have been a thief, and would not ask your
hand now even if I might. I would not sully it with a touch of mine,
and I could not expect you to believe in me after I tell you that I not
only robbed Gashford, but also Fred--my chum Fred--and gambled it all
away, and drank away my reason almost at the same time... I have slept
again, and dreamed of water this time--bright, pure, crystal water--
sparkling and gushing in the sunshine. O God! how I despised it once,
and how I long for it now! I am too weak and wandering, mother, to
think about religion now. But why should I? Your teaching has not been
altogether thrown away; it comes back like a great flood while I lie
here dreaming and trying to write. The thoughts are confused, but the
sense comes home. All is easily summed up in the words you once taught
me, `I am a poor sinner, and nothing at all, but Jesus Christ is all in
all.' Not sure that I quote rightly. No matter, the sense is there
also. And yet it seems--it is--such a mean thing to sin away one's life
and ask for pardon only at the end--the very end! But the thief on the
cross did it; why not I? Sleep--_is_ it sleep? may it not be
slowly-approaching death?--has overpowered me again. I have been
attempting to read this. I seem to have mixed things somehow. It is
sadly confused--or my mind is. A burning thirst consumes me--and--I
_think_ I hear water running! I will--"

Here the letter ended abruptly.

"No doubt," murmured Betty, as she let the piece of bark fall on the
table and clasped her hands over her eyes, "he rose and tried to reach
the water. Praise God that there is hope!"

She sat for a few seconds in profound silence, which was broken by Paul
and his friends re-entering the tent.

"It's all arranged, Betty," he said, taking down an old rifle which hung
above the door; "old Larkins has agreed to look arter my claim and take
care of you, lass, while we're away."

"I shall need no one to take care of me."

"Ah! so you think, for you're as brave as you're good; but--I think
otherwise. So he'll look arter you."

"Indeed he won't, father!" returned Betty, smiling, "because I intend
that _you_ shall look after me."

"Impossible, girl! I'm going to sarch for Tom Brixton, you see, along
with Mister Fred an' Flinders, so I can't stop here with you."

"But I am going too, father!"

"But--but we can't wait for you, my good girl," returned Paul, with a
perplexed look; "we're all ready