a party, her dress caught
fire, and before help could arrive she was fatally injured. Of course
the blow was a terrible one. But I had a child--a boy of five--on whom
my affections centered. A year later he mysteriously disappeared, and
from that day I have never heard a word of him. When search proved
unavailing, I became moody and a settled melancholy took possession of
me. I could not endure the sight of other parents happy in the
possession of children, and I doomed myself to a solitary life,
wandering here and there till, two years since, I chanced to find this
cave and made my home here."

"How old would your son be now?" asked Robert with interest.

"About your own age--perhaps a little older. It was this and a fancied
resemblance which attracted me toward you."

"Had you any suspicion that your son was stolen?" asked Robert.

"Yes. In particular I suspected a cousin who would be my probable heir
in case my boy died. But I could never prove anything, and the man
expressed so much sympathy that I was ashamed to avow any suspicions.
But Charles Waldo was a covetous man, insatiable in his greed of money
and absolutely cold and unsympathetic, though his manner was plausible.
He hoped that this second blow would kill me, but he has been
disappointed."

"If the boy is living, perhaps he knows where he is," said Robert.

"If he abducted him--yes. He would not kill him, for he is too cautious
a man and has too great fear of the law."

"Where is Mr. Waldo now living?"

"In Ohio. He has a large farm and a moderate amount of money
invested--some twenty thousand dollars perhaps--so that he is able to
live at ease. He was disappointed because I would not give him the
charge of my property, but with the lingering suspicion in my mind I
could not make up my mind to do it. He also sought a loan of ten
thousand dollars, which I refused."

"How then does he expect to be your heir?" asked Robert.

"Two-thirds of my property is entailed and must be left to him if my boy
is dead."

"If he really stole your son, he must be a wicked man," said Robert with
boyish indignation at the thought.

"Yes, for he has wrecked two lives--mine and my boy's."

"Have you no hope of ever again seeing your son?"

"Only a slight one. I have thought of a plan in which I need your
help."

"If I can help you, sir," said Robert heartily, "I will do so gladly."

"I do not doubt it, Robert," said the hermit kindly. "I will explain my
mean