ver and then he stopped and waited as she
smiled back at him mischievously.

"She's a nice old woman," went on Drusilla demurely, "but I wouldn't
take her too seriously. She told me, for instance, that I'd give up a
great career in order to marry for love. Yes, I went over to see her,
myself."

"But what about me?" demanded Denver eagerly, "did she say I'd live till
I was eighty?"

"Yes, she did; and she told me some other things, including the color of
your eyes. But don't you see, Denver, that you made a mistake when you
took what she said so seriously? Why, you wouldn't even speak to me or
let us be friends for fear that I'd rise up and kill you; and now it
appears that it was all a mistake and you're going to live till you're
eighty."

"Well, all the same," responded Denver sighing and stretching his great
arms, "I'm awful glad she said it. And a man could live to be eighty and
still be killed by his friend. No, I believe that prophecy was true!"

"Very well," she assented, "but you don't need to worry about our
friendship, and that's the principal thing. I just did it to set your
mind at rest."

"Yes, it _was_ true," he went on rousing up from a reverie, "but I
was wrong--I should have taken the gold."

"Is that all you think of?" she asked impatiently, "is there nothing but
silver and gold?"

"Yes, there is," he acknowledged, "but--say, Drusilla I'm going to buy
out the Dutchman. I believe that stringer of his is rich."

"What stringer?" she demanded looking up from her own musings and then
she nodded and sighed. "Yes, I know," she said, "you're back at your
mining--but you promised you'd think only of me. I may not be here long
and you want to be nice to me; because I almost hated you, once. Now
listen, Denver, and let _me_ interpret--don't you know you've got
everything wrong?"

"No!" declared Denver, "it has all come out perfectly. I've lived clear
through it, already. Only I chose the wrong treasure and so I lost them
both and suffered a great disgrace. I should have taken the gold."

"No; listen Denver," she went on patiently, "and don't always be
thinking of _things_. A golden treasure isn't necessarily of gold,
it might be even--me."

"You?" echoed Denver and then he clutched his hands and stared about him
wildly.

"Why, yes," she answered evenly, "haven't you noticed my hair? Other men
are not so blind--and one of them said it reminded him of fine-spun
gold. Yes, I was the golden treasure