e gratified by the turn events had taken since he had come to
New York.

He had, of course, taken a chance in telling Horace Penfield as much as
he had about The Veiled Mariposa, the lost mine on which he had founded
his hopes. Hayden drew his shoulders up to his ears and pulled down the
corners of his mouth, the picture of a school-boy convicted of stealing
jam. He had had reason on many occasions to convict himself of such
indiscretions. He reflected a little dolefully, that he would probably be
a very poor business man, that is, if business depended on caution and a
lack of confidence in his fellow-beings. But, bent on cheering himself,
even if Horace should break faith with him and prattle to the limit--and
Horace's limit was a long one, the blue canopy of heaven, when it came to
gossip--what possible harm could it do? In fact, it might serve Hayden
immeasurably, for the talk might reach the ears of those who held some
interest in the property and thus get him into immediate communication
with them. In any event, let Horace gossip as he would, it could do no
possible injury, for Robert held the key of the situation with his
carefully drawn maps and his many photographs. Blessings on his camera!

There was a wild dash of hail against the window, a shriek of the wind,
and Hayden looked up surprised at the interruption and then fell again
into his reverie. What an odd thing that had been for Penfield to say,
that about hearing of the Veiled Mariposa, and how remarkably it had been
confirmed. From a source, too, that he would least have expected it. That
prophecy had certainly been literally fulfilled. Little Kitty Hampton was
the last person he should have expected to mention The Veiled Mariposa.

A Fortune-teller! The Veiled Mariposa! There was, there could be no
question of coincidence here. It was design, beyond all peradventure, and
design he meant very speedily to fathom. Hayden set his nice, square jaw
firmly, and when Hayden set his jaw that way, you might look for things
to happen. He might be over-impulsive and lacking in caution, but he had
plenty of initiative, pluck and determination. Then, his face relaxed and
softened. He threw his cigarette into the bed of ashes on the hearth and
stretched his arms above his head. Ah-h-h! He felt like Monte Cristo.
Surely, surely, the world was his. Had he not, all in the space of a few
weeks, found his heart's love, and a clue to his fortune?

Again, he started, but t