.

"You forget. I told you that she, too, turned against me at the last.
It was a case of husband or son, and she made her choice."

"Oh! no. She was unhappy. One may do strange things, then, I suppose.
But I tell you one thing, if I had either father or mother, anywhere
in this world, nothing should ever, ever make me leave them. Nothing.
I would bear anything, do anything, suffer anything--but I would be
true to them. I could not forget that I was their child, and if I had
done wrong to them my whole life would be too short to make
atonement."

She spoke strongly, as she felt. So early orphaned, she had come to
think of parents as the most wonderful blessing in the power of God to
leave one. She loved her Uncle Hugh like a second father, but her
tenderest dreams were over the pictured faces of her dead.

"Where is your father buried?"

It was the simplest, most natural question.

"I--don't--know."

They stared at one another. It was proof of her childlike acceptance
of her life that she had never asked. Had never thought to do so,
even. She had been told that he had "passed out of sight" before they
came to Peace Island and the forest, and had asked no further
concerning him. Of his character and habits she had heard much. Her
uncle was never weary in extolling his virtues; but of his death he
had said only what has been written.

"But--I must know right away!"

In her eagerness she ran, and Adrian followed as swiftly. He was sorry
for his thoughtless inquiry, but regret came too late. He tried to
call Margot back, but she would not wait.

"I must know. I must know right away. Why have I never known before?"

Hugh Dutton was resting after a day of study and mental labor, and his
head leaned easily upon his cushioned chair. Yet as his dear child
entered his room he held out his arms to draw her to his knee.

"In a minute, uncle. But Adrian has asked me something and it is the
strangest thing that I cannot answer him. Where is my father buried?"

If she had dealt him a mortal blow he could not have turned more
white. With a groan that pierced her very heart, he stared at Margot
with wide, unseeing eyes; then sprang to his feet and fixed upon poor
Adrian a look that scorched.

"You! You?" he gasped, and sinking back covered his face with his
hands.

CHAPTER IX

PERPLEXITIES

What had he done?

Ignorant why his simple question should have had such strange results,
that piercing look made A