Only tell her that I will have something important to say to her when I come back. Give her my love, and—here his words were cut short by another shrill whistle from the weighting train, and peverell ran from the house, shouting back, good-bye, as he went, and leaving the good woman gasping with the breathless flurry of his departure. When Nelly Trephethon reached home, and half-hour later she received such a confused account of what had just happened, as caused her rosy cheeks to take on a deeper color, and filled her with a strange agitation. Mr. Perrell had gone to be a sailor, and would come back very shortly as captain of a ship. Perhaps it would be a splendid great steamer, such as she had seen lying at the Marquette Ordox. He had left his love for her, he would have something of the greatest importance to say the next time he saw her, and she was not to be turned out of her room again. What could he mean by that? And what a very strange thing it was for a young man to say. Since he had said it to her mother, though, it must have meant, oh, dear, how she wished she had not gone out that morning, and what an endless time a whole week seemed. At length, anxious to escape from her mother's torrent of words, and to be alone with her own thoughts, the blushing girl fled upstairs on the pretense of putting Mr. Perrell's room in order. The very first thing she spied on entering the room, about which his belongings were scattered in every direction, was a letter lying on the floor, and almost hidden beneath the bed. Picking it up, she was surprised to find it sealed, and still more so to note that it was addressed to Mr. Richard Peverall. How could that be? Was there guest living among them under an assumed name? No, of course he wouldn't do such a thing, and this letter must have been handed to him by mistake. That was the reason why he had not opened it. The names were very much alike in sound, though so differently spelled. Besides, this letter was addressed in a lady's hand writing, and evidently came from some foreign country. She knew Mr. Perrell was an American, because he had said so. He had also told them that he was, so far as he knew, without a relative in the world, so there was no sisters or young lady-cousins to write to him. She did not think he could be engaged, because he had never mentioned the fact, while all the other young men of her acquaintance were in the habit of talking very freely about their best girls if they were so fortunate as to have such. Besides, Mr. Perrell had not just left his love for her, and a message to the fact that he had something very important to tell her. She would keep this hateful letter, though, and confront him with it the moment she saw him again. Then his manner would convey the information she wanted. How she did long to open it and just glance at its contents. The impulse to do this was so strong that only by thrusting the letter into her pocket could she resist it. Now the innocent cause of her perplexity seemed to burn like a coal of fire until she again drew it forth. A dozen times that day did she do this, with the temptation to set her doubts at rest by tearing open the sealed envelope, always assailing her with increased force. Finally, to her great relief, an honorable way of escaping this temptation presented itself. She would return the horrid letter to the post-office. From there, if it were indeed for Mr. Perrell, he would in due course of time receive it, as he had before. While, if it were intended for someone else, it would be delivered to its rightful owner. This plan was no sooner conceived than executed, and as the troublesome missive disappeared through the narrow slit of the post-office letter box, the girl heaved a sigh of relief. When, the very next day, that identical letter was advertised on the post-office bulletin, and Nellie Truffathon saw the notice, she was assured that she had done the right thing. For ten days that advertisement stared her in the face whenever she visited the office, and then to her great satisfaction it disappeared. Rose Bonn Faye's message from across the sea had gone to the place of dead letters. But Nellie believed that it had at last found its rightful owner. On the very evening of Perrell's departure, Miss Nellie's old sweetheart, Mike Connell, joined her for a walk, and after much preliminary conversation, finally plucked up courage to ask if Mr. Perrell had told her anything of importance before going away. What should he have to tell me? asked the girl evasively. He might have told you that he liked you better than any other girl in the world, was the diplomatic answer. You know he'd never say a thing like that, Mr. Connell, cried and Nellie blushing furiously. Well, then, he might have said he was already bespoke. I don't believe it. It's true all the same. What right have you to say so? asked Nellie, whose face was now quite pale. The right of his own words, for he told me so himself. Who is she? he didn't say. Where does she live, then? Well a bit, do I know. I don't believe you know anything at all about it. You were just making up a story to tease me. Tasing you is the last thing I'd be thinking of, Nellie, darling, except it was Tasing ye to marry me. No, Alana, it's the truth I'm telling you. And if you can't believe me, just ask him. At the same time, I'm so hurted that ye should be caring whether he's bespoke or no. I will ask him, answered the girl, and until I do I'll thank you, Mr. Connell, never to mention Mr. Perrell's name again. Not even to tell you what a brave, bold lad he is and how handsome? You'd not be telling me anything I don't know. But, darling, when he tells you with his own mouth that he's already bespoke and not to be had at all, you'll not refuse a bit of hope to one who loves the very ground trod by your two little feet. Good night, Mr. Connell, here's the door and I'm going in. In the meantime, Perrell, after bidding good-bye to Mrs. Trephethon, had been whirled away by the little timber-train to a landing on the lakeshore, where he found the tub Bronco awaiting him. Toeing behind it was a late, double-ended skiff, and on its narrow deck he saw three men, dressed very much as he was himself, whom he knew must be those chosen to assist him in his forthcoming labours. One of them was a bright-looking French-Canadian, while the others were evidently foreigners of the same class as the car-pushers in the mine. The captain of the tug was a Yankee named Spillens. The latter glanced over the note from Major Arkell that the newcomer handed him and said, All right, Mr. Perrell, if you're ready for a start I am. Yes, replied Perrell, I'm ready. And in another minute they were off. As they got under way the young leader of the expedition walked aft to make the acquaintance of his men. He was annoyed to find that, while two of them were brawny fellows who looked well fit for work, they could not muster a dozen words of English between them. Noting his efforts to converse with them, the third man, who introduced himself as Joe Pintod, came to his assistance. No good you talk to them, Dago-Feller, Mr. Perrell, he said. They can speak the English no more as woodchuck. You tell them, damn lazy scoundrel, they understand pretty good. But by gar you talk like white man, you got kick it in his head. Realizing the truth of Joe Pintod's words, Peverall left the others to a stolid smoking of their long-stemmed pipes, and sought whatever information their more intelligent companion had to give concerning their present undertaking. He quickly discovered that, while Joe was as ignorant as himself of that coast, he was an expert raftsman and logger. He also found that the tug carried a good supply of rope, axes, pike-poles, and other things necessary for the work in hand. After having satisfied himself on these points, Peverall gazed for a while at the bleak, rock-bound coast along which they were running, and then suddenly be thinking himself of a pleasure that he had reserved for a leisure moment, he entered the pilot-house, and sitting down on a cushioned locker behind Captain Spillins, who stood at the wheel, began to feel in his pockets. As he did this his movements grew more and more impatient, until finally, with a muttered exclamation, he turned the entire contents of his pockets out on the cushion. Lost something? asked the Captain, looking around. Yes. Not your money, I hope. No, but a letter that was worth more to me than all the money in the world. Phew! whistled the Captain. Must have been important. And of Chapter 11 CHAPTER 12 OF THE COUPRA PRINCESS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Read by Betsy Bush. May 2009. THE COUPRA PRINCESS by Kirkman Rowe. CHAPTER 12. A VISION OF THE CLIFFS Rose Boniface had acted more from impulse than from real feeling when she consented to become engaged to Richard Peverall. As a popular Oxford man and stroke of the Varsity Eight, he was a hero to attract almost any girl. His wealth was by no means to be despised, and it would certainly be a fine thing to have him in devoted attendance during her proposed trip to Norway. She was greatly disappointed at his failure to rejoin them and wondered what he could mean by announcing the loss of his fortune when he was still the owner of a gold mine. Miss Rose said, gold mine to herself, because while Peverall had not specified the character of his property, she imagined all Western mines to be gold-bearing. Of course, too, their owners must be wealthy. So she hoped for the best, and while realizing that she was not at all in love, determined to let her engagement hold good for the present. Under the circumstances she felt that this decision was very creditable to her loyalty, which, however, was sadly shaken by Owen's first gossipy letter from New York. With its disquieting news still fresh in her mind, she received a second that completely dispelled her illusions, and caused her to wonder how she could ever have been so foolish as to engage herself to a man to whom she knew so little. The second letter, which contained the cruel distortion of facts penned by Mr. Owen in red jacket, followed the bona-fase to Norway where it was received. Actaeon the impulse acquired by reading it, Rose immediately sat down and wrote to Peverall the letter that reached him in due course of time, but which he lost without even having broken its seal. He had joyfully recognized the handwriting of its address, but was at the same time puzzled to know how Rose could have learned his present abiding place. Now he was filled with consternation at his carelessness. Of course, though, he must have dropped the letter while transferring the contents of his pockets, and he would surely find it again upon his return to the Traffithan Cottage. At Laughing Fish Cove the log-wrecking party was landed shortly afternoon near a fishing settlement of half a dozen forlorn appearing huts that stood in an irregular row on the beach. A few slatternly women and twice their number of wild-eyed children were the