The next morning Mr. Abbot and his young guest visited the mine, and, after a thorough examination of the former's claim, and instituting some inquiries, more for form's sake than anything else, regarding the wealth of the mine generally, Mr. Heath became the purchaser of Mr. Abbot's property, and at once set about hiring competent miners to work it for him.

"It may prove but a foolish, quixotic undertaking after all," he told himself, when his negotiations were completed, "but I must have some excuse for remaining here. That girl is the most beautiful being I ever met. She has power to move me as I was never moved before. I simply cannot go away and leave her. I am sure her father can live but a little while, and then--"

What was to happen after Mr. Abbot should be taken away remained unsaid, and Mr. Heath walked on for a while with bent head and thoughtful brow.

He was looking about him a little to find a place in which to live while he should remain on the mountain, for he was resolved that he would trespass upon Mr. Abbot's hospitality no longer than he was obliged to, although every hour in Virgie's presence was perfect delight to him.

"I would give a good deal to know their history," he resumed, after a little. "It is the greatest mystery--their being here. The man shows culture and familiarity with men and things; he is unusually keen and shrewd in business matters, while the way he has managed his daughter's education betrays the scholar and a mind of no ordinary power and ability; and to be here, working with the common herd in a mine! I do not understand it!"

While he was speculating thus regarding his new friends, Mr. Abbot and Virgie were engaged in the same manner with reference to him.

"Well, Virgie, I have sold my claim, and for a generous sum, too. Mr. Heath is no haggler, and gave me my price without a demur; but I think that it is very queer that a young man of his stamp should care to engage in any such business."

"It is rather strange," Virgie admitted, absently.

"He is far above the people with whom he will come in contact," continued her father. "He has evidently been accustomed to the very best of society, is well educated and fine appearing, and seems to have an abundance of means. What do you make of him, dear?"

"I should say that he is very much of a gentleman, papa," replied the young girl, flushing, as she remembered their walk of the previous evening, the care and attention which he had bestowed upon her, and the delight which she had experienced in his presence.

"Yes, that goes without saying; but, does he seem like an American to you?"

"I had not given a thought to his nationality," Virgie answered, looking up curiously.

"Well, it strikes me that he may be English, although there is nothing in his speech or manner to betray it. He is built like an Englishman, and somehow the idea has taken possession of me that he belongs over the water, and so, his desire to settle here seems all the more incomprehensible."

"It may be a whim--a romantic desire to learn something of a miner's life," observed Virgie; "or," with more animation, "he may be an author, papa, and is taking this way to study certain phases of character with reference to writing a book."

"Well, Virgie," said Mr. Abbot, smiling, "I must confess that is the most reasonable explanation that could suggest itself, and possibly, with your woman's intuition, you have hit upon the right solution of the mystery. Yes," after a thoughtful pause, "I shouldn't wonder if you were right. His saying that he did not intend to work the mine himself goes to show that it is a secondary object, and he does not care particularly about the profit of it. He is very pleasant company. I believe his coming has done me good."

"I am sure it has," Virgie answered, brightly; "and papa, now that your mind is relieved of all pecuniary care, don't you think you will continue to improve?"

"No, Virgie," her father returned, gravely; "do not allow my temporary improvement to deceive you. A fatal disease has fastened itself upon me, and I know that I have not long to live."

"Oh, papa!" exclaimed the lovely girl, sharply. "I will not believe it. Pray, pray try what medical advice will do for you."

"Hush, my child," Mr. Abbot returned, deeply moved. "I did not mean to refer to this again, but you force me to do so; nothing short of a miracle could give me a sound pair of lungs again."

"Then let us try change of air--anything so that I may keep you with me," Virgie pleaded, yet knowing, as she did so, that there was no place on earth that held so much attraction for her now as the humble home which heretofore had seemed so lonely and isolated.

A subtle charm seemed suddenly to have fallen upon it; everything looked brighter; all things surrounding it had become dearer.

"No, dear; no air will be so good for me as this pure, bracing mountain atmosphere," her father replied, gently. "I would shrink from going to any place where we should be likely to find familiar faces--nothing would break me down so quickly. Be patient, Virgie for a little longer, and then you shall go back to the world, where you ought long ago to have been with people of your own age."

"Oh, papa! I care nothing for the world nor for society without you," she sobbed, realizing more fully than she ever had done, that she would soon be fatherless.

"But it is not right that you should spend your life in such a place as this," responded Mr. Abbot. "I have written to Mr. Bancroft, and if anything happens to me suddenly you will find the letter in my desk, and must send it to him immediately. I would mail it now, only--I cannot feel reconciled to having any one learn of our hiding-place while I live. One thing more I must speak of. I should have done so the other night if we had not been interrupted. When I am gone I want you to lay my body here, under the shadow of the old pine tree."

"Papa, papa! you will break my heart! Surely you would wish to lie beside my mother!" Virgie cried, the tears raining over her cheeks.

Mr. Abbot's face was almost convulsed with pain for a moment.

"Yes, if that were possible," he said, at length, "but no one must ever know the fate of Abbot Al--Ha! Virgie, I had nearly uttered the dishonored name!" he panted.

"Papa, you shall not talk so," the girl cried, wiping her tears and turning on him almost indignantly.

"I would not pain you, my darling," he answered, gently; "but if there were no cloud hanging over us, I should be only too glad to go back to our old home to die and be laid beside my loved ones. It cannot be, however," he concluded, sighing wearily.

