ge from the
Nest. He did not think of personal harm to himself, and as he entered
his room, where a lamp had been lighted for him, his mind had already
begun to work on a plan of action. He would compromise with them. In
return for the loss of the girl they should have his promise--his oath,
if necessary--not to reveal the secret of the traffic in which they were
engaged, or of that still more important affair between Hauck and the
white man from Fort MacPherson. He was certain that, in his drunkenness,
Brokaw had spoken the truth, no matter what he might deny to-morrow.
They would not hazard an investigation, though to lose the girl now, at
the very threshold of his exultant realization, would be like taking the
earth from under Brokaw's feet. In spite of the tenseness of the
situation David found himself chuckling with satisfaction. It would be
unpleasant--very--he repeated that assurance to himself; but that
self-preservation would be the first law of these rascals he was equally
positive, and he began thinking of other things that just now were of
more thrilling import to him.

It was Tavish, then--that half-mad hermit in his mice-infested
cabin--who had been at the bottom of it all! Tavish! The discovery did
not amaze him profoundly. He had never been able to dissociate Tavish
from the picture, unreasoning though he confessed himself to be, and now
that his mildly impossible conjectures had suddenly developed into
facts, he was not excited. It was another thought--or other
thoughts--that stirred him more deeply, and brought a heat into his
blood. His mind leaped back to that scene of years ago, when Marge
O'Doone's mother had run shrieking out in the storm of night to escape
Tavish. _But she had not died!_ That was the thought that burned in
David's brain now. She had lived. She had searched for her
husband--Michael O'Doone; a half-mad wanderer of the forests at first,
she may have been. She had searched for years. And she was still
searching for him when he had met her that night on the
Transcontinental! For it was she--Marge O'Doone, the mother, the wife,
into whose dark, haunting eyes he had gazed from out the sunless depths
of his own despair! _Her_ mother. Alive. Seeking a Michael
O'Doone--seeking--seeking....

He was filled with a great desire to go at once to the Girl and tell her
this wonderful new fact that had come into her life, and he found
himself suddenly at the door of his room, with his fingers on