sole occupants of the place, for its men were away in the lake tending their nets. Again with Peverall disappointed to learn from the appearance and conversation of these people that they also were foreigners speaking a language unintelligible to him, though evidently comprehended by two of his men. And Spillens explained that, uninviting as the place looked, it was one of the very few harbours on that rugged coast in which the logs of which Peverall was in search could be rafted and held in safety until called for. So the stores and supplies were landed, and after the tug had steamed away Peverall set his men at work building a camp and collecting firewood, while he took the skiff for an exploration of the adjacent coast. On the south side of Laughing Fish Cove he found logs bearing the letters W.P., strewn for miles along the shore, and piled in every conceivable position among the rocks on which they had been hurled by furious seas. As he studied the situation our young rec-master foresaw an immense amount of labour in dislodging these and getting them once more afloat. Besides those on the rocks he discovered a number on the beach of the Cove that could easily be got into the water. But all that he thus saw formed only about one half of what had been contained in the great raft. The remainder must then be found somewhere to the northward of Laughing Fish, and accordingly, late in the afternoon, he headed his skiff in that direction. The coast that he now skirted was very wild but grandly beautiful, with precipitous cliffs brilliant in the reds and greens of mineral stains, and surmounted by a dense growth of sharp pointed furs, among which were set groups of white birches. At the base of the cliffs, and amid the detached masses fallen from them, the crystal blue waters plashed softly, and an occasional wood-duck in iridescent plumage swam hurriedly from his course with anxious backward glances. In the upper air nesting gulls in spotless white darted to and fro, noting his movements with keen red eyes. He found some logs near the Cove, but the farther he went from it, the scarcer they became, until finally he passed a mile or so of coast without seeing one. Strange, muttered the young man, what can have become of them? There are hundreds still missing, and they should be somewhere in this vicinity. He was paddling almost without a sound, and skirting a ledge of black rocks that jetted well out into the lake as he spoke. At that same moment something impelled him to glance upward and encounter a vision startling in its unexpectedness. On the very face of the cliff, some twenty feet above the water, and leaning slightly forward, stood a girlish figure gazing directly at him with great wondering eyes. For an instant she seemed to read his very soul. Then a vivid flush sprang to his cheeks, and with a quick movement she disappeared as though the solid rock had opened to receive her. Peverell rubbed his eyes and looked again. She certainly was not there, nor could he discover the slightest indication of an opening through which she could have vanished. Yet even as he looked, a pebble leaped, apparently from the unbroken face of the cliff, and dropped with a clatter to the ledge close beside him. He paddled farther out into the lake, but still failed to discover any aperture. He moved for short distances both up and down the coast without any better success. To be sure, a stunted cedar growing out from the rocky face near where the girl had disappeared showed the existence of either a crevice or ledge, and she might have concealed herself behind it, though Peverell did not believe she had. Even if she were thus hidden, how had she gained that perilous position? How would she escape from it? Who was she, and where had she come from? She was not one of the Fisher women from the Cove, of that he was certain. Neither was she an Indian girl, for the face indelibly pictured in his memory was fair and refined. It had not struck him as being beautiful, except for the glorious eyes that had looked so fully into his. He called several times. Are you in trouble? Can I help you? But only mocking echoes and the harsh screams of a flock of gulls circling about the very place where he had seen her came to him in answer. He saw it for some means a-scaling the cliff, but found none. Everywhere it was smooth and sheer. Never in his life had the young man been so baffled and never so loath to own himself beaten. But he was at length warned by the setting of the sun to give over his quest and rovigorously back the way he had come. Twilight was merging into darkness when he again entered a laughing-fish Cove, but a bright fire on the beach served at once as a beacon and a promise of good cheer. A comfortable cabin of poles and bark had been built by the men during his absence. In it were all the stores, as well as a quantity of spruce-bows and hemlock tips for bedding. The chill evening air was filled with a delicious fragrance of burning cedar, mingled with the pleasant odor of boiling coffee. Several whitefish nailed to oak planks were browning before a bed of glowing coals, while slices of a lake trout were sizzling together with bits of bacon in a frying pan. Supper was ready, as Joe, who superintended the culinary operations, announced with a shout the moment Peverell's skiff graded on the beach. Several of the fisher-huts were lighted, others had bright fires blazing outside their doors, the boats had returned and there was a pleasant bustle about the little settlement. Peverell did not mention the perplexing vision he had seen that afternoon, though it continually haunted him and a decided desest was given to his work of the coming week by the thought of this mystery. As he lay on his couch of fragrant bows that evening planning how to solve it, he almost forgot his unhappiness of the morning, and a little later a new face had found its way into his dreams. CHAPTER XIII. There were no laggards in the camp on the following morning, for, with the stars still shining, Peverell routed out his men from their fragrant couches. Leaving Joe Pintod to prepare breakfast, he and the two Bohemians began to form their raft by rolling to the water's edge, setting afloat and securing such logs as lay nearest at hand. While the wreckers were thus engaged, the fishermen appeared from their huts, and made ready for another day on the lake. They were in ill-favored set, and Peverell was not pleased to note that they seemed to make sneering remarks concerning the task on which he was engaged. Beneath their jeers his own men grew so surly and restless that he was relieved when Joe called them to breakfast. After that all hands set forth in the skiff to work at the logs stranded along the coast to the southward. As they pulled out of the cove, Peverell noticed that a small schooner, which he had believed belonged to the fishermen, was still at anchor, and that the crew lounging about her deck were of a different class from those who had already gone out. He was about to call Joe's attention to this when that individual hailed the schooner and began to carry on a lively conversation with the men. When they had passed beyond hearing, Peverell questioned the Canadian concerning the strange craft, and was told that she was not a fishing boat, but a trader. What did she trade in? Plenty ting. Cognac, silk, dope, everything. Plenty trade, plenty mon. Much better as mining. May par bleu, I am a fool, me. Why? Zat I, too, will not trade and make ze mon. Why don't you, if you prefer that business? Ah, it is because I am what you call too mooch a cow, a hard cow. I like not ze jail, me. You mean a coward? Wee wee, cowhard. I am too cowhard for ze jail. Oh! cried Peverell, suddenly enlightened. Your friends of the schooner are smugglers. Wee, Zat it, smuggler and bind be, some time maybe. Sold it, catch it. Take all ze mon, put it in jail. Bim, no good. That is the first time I ever heard of any smugglers on this coast, remarked Peverell reflectively. I wonder if they can have taken our logs. Log, no, replied Joe contemptuously. Canada, he get plenty log, too plenty. Traders take ze drapeau, ze viski, ze tic-tic, but not ze log. Here the conversation was ended by the arrival at the scene of labour, and the work of dislodging stranded logs was begun. All day long they toiled at the difficult task, straining, lifting, stumbling, rolling, and slipping on the wet rocks, receiving many a bump and bruise, pausing only for a bite of lunch and a whiff of pipe-smoke at noon, and finally returning to laughing-fish at dusk, slowly towing into the cove a small raft of the recovered wreckage. For several days longer, sometimes in clear weather but often in cheerless rain and fog, was the task of collecting such logs as had stranded on the south side of the cove continued. At length the last one was gathered from that direction, and our wreckers were ready to explore the coast lying to the northward. Not since the day of his coming had Peverell found leisure to revisit the place where he had seen the mysterious figure of the cliffs. He had thought often of her, and had so longed to return to that part of the coast that only a strict sense of duty had prevented him. Now that he was free to unravel the mystery if he could, he was as excited as a boy off for a holiday. He proposed gathering the few logs already seen on that side of the cove, and then to continue his exploration indefinitely in search of others. But to his amazement, as they skirted the rugged coast, not a log was to be found. In vain did the young leader stand up in his boat, the better to scan every inch of the shore. In vain did he land on the rocks and scramble over their broken surface. There were no logs, and yet he knew they had been there five days earlier, nor had there been any storm during that time to dislodge them. Joe, your smuggling friends must have taken them. No, he got plenty log in Canada him. What then has become of them? Don't know, maybe dev catch him. It is a human devil of some kind then, and he must have carried them still farther up the coast, for we should have seen them if they had been carried the other way. Oui, monsieur. Give way, men, I'm going to find those logs if they are anywhere on, quina point. So the light skiff shot ahead, with the two Bohemians rowing, and the others in bow and stern, watching the coast sharply as they slipped past its rocky front. They were already beyond any point at which Peverell had previously discovered logs, and were rapidly approaching the place of his mystery. He could see the jutting ledge, and was eagerly scanning the cliffs above it, when suddenly Joe held up his hand with a warning. Hissed! Without a word Peverell gave the signal to stop rowing, which was instantly obeyed. In the silence that followed they heard a sound of singing. It was a plaintive melody, sung in a girlish voice, untrained, but full and sweet. To his amazement Peverell recognized it as one of the very latest songs of a popular composer, whose