signifying
your belief that they are true documents."

"And if not?"

"Well, if not," said Mr. Bell, measuring his words, "do you recollect that
wild-cat gold mine scheme you were interested in more years ago than
you'll care to remember?"

Mortlake seemed to shrivel. But he flared up in a last blaze of defiance.

"You can't scare me by rattling old bones," he said, "What do you know
about it?"

For reply, Mr. Bell stepped to the door.

"Mr. Budd," he called softly, and in response the man of Lost Brig Island,
but now dressed and barbered into civilization appeared.

"Pierce Budd!" gasped Mortlake.

"Yes, Pierce Budd, whom you ruined," said Mr. Bell. "But for my
persuasions, he would have sought to wipe out his wrongs in personal
violence. But you needn't fear him now," as Mortlake looked round with
hunted eyes; "that is, if you sign."

"I'll sign," gasped out the trapped man. He reached for an inkstand. "Give
them to me."

"I'll read them first," said the mining man, and then, in slow, measured
tones, he read out the contents of the convicting documents. As he
concluded, Mortlake seemed about to collapse. But he took the papers with
a trembling hand, and wrote:

"All this is true.--Eugene Mortlake."

"Good," said Mr. Bell. "Now your future fate is in the hands of these
young people. Pierce Budd has forgiven you, though it has been a struggle
to do so. But I have one surprise left for you all," said Mr. Bell,
stepping to the door. "Regina," he called softly.

In reply, the dark-eyed girl, in a sheer dress of soft, clinging stuff,
glided into the room. She slipped straight to the side of the outcast
Pierce Budd, and stood there, holding his hand. Peggy looking at her in
amazement, saw that the hard, defiant look had vanished from the girl's
face, and that its place had been taken by an expression of supreme
happiness and peace.

"Tell them about it," said Mr. Bell.

"No. She has not yet recovered from the shock of the discovery," said
Pierce Budd softly. "Let me do it. When Mortlake ruined me, and I fled
from my former surroundings," he said, "I left behind me a baby girl.
Mrs. Mortlake, a good woman if ever there was one, took care of that
child. All this I have only just learned. She grew up with the Mortlake's,
and when that man's wife died he did the only good thing I've ever heard
of him doing--he took care of her and brought her up as his daughter.
To-day in the hut you saw me looking at her clo