Part 40 (1/2)

And then he told her the tale of his search for the Lost River, ending with the eager exclamation: ”And last year I found it. It is a mine rich beyond my fondest hopes, and it is yours. It is yours, my daughter.”

”Oh, father,” cried the girl, losing herself for a moment, ”I don't want the mine. It is you I want.”

”Yes, my daughter, I know that well, but for the present it is not the will of G.o.d that I should be with you, and I have learned that it is good to trust to Him, and without fear I give you, my daughter, to His care.”

Again the girl grew steady and calm.

”Call Mr. Macgregor and the doctor, my dear,” her father said. ”These gentlemen alone,” he continued when they had come to him, ”hold my secret. Even Perault does not know all. He knows the valley which we explored last year, but he does not know it is the Lost River. Mr.

Macgregor has promised to see the claim staked. Perault will guide him to it.”

”This paper,” taking a packet from his breast, ”is my will. In it a full disposal is made of all. Now I will sign it.”

The paper was duly signed and witnessed. With a sigh of content the old man sank back upon his bed.

”Now all is done. I am well content.”

For some time he lay with closed eyes. Then, waking suddenly, he looked at Shock and said: ”Carry me out, Mr. Macgregor. Carry me out where I can see the trees and the stars. Through long years they have been my best friends. There, too, I would lie in my long sleep.”

They made a bed of boughs and skins for him before the camp-fire, and out into the dry, warm night Shock carried him. In the wide valley there still lingered the soft light of the dying day, but the shadows were everywhere lying deeper. Night was rapidly drawing up her curtains upon the world. The great trees stood in the dim light silent, solemn, and shadowy, keeping kindly watch over the valley and all things therein. Over the eastern hill the full moon was just beginning to rise. The mingled lights of silver and gold falling through the trees lent a rare, unearthly loveliness to the whole scene.

The Old Prospector, reclining on his couch, let his eyes wander over the valley and up through the trees to the sky and the stars, while a smile of full content rested on his face.

”It is a lovely night, dear father,” said his daughter, quick to interpret his thought.

”Yes, my daughter, a rare night. Often have I seen such nights in this very spot, but never till to-night did their full joy enter my heart.

My life was one long, terrible unreality. To-night the world is new, and full of loveliness and all peace.”

Then he lay in long silence. The doctor came near, touched his wrist, listened to the beating of his heart, and whispered to his daughter, ”It will not be long now.”

The old man opened his eyes. ”You are near, my daughter,” he said.

”Yes, father, dear, I am here,” she replied, pressing his hand between hers.

”Could you sing something, do you think?”

The girl drew in her breath sharply as with a sob of pain.

”No,” said her father. ”Never mind, my daughter. It is too much to ask.”

”Yes, yes, father, I will sing. What shall I sing?”

”Sing Bernard's great hymn, 'The world is very evil.'”

It was a hymn she had often sung for him, selecting such of its verses as were more familiar, and as expressed more nearly the thought in their hearts.

As she began to sing the doctor pa.s.sed out beyond the firelight to the side of the tent. There he found Stanton, with his head bowed low between his knees.

”My boy,” said the doctor, ”that is very beautiful, but it is very hard to bear.”