music he had supposed almost unknown in America. The voice also seemed to be close at hand. At first the men gazed about them with an idle curiosity, but not seeing any one, they began to grow uneasy, and cast frightened glances on every side. By gar! exclaimed Joe Pintod, and on the instant the singing ceased. The sudden silence was almost as disquieting as the voice of an invisible singer, and again Joe uttered his favorite exclamation. Where did that voice come from? To know, Miss Peverell. One time I tink from rock, one time from water. First he come from the hare, then he got under the pateau. By and be he come every somewhere. One time I tink angel, me. One time dev. Mostly I tink dev. It seemed to me to come from the cliff, said Peverell. We, so I tink. Though I could also have sworn that it rose from the water. We, Miss you, you say dev, I say dev. By this time Peverell had again got his craft under way, and they were skirting a wooded islet that lay off the coast just beyond the black ledge. This island appeared to be nearly cut in two by a narrow bay. But as those in the boat seemed to see every part of this, and were convinced that it contained no logs, they did not enter it. The young leader was not giving much thought to either logs or his immediate surroundings just then, for his ears were still filled with the music that had come to him as mysteriously as had the vision of a few days earlier. So lost was he in reflection that he started abruptly when the rowing again ceased, and one of the men whispered hoarsely, Miss Peer, look! He was pointing back from where they had come, and turning, Peverell saw, apparently gliding from the very shore of the island they had just passed, a small schooner. She must have sailed from the bay into which they had gazed, and yet they believed they had scrutinized every inch of its surface. By Gar, cried Jim Pantad, some more dev, Hain! It looks to me like the boat of your friends the smugglers, suggested Peverell studying the vessel closely. Oui, certainment, it is the sheep of the trader. Then we will go and see where she came from, for so snug a hiding-place is worth discovering. So the skiff was put about and rode back to the little bay by secting the island. Then it was found that there were two small islands, and that the supposed bay was really an inlet from the lake, which made a sharp angle at a point invisible from outside. This channel led to a narrow sound, from which another inlet cut directly into the rock-bound coast. It was quite short and quickly widened into an exquisite basin, completely landlocked and very nearly circular. Peverell had followed this devious course with all the eagerness of an explorer, but his men had cast many nervous glances over their shoulders, and even Joe Pantad had expressed a muttered hope that they were not being led into some trap. As the skiff emerged from the high-walled inlet and shot into the smiling basin, an exclamation burst from all four men at once. Z'log! cried Joe. Our logs! echoed Peverell. The others probably used words meaning the same thing. At any rate they talked excitedly and pointed to the opposite side of the basin, where was more a raft of logs. Two men with a yoke of oxen were in the act of hauling one of these from the water, and a deeply marked trail leading up the bank to a point of disappearance showed where a number of its predecessors had gone. Give way! cried Peverell, and the skiff sped across the basin. As it ranged alongside the moored raft, the young leader recognized the deep cut mark of the white pine mine on one floating stick after another. Hold on! he shouted. Where are you going with that log? None of your business! answered one of the two men, who was old and white-headed. What are you doing here anyway? I've come after these logs. Well, you can't have them, and you want to get out of here quicker than you came in. With this the man spoke a few words to his assistant, who immediately ran up the trail and disappeared, while Peverell, with a hot flush mounting to his forehead, ordered his crew to pull for the shore. CHAPTER XIV A Vein Effort to Recover Stolen Property Leaping ashore the moment his skiff graded on the beach, Peverell stepped directly up to the old man and said, I do not know who you are, sir, nor what claim you make to ownership in these logs. I do know, however, that they bear the private mark of the white pine mining company, and formed part of a raft recently racked on this coast. Having been sent here expressly to secure this property, I am determined to use every endeavour to carry out my instructions. Such being the case, I trust that you will not interfere with the performance of my duty. I shall, though, answered the old man gruffly, I have need of this timber and consider that I have adjust claim to it, seeing that it was cast up by the sea on my land. I have also expended a great amount of labour in bringing it to this place, so that if I had no other claim I have one for salvage, which will doubtless be allowed when presented in proper form, replied Peverell, in the meantime I am ordered to take possession of all logs that I may find bearing the W.P. mark. Supposing I forbid you to do so. I am also authorized to use force if necessary to carry out my instructions. That sounds very much like a threat, my young friend, but I declined to be frightened by it, and still forbid you to touch those logs. Joe Pintod had followed his young leader ashore, and stood close beside him during the foregoing interview, while the Bohemians still remained in the skiff. Now, without daining any further reply to the old man, Peverell, in a low tone, ordered the Canadian to provide himself and the others with poles, and if possible shoved the raft off from shore, adding that he would join in their efforts the moment he had cast loose its moorings. As Joe started to obey these instructions, Peverell ran to the father of two ropes holding the raft and unfastened it. While he did this, the old man stood without remonstrance, but with a cynical smile on his thin lips. Finding himself uninterrupted, Peverell fancied that no resistance was to be offered after all, and with the carelessness of confidence, stooped to cast off the remaining line. The next instant a nervous shove from behind sent him head foremost into the lake. Just then there came a rush of feet, and as Peverell, half choked by his sudden bath in the icy water, rose to the surface and attempted to regain the bank, he was seized by half a dozen pair of brawny hands belonging to as many wild-looking men who had been summoned from beyond the ridge. In another minute the young wrecker was lying in the bottom of his own skiff, and it was being towed out to sea by a second boat, manned by two lusty foreigners. In its stern sheets sat the old man holding a cocked revolver, from which he threatened to put a bullet through Peverell's head if he lifted it above the gun-well. Under the circumstances, the latter, though raging at his sudden discomforture, deemed it best to lie still and await, with what patience he might, the result of his misadventure. So he was towed for a long distance, and when his skiff finally seemed to have lost motion and be drifting, he ventured to lift his head. Before he could see over the side there came the sharp report of a pistol. A bullet whistled close above him, and he was ordered to remain quiet until he received permission to sit up. Peverell obeyed, and for nearly half an hour longer lay motionless. Then his craft struck bottom, and he sprang up in alarm. He was alone, and his skiff was bumping against a black ledge that he recognized as the one lying at the foot of the mysterious cliff. Not a boat was to be seen, but on the rocks close at hand lay the oars that had been taken from his skiff when he was thrown into it. They were not lying together but at some distance apart, as though flung there, but whether from a boat or from some other direction he could not tell. At any rate he was thankful to have them, and at once began to plan how he should use them in connection with his regained liberty. At first his indignation and his recent treatment suggested that he row back in attempt at least to recover his men, but a moment's reflection showed the folly of such a scheme. Not only would he again be confronted by an overpowering number of opponents, but it was probable that his men were even then on their way overland to laughing-fish, for he did not believe the old man would dare hold them prisoners. At any rate it would be best to rejoin them before planning to gain possession of the logs in the basin, upon which he was still determined. Although the young man did not know it, he was keenly watched during these moments of indecision by a pair of bright eyes that peered down from the cliff above him. When he shiveringly re-entered his skiff, the eyes were hastily withdrawn lest he should look up. A little later a young girl of slight figure, clad in a dark gown, stepped out from the cliff, as from behind a curtain, and half concealed by the stunted cedar, watched him curiously until he was lost to view. He is ever so different from an ordinary minor, she soliloquized, and looks as though he might be interesting. I wonder if I shall ever see him again. I am glad I thought of getting these oars and throwing them down, even if he has used them to go away with. What will Papa think when he finds them gone? Anyhow, the monotony of this stupid place has been broken at last, and now, perhaps, something else will happen. I believe something must be going to happen very soon, anyhow, from the way Papa talks. Dear Papa, how queerly he acts, and how I wish I could see him happy just once. Now I must go and tell him that the schooner is coming. With this the girl apparently performed a miracle, for she seemed to push aside a portion of the red-stained cliff and disappear behind it without leaving a trace of an opening. As Peverall rode steadily down the coast he saw in the distance a schooner that he believed to be the one belonging to Joe Pintot's friends beating up from the southward. For a moment he thought of trying to board her, but quickly dismissing the idea doggedly pursued his way. Arriving at the Cove he was disappointed to find his camp vacant and without a sign that his coming companions had returned to it. Building a fire he made a pot of coffee and prepared to await their coming with what patience he could command. Some of the Fisher children came and watched him shyly, but when he attempted to draw them into conversation they only laughed and ran away. Feeling very lonely and undecided as to what he should do he had just begun to eat a lunch of cold food prepared by Joe that morning when a plan occurred to him. It was to set forth on foot to meet his men, failing to do which he could at least spy out the enemy's strength. I can discover, too, what lies behind that ridge and where they are carrying those logs, he said, have allowed. So impatient was he to put his