"But, dear papa, the dreadful past was caused by no fault of your own, and it is not right that you should suffer as if it had been," Virgie said, passionately.

A cynical smile curled the lips of the sick man.

"The world would tell a far different story if it should ferret out my grave and see my name blazoned above it; and as long as its poisonous tongues continue to speak slightingly of me, it must never know aught about me. So do as I bid you; promise that you will obey me, Virgie."

And the almost broken-hearted girl promised, but feeling as if it would be almost more than she could bear, to go back to the gay world, where she would be kindly cared for and sheltered, and leave her dear father lying in his lonely grave upon that desolate mountain.

William Heath entered with great apparent interest upon his mining operations, and although he frankly acknowledged his entire ignorance of the business, exhibited a goodly amount of judgment and common sense which warned the workmen whom he had hired that it would not be well for them to attempt to take advantage of him.

He was unable to find any place in which he was willing to live, so he caused a small cabin to be erected just opposite Mr. Abbot's dwelling, furnished it simply but comfortably from the nearest supply station, and with Mr. Abbot's permission, contracted with Chi Lu to keep his table supplied with all needful provisions.

No one would have supposed from his humble surroundings from the industrious and energetic life which he led, and the total absence of anything like arrogance or assumption, that he belonged to an almost royal family, and had been for years the petted darling of fashionable circles and drawing rooms, the catch of many seasons, and the prize for which fond mammas and beautiful, aspiring maidens had long angled in vain.

But such was the fact, and William Heath had thus isolated himself from his home and all that he held most dear simply because, while on a pleasure trip, he had accidentally met a beautiful girl who had chanced to touch a chord in his heart that had never vibrated before.

These two young people were now thrown almost daily into each other's society.

Mr. Heath was quite literary in his tastes, and after the duties of the day were over he invariably sought the companionship of Virgie, sometimes reading to her while she worked, and often with her as she still persisted in reviewing certain studies and authors which she loved.

The failing invalid, too, received much of his care and attention, while many delicacies, which he had never taken pains to procure for himself, found their way to his table to help sustain his waning strength.

It is easy to see whither all this tended.

Virgie soon learned to look for Heath's coming, to listen for his footsteps and the sound of his voice, as she had never looked for or listened to anything else in the world before. She began to rely upon him, to experience a sense of restfulness and content in his care that sometimes made her wonder how she had ever been able to live without him.

There came new beauty, and light, and earnestness into her face, a tenderer smile to her red lips, a more musical cadence into her voice. The hours dragged heavily without him, and they took to themselves wings when he came.

Before she realized the fact she had learned to love him with all the strength of her nature, and her destiny was sealed.

Thus weeks and months went by.

For a time the warm, genial summer weather seemed to hold Mr. Abbot's disease somewhat in check, and, as he was cheerful, and enjoyed the novelty of having two young and charming people about him, there was a little season during which that small household was very happy.

He studied the young stranger attentively, and was more and more prepossessed in his favor. They conversed frequently upon topics which Mr. Abbot had long been in the habit of scoffing at, but there was an element of reverence in Mr. Heath's nature that commanded his respect in spite of preconceived ideas and a tendency to skepticism. His arguments were always reasonable and convincing. He could not fail to feel this influence; and it was not long before Virgie could see that a great change had taken place in her father's feelings regarding his relations to an overruling power and the future, which hitherto had seemed so vague and uncertain.

Yet, notwithstanding all this, he often experienced a feeling of uneasiness.

He could not fail to perceive that Virgie was learning to care a great deal for their new friend, and that Mr. Heath was deeply interested in his daughter.

This was all well enough if Mr. Heath was what he appeared to be, and his intentions were honorable.

But he could never quite divest himself of the feeling that there was something rather mysterious in his desire to remain in that remote region, and it would be terrible if any harm should result from it to his one ewe lamb.

He had always guarded her so tenderly and carefully no breath of evil, scarce a sorrow, save their one great sorrow, had ever touched her. Once or twice the thought had come to him, prompted, no doubt, by the circumstances which had driven him to that place, that the man might have become entangled in some wrong or crime, and was hiding, like himself, from the world and justice; and yet it was difficult to fancy that he was not all that was honorable and upright, for his life and conduct from day to day were beyond reproach.

"If they love each other, and he is all he seems, I could give her to him, and feel more content than I ever thought to be," he said to himself, while brooding upon the subject one afternoon while Virgie and her lover were out on a ramble. "She would be far better off under the care and protection of a kind husband, than she would be to send her to New York. Her future would be settled, and there would be no fear on account of the snares and temptations of society in the gay city.

"Still I really know nothing about him. He says nothing about himself, his home, or his family. If it should turn out that he has a suspicion that she will have money, and he is seeking her for that, it would be a fearful blow. I could not bear that her young life should be ruined."

He sat in troubled thought for a long time, considering the subject from every point, sometimes reproaching himself for not having foreseen the danger of allowing the two young people to come together, and refused to sell his claim to Mr. Heath; then again feeling a sense of shame for his unworthy suspicions of one who bore the stamp of true nobility upon his very face.

At length he was aroused from his reverie by the sound of the voice he knew and loved so well; and, sitting suddenly erect and speaking with resolution, he said:

"I am her father. I have a right to know. He shall tell me who he is, and why he is here."