Houston
and Miss Gladden expressed the same opinion when I was here before,
but I don't think they had any proof that such was the case, and even
if it were so, I don't see how it helps the matter much, for nobody
knows to what sort of a family she really does belong."

"Ned," said his brother, indignantly, "I know nothing of the opinion
of Houston or Miss Gladden upon this subject, but where are your own
eyes, and where is your reason? If you discovered one of the rarest
and most beautiful flowers known to exist in the plant world, in a
heap of tailings out here among these mines, would you immediately
conclude that, because you had found it there, it must be indigenous
to the spot? Look at that girl, and tell me if there is one trace in
feature, in form, in manner, or in speech, of plebeian blood, and then
will you tell me that she is in any way connected with people such as
these? They are not merely plebeian, they are low, debased, criminal.
They are criminals of the deepest dye, not only capable of any
villainy, but already guilty, and to such a degree that their guilt
has made them shrinking, skulking cowards."

"But, Mort, if you are correct, and I don't say that you are not, how
does she come to be in such a place as this, with no memory of
anything different?"

"Through the villainy of that man whom you pointed out to me as her
father; through his villainy, and in no other way."

"You think she was stolen?"

"I do; I can see in his face that he has committed some terrible
crime,--perhaps many of them,--and he is afraid to look a stranger in
the eye; and a glance at that beautiful girl is enough to fasten upon
him one of his crimes. She is from a family whose blood is as pure
from any taint, physical, mental, or moral, as is your own, and unless
I am greatly mistaken, she is not wholly unconscious of this
herself."

"Great Heavens!" exclaimed the younger brother, "I never dreamed of
all this! If it is really as you think, I only wish we could find her
true home, and have her restored to it, and make that scoundrel suffer
for his crime."

"If it is among the possibilities, it shall be done," said Morton
Rutherford, quietly, but in a tone which startled Ned with its volume
of meaning. The latter looked up in quick surprise, a question on his
lips, but he knew his brother's face too well; the question was not
asked, and he only said:

"Good for you, Mort, and here's my hand; I'm with you on this,
whatev