plan into execution that he would not wait to finish his lunch. But swallowing a mug of coffee and stuffing a few hard biscuits into the ample pockets of his now nearly dry coat he set forth. Coming across a well-trodden, though narrow trail, leading in what he believed to be the right direction, he turned into it and followed it briskly for several miles. It was by this time late afternoon, and long shadows were creeping over the rugged upland country that he traversed. No house was to be seen, nor evidence of human occupation. All the large timber having been long since cut off, the region was now covered with the ragged second growth and thick underbrush. Extensive tracks had been burned over and thousands of small trees standing in the melancholy attitudes of death added to the desolation of the scene. Every now and then he passed yawning prospect holes, offering mute evidence of disappointed hopes. At length he caught a whiff of smoke. A dull clang of machinery came to his ears, and with curiosity keenly aroused he pursued his way more cautiously. A few minutes later he reached a point where he caught glimpses of buildings evidently belonging to a mine. A tall shaft house was surrounded by various shops in a cluster of dwellings, most of them very humble in appearance, though one was large and pretentious. Although smoke was curling lazily from a lofty stack that he imagined belonged to an engine-house, and though there was a certain amount of noise as of machinery in motion, there were no other signs of activity about the place. In fact, it was pervaded by an aspect of desolation and desertion. There were no hurrying men nor teams. Most of the buildings appeared to be permanently closed. Doors were boarded up, windows were broken, and the smaller dwellings were almost hidden by the ranked growth of weeds and bushes that closely surrounded them. As Peverell stared in perplexity at this melancholy picture, his attention was attracted by a sound of voices near at hand. He gazed eagerly, and even took a few steps forward, hoping to meet his own party, but was grievously disappointed to see instead a group of three burly strangers clad in mining costume. As they drew near he recognized them to be Bohemians, and was particularly struck by the hideous expression of him who seemed to act as leader of the party. Although the newcomers started at sight of the young man, and regarded him with scowling faces as they drew near, they did not speak nor offer to molest him, but passed by in silence. Disappointed that they were not his own men, but relieved to be so easily rid of them, Peverell again turned his attention to the semi-deserted mining village that had so aroused his curiosity. So deeply interested did he at once become in watching a team of oxen that had just appeared, hauling a log over a rise of ground, that he did not hear the approach of stealthy footsteps, nor note the crouching forms creeping up behind him. Closer and closer they came, until they were within reach of their unconscious victim. Then they sprang upon him all at once, and he was hurled to the ground. In another moment his arms were bound, and he recognized in one distorted face, leering close above his own, that of the man who had led the attack on him in the mine, and whom he had sent reeling away with a broken jaw. Now the cruel face was rendered doubly hideous by a grin of triumph, and Peverell's heart sank within him as he gazed into the pitiless eyes that lighted its brutish features. Even driven from red jacket by the Cornishmen under Mark Trephethon, the Bohemian Rothsky and his fellow car-pushers of the White Pine Mine, who had assaulted Peverell on his first day of work, had taken to the woods like wild beasts. Although restrained of their evil intentions for the time being, they were more bitter than ever against the innocent cause of their trouble, and swore with strange foreign oaths to kill him if the chance should ever offer. In the meantime they must find some way of gaining a livelihood, and this finally came to them at a queer, semi-abandoned mine across which they stumbled in the course of their wanderings. Its proprietor was an old man who seemed half crazed, and the mine that he was working in a small way with a pitifully inadequate force was absolutely barren of copper. But as he paid their wages promptly, the car-pushers were willing to do his bidding without asking questions. One of the scarcest things about this mine was timber with which to support the roof of the only drift that was being opened. The proprietor tried to force his men to continue their work and open the drift far beyond a point of safety without the protection of this most necessary adjunct, and when they refused he became furiously angry. Their job seemed to have come to an end, and all hands were about to leave, when, by an opportune gale, a supply of the desired material was cast up on the adjacent coast. Every able-bodied man was immediately set to work collecting this, and in towing raft after raft of the heaven-sent logs to a land-locked basin they lay but a short distance from the mine. In this way, even before the arrival of Peverall and his wreckers, a large amount of the needed timber had been secured. Although the miners were well aware that their employer carried on some other business besides the development of his barren property, they neither knew nor cared to know what it was. They discovered that it was in some way connected with the coming and going of certain vessels, but beyond this they were kept in ignorance. When one of these vessels reported a party of laughing-fish also engaged in a search for wrecked logs, the exertions of the white-haired mine-owner were so redoubled that before Peverall found time to work the coast to the northward of his camp, it had been stripped of every log. Having obtained possession of his coveted timber, the old man was now making every effort to have it transported to the mouth of his shaft. Believing that, if he could once get it underground, his right to the logs would remain unquestioned. He had, however, only partially succeeded in affecting this removal when, to his chagrin, Peverall appeared on the scene of activity. After the defeat of the young man's attempt to capture the raft, his two Bohemians were easily induced to join the enemy by promises of better pay than they were getting. As for Joe Pintod, he was indeed taken prisoner, but was purposely so loosely guarded that he found no difficulty in escaping to the schooner of his friends, which came into port that afternoon, and on which he was carried off to Canada. Thus was the white pine wrecking expedition completely broken up, and only its leader was left to carry out, if he could, its objects. Even he had been set adrift in an orless skiff, with the hope that he would be so long delayed in reporting to his employers as to allow time for the captured logs to be put underground before another demand for them could be made. This disposition of the captive was only known to the old man, who had, unobserved, removed the oars from Peverall's skiff, and so it was generally supposed that he would return directly to his camp at Laughing Fish. Rothsky, the Bohemian, who was one of those working near the log raft, had instantly recognized Peverall, and at sight of him his hatred blazed up with redoubled fury. To be sure his broken jaw had healed, but so awry as to disfigure his face and render it more hideous than ever. Now to find the man who had done him this injury, again interfering with his plans, filled him with rage. Although he had no opportunity for venting it at the moment, he easily learned from Peverall's late followers the location of their camp, and believing that the young man would be found there, he planned an attack upon it for that very night. He had no difficulty in inducing the two other car-pushers who had been driven from the white pine to join him, and as soon as they quit work that evening they set forth on foot. They had not settled on any plan of action, and though Rothsky was determined to kill the man he hated, his associates imagined that the young fellow was only to be punished in such a way as would cause him a considerable degree of suffering, and at the same time afford them great amusement. They did not anticipate any interference with their plans, even should they be discovered, for the fishermen of the Cove were their fellow countrymen, bound to them by the ties of a common hatred against all native-born Americans. Now it so happened that the only daughter of the erratic old mine-owner had set forth that afternoon, accompanied only by her ever-present bodyguard, a great lean stag hound, on a long gallop over the wild uplands surrounding her home. For that desolate little mining village was the only home Mary Darrell had known since the death of her mother five years before, or when she was but twelve years of age. Until then she had lived in New England, and had only seen her father upon the rare occasions of his visits from the mysterious west in which his life was spent. To others he was a man of morose silence, suspicious of his fellows, secretive and unapproachable, but to his only child, the one light of his darkened life and the sole hope of his old age, he was ever the loving father tender and indulgent. Giving her to the only home he had to offer, he had made all possible provision for her comfort and happiness. The most recent books were sent to her, and the latest music found its way into the wilderness for her amusement. Himself, a well-educated man, Ralph Darrell devoted his abundant leisure to her instruction, and to the study of her tastes. Only two of the girl's expressed wishes were left ungratified, and both of these he had promised to grant when she should be eighteen years of age. One of them was that they might return to the home of her childhood. To this her father's unvarying answer was that business and a regard for her future welfare compelled him to remain where they were until the expiration of a certain time. When it should be elapsed he promised that she should lead him to any part of the world she chose. Cheered by this promise she planned many an imaginary journey to foreign lands, and many a long hour did Mary and her father beguile in arranging the details of these delightful wanderings. Her other wish was for a companion of her own age, but this was so decidedly denied that she knew it would be useless to express it again after the first time. It would mean ruin, absolute ruin and beggary for us both, said Mr. Daryl, if I were to allow a single stranger, young or old, of even ordinary intelligence to visit this place. From the time you are eighteen years of age you shall have plenty of friends of your own choosing, but until that date, dear, you must be content with only the society of your old dad. So Mary Daryl studied, sang, read, rode, and thought the fanciful thoughts of girlhood alone. But always with impatient longings for the coming of the