that became him, and, as she had noticed already, he
possessed the knack of wearing anything just as it should be worn,
which, as far as her observation went, was the particular
characteristic of some Englishmen.

"Then you are not at Lemoine's this time?"

"No," said Weston, with a whimsical twinkle in his eyes. "You see, we
have at last succeeded in finding the mine."

Ida started. She regretted this, but she was human, and she knew that
the man loved her. It seemed only reasonable to expect that he would
proceed to make that fact clear to her now that he had found the mine,
but she was a little puzzled about his smile. It indicated rather too
much self-possession for a man on the verge of a proposal, and she did
not know that since he entered the house he had been endeavoring to
impose a due restraint upon himself.

"Oh," she said hastily, "I'm very glad. You found the mine?"

"No," replied Weston, gravely, "Grenfell found it."

"Where is he? Have you brought him with you?"

"I haven't," said Weston, and she noticed the sudden dropping of his
voice, "Grenfell's dead. He--went on--the night before we struck the
lode up there in the bush."

"Before you struck the lode? But you said he found it."

"Yes," admitted Weston, quietly, "I think he did."

He told her the story in a few forceful words, and when he had
finished, her eyes grew a trifle hazy. She had sympathy and intuition,
and the thought of the worn-out man lying still forever beside the
gold he so long had sought affected her curiously. Weston, who felt
his heart throb painfully fast as he watched her, nodded.

"Yes," he said, "it was rather pitiful, and there was a certain
ghastly irony in the situation; but, after all, as he once admitted,
there was very little that gold could have given him."

Ida sat silent a moment or two. She was sorry for Grenfell, but he
had, as his comrade said, gone on, and she was more concerned about
the results of his discovery to those who were left behind.

"The lode," Weston added, "is all that he described it."

It cost Ida an effort to sit perfectly calm while she waited for his
next observation. It was, as she recognized, only his stubborn British
pride which had prevented him from declaring what he felt for her
earlier, and now the obstacle that had counted for most with him had
suddenly been removed. As it happened, however, he said absolutely
nothing.

"Then you and Devine and that storekeeper are prospe