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got ready, and we started across the continent. God saw that the journey was too hard for my dear mother, so He took her to heaven from the Black Hills. And now, sir, will you tell me about yourself? Were you born in London?"

"Why do you think I was born in London?"

"Because you remind me of my great-grandmother. She was born in London. We call her Grannie."

The Indian servant had heaped some fagpts of sagewood upon the hearth, filling the little room with a pungent and not unpleasant odor, and diffusing a delightful warmth and glow through the air, to which the light of a pair of candles gave an eerie charm.

"To be plain with you, I grew weary of life at college, so I ran away and went to sea. I was a headstrong boy, and gave my mother a whole lot of trouble."

He ceased speaking and bowed his head upon his hands, his elbows upon the table. Jean saw that his fingers were long and shapely, his head was large and well-balanced, and his abundant hair was brown and bright and slightly curled.

"Were you never sorry, sir?"

"Having put my hand to the plough, or rather helm, I couldn't afford to turn back—or at least I thought I couldn't—till I had made my fortune."

"Did you make your fortune, sir?"

"Not till—" He checked the word that was in his heart. "I first went to Montreal, where I fell in with a company of Hudson Bay traders, with whom I went to the Great Northern Lakes. I soon made, and lost, several fortunes. I have always intended to return to my mother, but the years have come and gone; and now, at the age of twenty-four, you find me, as you see, with another fortune to make. But it seems an uphill struggle."

"Do you write regularly to your mother, sir?"

"I am sorry to be compelled to answer no; but I