magic hour that should set her free. And yet she was not wholly alone, for her father would at any time neglect everything else to give her pleasure, while she also had both Sandy, her stag hound, and Fuzz, her pony for devoted companions. She was allowed to ride, win, and wear she pleased, with only these attendants on two conditions. One was that she should never visit, nor even go near a human residence. And the other that, when on such excursions she should for greater safety dress as a boy, when she was thus costumed her father was very apt to call her by her middle name, which was Heaton. And so it was generally supposed, by the few minors who caught glimpses of her, that the old man had two children, a girl and a boy, who was not only younger than she, but devoted to horseback riding. Only one duty devolved upon the girl, thus strangely reared, and that was the keeping watch for certain vessels that came in from the Great Lake, and sailed away again at regular intervals. So Mary Darrell was out riding on the evening that witnessed the capture of Richard Peverell by his bitterest enemies, and as twilight deepened into dusk, she was urging her way homeward with all speed. In the meantime the three rascal car-pushers, who had come so unexpectedly upon him who they sought, and had so easily affected his capture, led Peverell directly away from the trail he had been following to a place in the woods known only to Rothsky. Close to where they finally halted and began preparations for the punishment of the prisoner, who was also expected to afford them infinite amusement by his sufferings, yawned a great black hole. It was of unknown depth, and was nearly concealed by a tangle of vines and bushes. Rothsky had stumbled upon it by accident only a few days before, and now conceived that it would be a good place in which to dispose of a body in case they should happen to have one on their hands. Trusting to the wildness of their surroundings and the absence of human beings from that region to shield them from observation, they ventured to build a fire by the light of which they proposed to carry out their devilish plans. Besides binding Peverell's arms, they had, on reaching this place, taken the further precaution of tying his ankles, so that he now lay on the ground utterly helpless, a prey to bitter thoughts, but nerving himself to bear bravely whatever torture might await him. All at once the deep baying of a hound and a crash of galloping hoofs coming directly towards the firelight sounded through the wood. With a fierce implication Rothsky gave a hasty order at which all three men sprang to where Peverell was lying in deepest shadow. Hurriedly picking him up, they carried him a short distance, gave a mighty swing, and flung him from them. There was a crash of parted bushes and rending vines, a stifled cry, and all was still. A minute later, when a boyish figure on horseback swept past the fire, the three men seated by it only aroused a fleeting curiosity in Mary Daryl's mind as to what they could be doing in such a place at such a time. CHAPTER XVI LOST IN A PREHISTORIC MINE After the disappearance of the young rider, whose coming had so materially changed the plan of Rothsky and his associate scoundrels, they gazed at each other for a full minute in sullen silence. In the minds of two of them the anger of their disappointment was mingled with the cowardly terror at the awful deed they had committed, and they began fiercely to denounce their leader for having implicated them in it. Rothsky answered, with equal bitterness that he was no more to blame than they, and the quarrel grew so furious that for a time seemed as though only the shedding of blood could settle it. At length they were quieted by realizing sense of the common danger that might only be averted by mutual support. So they finally swore, with strange oaths never to betray each other, or breathe a word to a living soul of what had just taken place. Of course they did not for a moment anticipate that their crime would ever come to light, though each was secretly determined that if it did he would promptly secure his own safety by denouncing his comrades. With the patching up of this truce and the forming of their worthless compact, the three wretches prepared to depart from the scene of their villainy. First, however, they advanced cautiously as close as they dared to the edge of the pit into which they had flung their victim, and peering into its blackness listened fearfully. No sound broke the awful silence, and of a sudden the three men, moved by a common impulse, turned and fled through the darkness, stumbling and falling, clutched at by invisible fingers as they ran, and uttering inarticulate cries of terror. At that same moment their victim was lying on a ledge of rock deep down in the ground beneath them, still alive, but numbed almost into unconsciousness by the hopeless terror of his situation. In the first agony of falling he had instinctively exerted a strength of which he would have been incapable under other circumstances, and burst asunder the bonds confining his arms. He believed that in a moment he would be dashed into eternity, and yet a medley of incongruous and commonplace thoughts darted through his mind with inconceivable rapidity. Enumerable scenes of his past life glanced before him, but more distinct than any, sharp and clear as though revealed by a flash of lightning, shown the wonderful eyes that had appeared to him from the red-stained cliffs overlooking the Great Lake, and strangest of all the face seemed to smile at him with a promise of hope. In another instant all the pictures were blotted out, and his whole world was gulfed by a rush of water in which he sank to fathomless depths. After an endless space of time he began slowly to rise until at length to his infinite amazement he found himself still alive and gasping for a breath of the blessed air into which he had once more emerged. Although his ankles were still bound, his arms were free, and with the instinct of self- preservation strong within him he began awkwardly and feebly to swim. Dazed, fettered, and weighted by clothing as he was, his utmost efforts would not have carried him more than a few feet, and then he must have sunk forever in that black flood. But strength given him was sufficient, and ere it was exhausted his hands struck a shelf of rock upon which he finally managed to drag himself. On the flinty platform that he thus gained he lay weakly motionless, chilled to the bone, dimly conscious that he had for a time been granted respite from death, but without a hope that it would be much longer extended. After a while the sense that he still lived became stronger, and with it grew the desire for life. Animated by it he sat up and made an effort to loosen the cord that still bound his ankles. It was tightly knotted, and the knot was so hardened with the water that for a long time his trembling fingers could make no impression on it. Still he persevered, and his exertions infused him with a slight warmth. Finally the knot yielded, and his limbs were free, though so numbed that it was several minutes before he could stand up. Knowing nothing of his surroundings he dared not move more than a step or two in any direction for fear of again plunging into that deadly water. Nor could he, without stretched arms, touch a wall on any side. Oh, for a light! he groaned, that I might at least see what my tomb looks like. Then he remembered that he actually did possess both matches and a candle, it having been impressed upon him by old Mark Trephethan that a miner should never be without those necessities, so he had always carried them in a pocket of his canvas mining suit. But were they not rendered useless by the double wedding he had received that day? With trembling eagerness he drew forth the silver match safe that Tom Trephethan had insisted on presenting to him in token of his gratitude. It had been called watertight. Would it prove so in this time of his greatest need? A match was withdrawn, and he struck it against a roughened side of the safe. There was a splutter of sparks, but no flame. That, however, was more than he had dared hope for, and sitting down that he might not run the chance of dropping his precious box, he rubbed it briskly in his hands until it was thoroughly dry before making another attempt. This time there was no result, the head of the match having evidently flown off. With breathless anxiety he tried a third, and was thrilled with joy by having it burst into flame. Tom Trephethan's gift had redeemed its promise. By the fitful flair of that match whose cheery gleam filled him with new hope, Peverall saw that he was sitting on the rocky floor of a cave or chamber that extended back beyond his narrow circle of light. On the other side, and but a few inches below him, without spread a gleaming surface of water, smooth as a mirror and black as ink. These things he saw, and then his match burned out. The darkness that followed was so absolute as to be suffocating, but before striking another of the priceless fire-sticks, he drew forth the candle that had lain quietly in his pocket for several weeks, awaiting just such an emergency as the present. After many reluctant sputterings, it too yielded to his efforts, and finally burned with a steady flame. With it he was enabled to make a much more careful and extended survey of his surroundings. To his great delight he discovered, lodged here and there on the rocks above him, a considerable quantity of dry wood in small pieces. Whittling some shavings from one of these he soon had a brisk blaze that not only drove the black shadows to a respectful distance, but imparted a delicious warmth to his chilled body. I'll live to get out of this place yet and confront the wretches who tried to murder me, see if I don't," he cried, filled with a new courage inspired by the magic of light and warmth. They probably think me safely dead long ere this, but they'll find out that I am very much alive, and I'll know them when I see them again, too. What could have been their object? And what can they have against me? I wonder if the old fellow who claimed the logs could have set them on to me. I hate to believe it, but the whole business looks awfully suspicious. There's a deep gain going on somewhere, but I may live to fathom it yet. What made them start up in such a hurry and fling me down this hole? I remember they were scared by the barking of a dog in the approach of someone on horseback. Whoever that chap was, I'll owe him a debt of gratitude if ever I get out of here. And if I don't? Well, perhaps he did me a good turn anyhow, for they would probably have killed me in the end. Hello! I had forgotten these hard tack. Mechanically thrusting his hands into the pockets of his coat during the soliloquy, Peverell found the hard biscuit that he had slipped into them on leaving camp. Now, though these were soggy with water, they were still in a condition to be handled, and carefully