nly not. Pardon me while I read this. Then I'll walk to the Hall
with you. It is almost dinner time." As Grace unfolded the letter the
inside sheet fell from it to the ground. As she bent to pick it up her
eyes lingered upon the signature with an expression of unbelieving
amazement stamped upon her face. Then she glanced down the first page of
the letter.

"Oh, it can't be true! It's too wonderful!" she gasped. "Oh, Emma, Emma,
if I had only received this the day it came!"

"I knew it was something important," groaned Emma. "And I was trying to
be so helpful."

Unmindful of Emma's remorseful utterance, Grace went on excitedly: "Only
think, Emma, it is from Ruth's father. He is alive and well and frantic
with joy over the news that Ruth did not die in that terrible wreck."
Grace sprang from her seat and seized Emma by the arm. "Come on," she
urged, "I must tell the girls at once."

Grace ran all the way to Wayne Hall, and bursting into her room pounced
upon Anne and hustled her unceremoniously into Miriam's room, where
Elfreda and Miriam viewed their noisy entrance with tolerant eyes. A
moment afterward Emma Dean appeared, out of breath. In a series of
excited sentences, Grace told the glorious news. "But I must read you
what he says," she said, her eyes very bright.

"MY DEAR MISS HARLOWE:--

"What can I say to you who have sent me the most welcome message I
ever received? It is as though the dead had come to life. To think
that my baby daughter, my little Ruth, still lives, and has fought
her way to friends and education. It is almost beyond belief. I
cannot fittingly express by letter the feeling of gratitude which
overwhelms me when I think of your generous and whole-souled
interest in me and my child. I have certain matters here in Nome to
which I must attend, then I shall start for the States, and once
there proceed east with all speed. It will not be advisable for you
to answer this letter, as I shall have started on my journey before
your answer could possibly reach me. I shall telegraph Ruth as soon
as I arrive in San Francisco. I have not written her as yet,
because you said in your letter to me that you did not wish her to
know until you had heard from me. I thank you for trying to shield
her from needless pain, and I am longing for the day when I can
look into Ruth's eyes and call her daughter. Believe me, my
appr