withdrawing them he ate one hungrily, but laid the other near the fire to dry. Then he removed his clothing, rung what water he could from each article, rubbed his body into a glow, redressed, and again sat beside his fire for a further consideration of his strange situation. As he could arrive at no conclusion regarding an attempt to escape until the coming of daylight, which he hoped would reach him with sufficient clearness to disclose the nature of his prison, his thoughts finally drifted to other matters. He recalled his lost letter, and wondered if Rose would grow very impatient at his long delay in answering it. If she does, she must, he remarked philosophically, for I am not in a position to hurry the males just now. How distressed the dear girl would be, though, if she could see me at this minute. That is, if she didn't find it a situation for laughter, and by Jove, I believe she would, for she laughs at most everything. I only hope we will have the chance to laugh over it together some time. In some way thoughts of Rose led to a recollection of that other girl, whom he had only seen for an instant, and when a little later, in spite of his desperate situation, he actually fell asleep on his bed of cold flint, it was the face of the unknown that again haunted his dreams. CHAPTER XVII. UNDERGROUND WANDERINGS. In peverell next awoke he was wracked with pain, and so stiff in every joint that an attempt to move caused him to groan aloud. A faint light dimly revealed his surroundings, but these were so strange and weird that for several minutes he could not imagine where he was nor what had happened. Slowly the truth dawned upon him, and one by one the awful incidents of the past night began to shape themselves in his mind. I have been murdered and drowned, he said to himself. Now I am entombed alive, beyond reach of hope or human knowledge. Never again shall I see the sunlight, never revisit the surface of the earth, never look upon my fellow nor hear the voice of man. I may live for several days, but I must live them alone. Alone must I bear my sufferings, and finally I must die alone. What have I done to deserve such a fate? Is there no escape from it? I shall go mad, and I hope I may. Better oblivion than a knowledge of such agony as is in store for me. And yet why should I lose faith in the power that has thus far miraculously preserved me? I am alive and in possession of all my faculties. I shall not suffer from thirst. I even have a certain amount of food, together with the means for procuring fire. I am not left in utter darkness, and above all I have not yet proved by a single trial that escape is impossible. How much better off I am in every respect than thousands of others who, finding themselves in desperate straits, have yet had the strength and courage to work out their own salvation. What an ingrate I have been! What a coward! But with God's help I will no longer be either. Having thus brought himself to a happier and more courageous frame of mind, Perveral stiffly gained his feet, moved his limbs, and rubbed them until a certain degree of suppleness was restored. He was about to build a fire but refrained from so doing upon reflection that his stock of fuel must be limited, and that a fire might be of infinitely greater value at some other time. Now the prisoner began a careful survey of his surroundings by the feeble light finding its way down the shaft into which he had been flung. As it did not materially increase, he concluded that full day had already reached the upper world. It was also brightest in the middle of the black pool which showed that the opening through which it came must be directly above that point, and that the shaft must be perpendicular. Perveral called the whole a shaft because, while he could neither see to the top, nor clearly make out the outlines of the portions nearest at hand, it still impressed him as being of artificial construction, while the opening at one side, in which he stood, also seemed very much like a drift or gallery hewn from the solid rock by human hands. The impossibility of scaling the sheer smooth walls of the shaft was evident at a single glance, and Perveral turned from it with a heavy heart. At the same moment his attention was attracted by a sharp squeaking, and to his dismay he made out a confused mass of something in active motion about the precious biscuit that he had left beside his fireplace. With a loud cry he sprang in that direction, only to stumble and fall over a small pile of what he took to be rocks that lay in his path. Without waiting to regain his feet he flung several of these at the animals that had discovered and were devouring his hard tack. A louder squeak than before showed that at least one of his missiles had taken effect, and then there was a scampering away of tiny feet. When he reached the scene of destruction his only biscuit was half eaten, while beside it lay a huge rat that had been killed by one of his shots. With plenty of rats and plenty of rocks I need not starve at any rate, he remarked grimly. The idea of eating rats is horrid, of course, but I don't know why it should be. Certainly many persons have eaten them, and in an emergency I don't know why I should be any more squeamish than others. What heavy rocks those were, though, and what sharp edges they had. I expect it will be a good idea to collect a few and have them ready for my next rat-hunt. With this Peverall returned to the pile over which he had stumbled, and to his amazement found it to be composed of hammers and hatchets, chisels, knives, and other tools that he was unable to name. All of quaint shape, and all made of tempered copper. In an instant the nature of his prison became clear. He was in a prehistoric copper mine, opened and worked thousands of years ago by a people so ancient that even tradition has not to say concerning them. The knowledge thus thrust upon him filled the young man with awe, and he glanced nervously about him, as though expecting to see the ghosts of long ago delvers advancing from the inner gloom. The thought that he was probably the first human being to set foot on that rocky platform, since the prehistoric workmen had flung down their tools on it for the last time, was overpowering. At the same time, if this were indeed a mine, it must also be a tomb, for it was not likely to have an exit save the unscalable shaft glimmering hopelessly above him. Here, then, was the end of all his hopes, for of what use or strength and courage in a place where neither could be made available. What hold? Where had the rats come from? Certainly not from the water, nor was it probable that they had come down the shaft, for its rocky sides appeared as straight and smooth as those of a well. Why should they have come at all to a place that could not contain a crumb of food, except the scanty supply that he had brought? If that alone had attracted them, why had they not found it hours before while he was asleep? Might it not be possible that they had come from a distance in search of water after a night of feasting elsewhere? They had, at any rate, run back into the gallery, and by following the lead thus presented, he might find some place of exit from that terrible subterranean prison. Even if it were only a rat-hole, he might be able to enlarge it, now that he had tools with which to work. At this moment, how he blessed the dear old friend at whose insistence he had provided himself with the matches and candle that now rendered it possible for him to explore the dark depths of that prehistoric drift. Before starting on the trip that he was now determined to make, he ate the portion of biscuit left by the rats. He also so far overcame his repugnance as to skin and clean the dead rat, which he placed on a ledge of rock for future use in case he should be driven to it. Then he lighted his candle and set forth. For a considerable distance the gallery was open and fairly spacious, while everywhere the young explorer found scattered on its floor the ancient and quaintly shaped tools that told of the great number of workmen employed in its excavation. After a while his way began to be encumbered by piles of loose rock that seemed to have been collected for the purpose of removal. Now his way grew narrower and rougher until in several places it was nearly blocked by masses of material that had fallen from the roof or caved in from the sides. Over some of these he was forced to creep on hands and knees, flattening himself into the smallest possible compass. At length the gallery came to an end, though from it a small winds or passage barely wide enough to crawl through led upward at a sharp angle. At the bottom of this peverell hesitated. His precious candle had half burned out and would not much more than serve to carry him back to the place from which he had started. Besides this the passage before him was so small that a person entering it could buy no possibility turn around if he should desire to retrace his course. It was even doubtful if he could back out after having penetrated a short distance into the winds. I don't know why I should care, though, said peverell bitterly, for even if I should get stuck in there it would only be exchanging a tomb for a grave. At the same time one does like to have room even to die in and I don't believe the risk is worth taking. There isn't the slightest chance of a hole like that leading anywhere and so long as I can draw a breath at all I'm going to draw it in the open. So with last spark of hope extinguished and with a heart like lead the poor fellow turned to retrace his steps to the place in which he proposed to spend his few remaining hours of life and then to yield it up as bravely as might be. As he did so a little gusty draft of air blew the flame from his candle and plunged him into absolute darkness. Peverell was so startled by this occurrence that for some time he plunged blindly without stretched hands back over the way he had come, forgetting in his bewilderment that he still had matches with which to relight his candle. Air this was suggested to him he had retraced about half the distance, guided solely by the sense of feeling, though not without innumerable bruises and abrasions. When he at length reached the end of the gallery and stood once more beside the black pool into which he had been flung what little of daylight found its way into those dim depths was rapidly fading. It only served while he gathered every stick of drift that some former high stage of water had deposited on the rocky platform, and then another night of almost arctic length was begun. To escape the awful gloom Peverell lighted a fire and sat beside it in forlorn meditation, carefully feeding it one stick at a time, and longing for some sound to break the oppressive silence. Finally, faint with hunger, he recalled the bit of game that he had stored away ready for cooking. Fetching this he quickly had it spitted on a sliver of wood and broiling with appetizing odor over a tiny bed of coals. It smelled so good as it sizzled and browned that all his repugnance vanished, and he was only impatient for it to be cooked. The moment it was so he began to devour it ravenously, regretting at the same time that he had not half a dozen rats to eat instead of one. He felt better after his meal, and a new courage crept into his heavy heart as he again sat in meditation beside his flickering blaze. Why he should feel more hopeful he could not imagine, for no glimmer of a plan for escape had presented itself. It was not until he had once more stretched himself on his flinty bed with a block of wood for a pillow, and was trying to forget his wretchedness and sleep that he knew. Then he sprang up with a shout. What an idiot I am! What an absolute idiot! Where did the draft that blew out my light come from? From up that sloping passage, of course, and a draft can only be caused by an opening of some kind to the outer air. If I can only find it, I believe I shall also find a way out of here. So, old man, cheer up and never say die. You'll live to stand on top of the world again yet. See if you don't. The light of another day was dimly penetrating those underground depths before our prisoner was prepared to make his last effort for liberty. For all the aid he would receive from the pitiful amount allotted to him he might as well have started hours earlier. But while he longed to make the trial he also dreaded it. The thought of that box-like passage through which he would be obliged to force his way, without a chance of retreat, was so terrible that he shrank from it as we all will shrink from anything dangerous or painful. Then, too, if he should escape, he would want daylight by which to guide his future movements. So, after tossing for hours on his hard bed and considering every aspect of his situation, he finally fell into a troubled sleep that lasted until morning. For breakfast he had only water, but of this he drank as much as he could, for he knew not when he would find another supply. Then he selected such of the copper tools as he thought might prove useful. Into one of them, which was a sort of a pick, he fitted a rude wooden handle, while the others, which had cutting edges and were in the nature of knives, he thrust into his pockets. Having thus completed his simple preparations, he took a long look that he well knew might be his last, on the daylight that was now so doubly precious, and then resolutely faced the inner gloom of the ancient mine. Determined to save his candle for use in the unknown winds, he slowly groped his way through utter darkness, and finally reached what he believed to be the end of the drift. Now he lighted his candle, and for a moment his unaccustomed eyes ached from the glare of its flame. He was, as he had thought, at the lower opening of the narrow passage, and, as he noted its steep upward slope, he was agitated by conflicting hopes and fears. It might lead to liberty, but there was an equal chance that in it he should miserably perish. At the very outset he was confronted by a condition that was not only disappointing, but exerted a most depressing influence. There was no draft such as he had believed would issue from the winds. In vain did he hold up a wetted finger. In vain watch for the slightest flicker in the flame of his candle. The air was as stagnant as that of a dungeon. And yet there certainly had been a decided current at that very place only a few hours before. Puzzled and disheartened, he was still determined to press forward, and stooping low he entered the passage. It almost immediately became so contracted that he was compelled to creep on hands and knees, by which method he slowly and painfully overcame foot after foot of the ascent. A little later he was forcing his way with infinite labour and inch at a time through a space so narrow that he was squeezed almost to breathlessness. He was also bathed in perspiration and was obliged to recruit his strength by frequent halts. At length his candle, which had burned low, was about to expire. With despairing eyes he watched its last flickering flame, feeling only the terror of impending darkness and heedless of the fact that it was burning his hand. With the quenching of its final spark he resigned himself to his fate. He had fought his best, but the odds against him were too heavy, and now his strength was exhausted. Closing his eyes and resting his head wearily on his folded arms he prepared for the oblivion that he prayed might come speedily. Lying thus and careless of the passage of time he was visited by pleasant dreams and which were mingled happy voices, laughter, and singing. He rested on a couch of roses and cool breeze fanned his fevered brow. He was free as air itself and surrounded by illimitable space. All at once he became conscious that he was not dreaming, but was wide awake and staring with incredulous eyes at a glimmer of light, so well lying and perceptible that only by passing a hand before his face and so shutting it out for an instant could he be certain of its existence. At the same time an unmistakable draft of air was finding its way to him, and a voice as of an angel came to his ears faintly but distinctly with a snatch of a gay song. With hot blood surging to his brain the poor fellow tried to call out, but the words died in his parched throat, and he could only emit a husky whisper. Then he struggled forward and found himself in a larger space that widened rapidly until he was able to sit up and move his arms with freedom. He had reached the end of the passage, for above his head he could feel only a smooth surface of rock. The singing had ceased, the ray of light had faded into darkness, and the draft of air was no longer felt, but Peverell had noted the aperture by which it had come, and could now thrust his hand through this into a vacant space beyond. It seemed to him that the rock above his head was but a slab of no great thickness, and he tried to lift it. For some minutes he could not succeed, but finally he secured purchase, got his shoulders directly beneath it, and with a mighty upward heave moved it slightly from the bed in which it had lain for centuries. With another powerful effort it was lifted the fraction of an inch, and though it immediately settled back in place the prisoner knew that the time of his deliverance had come. He could not raise the great slab of bodily, but with wedges he could hold the gain of each upward lift. His first aid of this kind were the copper knives that he had brought with him. Then by a dim light that came through the crevice thus opened he used his pick to break off fragments of rock which were slipped under the slab. It was thus raised and supported an inch at a time, until at length an opening nearly two feet in width was presented. The moment this was affected Peverell drew himself through it, and with a great sigh of thankfulness for his marvelous escape lay for some minutes recovering breath after his tremendous exertions and studying his new surroundings. Although the small amount of light greeting his eyes as he lifted the rock had shown that he was not to emerge into the open air, he could not help a feeling of disappointment at finding himself still under ground. To be sure he was in a spacious chamber or cavern he could not tell which, illuminated by a faintly diffused light that gave promise of some connection with the outer world, but he feared this might prove to be another unscalable shaft, in which case he would be no better off than before. In fact he might find himself worse off, for he was desperately thirsty and could see no sign of water. It would be pretty hard lines if I should be compelled to return to my old well for a drink, he said to himself. As soon as he had recovered breath Peverell rose to his feet and began to walk slowly towards that part of the cavern where the light seemed brightest. As he went he looked eagerly on all sides for some trace of the singer whose voice had inspired him with a new hope at the moment of his blackest despair, but no person was to be seen or heard. At the same time he found abundant proof that human beings had recently visited this place, and would doubtless soon do so again. This was in the shape of boxes, bales, and casks piled against the walls on both sides of the passage. For a moment Peverell was greatly puzzled by these. Then as he recalled Joe Pintod's conversation regarding smugglers he concluded that he had stumbled across a depot of goods belonging to those free traders of the Great Lake. In which case, he said to himself, I shall surely be out of here within a few minutes, for an entrance for smugglers must mean an exit for prisoners. This was a sound theory, but like a great many other theories, one that proved faulty upon practical application, as our young friend discovered a few minutes later. Directly beyond the packages of goods he came upon a small derrick, set firmly into the solid rock at both top and bottom. It was a substantial block and fall attachment, and was swung inward. At this point also a heavy tarpolin, reaching from floor to ceiling, was hung completely across the cavern. Cautiously raising one corner of this, Peverell was blinded by such a flood of light that for a moment he was completely dazzled. As his vision was gradually restored he found himself on the brink of a precipice, and gazing out over a boundless expanse of water, in fact, over the Great Lake itself. A narrow ledge projected a little beyond the curtain that he had lifted, and as he hesitatingly stepped out upon it, he also instinctively grasped a small cedar that grew from it to steady himself while he looked down. The descent was sheer for twenty feet, and so smooth as not to afford a single foothold along its entire face. From the rippling water at its base rose a jagged ledge of black rocks, which Peverell recognized the moment his eyes fell upon them. Of all mysteries this is the most inexplicable, he cried, and yet it surely is the very place. As he spoke he turned to look at the curtain which he had let fall behind him, and very nearly tumbled from the ledge in amazement at what he saw. Instead of the sheet of dingy canvas that he expected, he was confronted by a sheer wall of cliff, stained the same rusty red as that extending for miles on either side, and apparently not differing from it in any particular. He was compelled to reach out his hand and touch it before he could dispel the illusion, and convince himself that only a sheet of painted canvas separated him from the cavern he had just left. It is one of the very cleverest things in the way of a hiding place I ever heard of, he said half-allowed, and now I understand the disappearance of that girl. But where on earth did she come from? How did she get here? And where did she go to? Could it have been she whom I heard singing a little while ago? If so, where is she now? Not in the cavern, that I swear to. Peverell might have speculated at much greater length concerning this mystery had not the sight of water that he could not reach so aggravated his thirst that for the moment he could think of little else. All at once he hid upon a plan, and two minutes later had drawn aside the curtain, swung out the little derrick, and was letting himself down towards the ledge by means of its tackle. Lying flat on the rough rocks he drank and drank of the delicious water, lifting his head for breath or to gaze aesthetically around him, and then thrusting it again into the cool flood for the pleasure of feeling the water on his hot cheeks. At length a slight sound caused him to turn quickly and look upward. To his dismay and astonishment the tackle by which he had lowered himself had disappeared. Unless he could make up his mind to swim for miles through water of icy coldness he was as truly a prisoner on that ledge of rock as ever he had been in the underground depths from which he had so recently escaped. CHAPTER XIX. DERRAL SPALLEY AND ITS OWNER. Ralph Derel was possessed by a passion for accumulating wealth, and not satisfied with certain but slow gains of his legitimate business of banking, was always on the lookout for extraordinary investments in which he was willing to take a great risks on the chance of receiving proportionate returns. During an excitement caused by marvellous finds of copper in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan he too caught the fever and became convinced that here was his opportunity for acquiring a fortune. From experts in whom he placed confidence he received such good accounts of a certain mineral tract located on Q and A point where mines of fabulous riches were already opened that he purchased it and persuaded Richard Peverell's father to become associated with him in a scheme for its development. When the crash came and their golden dreams were dispelled by a rude awakening he had sunk his own modest fortune together with half of Peverell's in a barren mine and the blow was so heavy as to partially deprive him of his reason. He imagined himself to be the object of a conspiracy headed by his partner to obtain entire control of the mine which he also imagined to be immensely valuable. For the purpose of protecting the interests that he fancied to be thus endangered Ralph Darrell disappeared from his home, made his way to the scene of his wrecked hopes, and took up a solitary abode in the deserted mining village. Although he was now a desperate man and also one so crazed by misfortune that he believed every rock taken from the copper princess to be rich in metal he retained much of the business fruitness gained by years of experience. At the same time he had become sly, suspicious of his fellows and absolutely non-communicative. He had conceived the idea of holding on to the mine and at the same time spreading reports of its worthlessness until the term of contract had expired. Then he hoped that, in default of other claims, the entire property would fall into his hands. Then he would proclaim its true value and reap his long delayed reward. So he lived alone in the comfortable house that had been built for the manager of the mine, held no intercourse with his widely scattered neighbors, discouraged all attempts on the part of outsiders to learn anything concerning him, rejoiced when he heard his mind spoken of as Darrell's folly, and devoted himself to keeping his valuable plant in repair against the time when he should be free to use it for his own sole benefit. In looking about for some method of acquiring means with which to reopen and work the mine when it should be wholly his, he ran across a crew of Canadian fishermen, who were also smugglers in a small way, and joining them soon developed their unlawful trade into a flourishing business. Having discovered a deep cavern opening on the lake and extending close to the cellar of the very house in which he dwelt, he decided to use it as a receptacle and hiding place for smuggled goods. To enhance its value for this purpose he connected it with his own residence by an underground passage. On this he expended a vast amount of labour digging it with his own hands, and holding it a secret from every human being. Even the smugglers, who implicitly obeyed his orders, since he had made it so profitable for them to do so, knew nothing of it, nor what became of their goods after they were delivered at night on a certain rocky ledge, and hoisted up the face of the cliff to some place that they never saw, nor were the peddlers by whom these same goods were carried far and wide, any wiser, for they always transacted their business with old man Daryl, and received their merchandise after dark in a certain room of his house, the only one they were ever allowed to enter. Not only had Daryl retained to himself the secret of the cavern, but he had also conceived the idea of hiding it from the observation of passing vessels by means of a canvas screen drawn over its entrance, and cleverly painted to resemble the adjacent cliffs. Surrounded by these safeguards, and further protected by its locality in that desolate region, the unlawful business flourished amazingly. It not only yielded its chief promoter a sufficient income to support his family comfortably in their distant eastern home, and enabled him to keep his mining plant in good repair, but each year saw a very tidy surplus stored away for the future development of the copper princess. Daryl had learned of his partner's death, and waited anxiously for years to hear from the peverell heirs. As they remained silent and made no claim against the property in which his own life was so completely bound up, he cherished the belief that they considered it too worthless even to investigate, that he would be left in undisturbed possession to the end. He became so emboldened by this belief that, when the term of contract had so nearly expired that it had but a few months more to run, he even began in a small way to resume work in the mine. Thus he had it pumped out and partially retimbred. He also started work on a new level, and in every way possible without attracting too much attention, got his property ready for the great scheme of development upon which he was determined the moment he should be freed from his contract. In the meantime his wife had died, and his only child, who had been born since he entered upon the strange existence, had come to share his lonely home. As she was but twelve years old when this great change in her life took place, she of course knew nothing of business, and had never heard of such a thing as smuggled goods. In her eyes everything that her dear papa did was right, and she was too happy at being permitted to become in any degree his assistant to think of questioning his methods. So the secret of the cavern and its underground connection was finally confided to her. She was also entrusted with the duty of watching for the little vessels that brought the goods in which her father dealt, and of hanging out the signal lights by which their movements were guided. As these lights were always displayed from the stunted cedar at the mouth of the cavern, and as this place also served her for a post of observation, she passed much of her time within the limits of the great cave. Her father had won her promise never to mention the existence of the cavern, and had also warned her not to allow herself to be seen in it. There was, however, no necessity of such a warning, for Mary Darrell was too proud of her great secret to share it. Even Anti-Nemo, the old black nurse who had come west with her, and had remained to care for her ever since, was not told of cavern, though she shrewdly suspected its existence. If to the foregoing explanation it is added that the little trading vessels, which were also two all-appearance fisherboats, never took on their return cargos from the cavern, but always at either Laughing Fish Cove or the landlocked basin, the situation as it existed at the time of Peverell's appearance on the scene will be understood. As the sister schooner of the one that had carried off Joe Pintaud was due to arrive at about this date, Mary Darrell was keeping a sharp watch for it, and paying frequent visits to her post of observation at the mouth of the cavern for that purpose. On each of these she of course drew aside the painted curtain, thereby letting in a rush of air that penetrated to the innermost recesses of the great cavity behind her. It was a little breath from one of these that finding its way through the aperture beside the slab of rock, and so on down the narrow passage that led to the prehistoric mine had blown out Peverell's candle. Of course the girl, who was the innocent cause of that bit of mischief, had no idea of what the breeze was doing, for neither she nor her father, or any one else for that matter, knew of the existence of the old working so close at hand. On the following morning Mary again entered the cavern, singing lightheartedly as she did so. This time she remained but a few minutes, for she had something to attend to in the house, but she held aside the canvas curtain long enough to look out, assure herself that no vessel was in sight, and to allow another inrush of air. From it a second little breeze found its way beneath the great slab and into the darkness of the underground passage where it restored poor despairing Peverell to life and hope by cooling his fevered brow and carrying the sound of singing to his ears. The very next time the girl entered the cavern she was at first bewildered to find the canvas screen drawn aside from its opening in the place flooded with light. Next she was frightened to note that the derrick was swung outward and that its attached tackle was hanging down out of sight. Her first impulse was to run and call her father. Then she remembered that, as he was down in the mine, it would be a long time before he could come. Also being a brave young woman and not easily frightened she determined to find out for herself if there was any real cause for alarm. So she crept softly to the mouth of the cavern and peered cautiously out. At sight of a man lying on the rocks at the foot of the cliff with his head in the water her heart almost stopped its beating and she almost screamed. He lay so still that for a moment she imagined him to be dead, though the next instant she knew he was not, for he lifted his head to catch a breath. Then he again plunged it into the water and quick as thought the girl drew up the tackle by which he had lowered himself. There, she said to herself, I guess you will stay where you are, Mr. Man, until I can bring Papa and he'll know what to do with you. She had drawn in the tackle very cautiously without noticing the little scraping noise that its lower block made in crossing the rocky ledge and she turned to go as she spoke. But she must take one more look just to see if that horrid man was still there and what he was doing. So she very carefully leaned forward and gazed straight down into the upturned face of Richard Peverell. End of chapter nineteen.