eful
culmination of his ambitious life on the mountain. Once he thought of
flight; but the reflection that he would still abandon his brother to
shame, perhaps a self-contented shame, checked him hopelessly. Could he
avert the future? He MUST; but how? Yet he could only sit and stare into
the darkness in dumb abstraction.

Sitting there, his eyes fell upon a peculiar object in a crevice of
the ledge beside the shaft. It was the tin pail containing his dinner,
which, according to their custom, it was the duty of the brother who
staid above ground to prepare and place for the brother who worked
below. Ruth must, consequently, have put it there before he left that
morning, and Rand had overlooked it while sharing the repast of the
strangers at noon. At the sight of this dumb witness of their mutual
cares and labors, Rand sighed, half in brotherly sorrow, half in a
selfish sense of injury done him.

He took up the pail mechanically, removed its cover, and--started; for
on top of the carefully bestowed provisions lay a little note, addressed
to him in Ruth's peculiar scrawl.

He opened it with feverish hands, held it in the light of the peaceful
moon, and read as follows:

DEAR, DEAR BROTHER,--When you read this, I shall be far away. I go
because I shall not stay to disgrace you, and because the girl that I
brought trouble upon has gone away too, to hide her disgrace and mine;
and where she goes, Rand, I ought to follow her, and, please God, I
will! I am not as wise or as good as you are, but it seems the best I
can do; and God bless you, dear old Randy, boy! Times and times again
I've wanted to tell you all, and reckoned to do so; but whether you was
sitting before me in the cabin, or working beside me in the drift, I
couldn't get to look upon your honest face, dear brother, and say what
things I'd been keeping from you so long. I'll stay away until I've done
what I ought to do, and if you can say, "Come, Ruth," I will come; but,
until you can say it, the mountain is yours, Randy, boy, the mine is
yours, the cabin is yours, ALL is yours. Rub out the old chalk-marks,
Rand, as I rub them out here in my--[A few words here were blurred and
indistinct, as if the moon had suddenly become dim-eyed too]. God bless
you, brother!

P.S.--You know I mean Mornie all the time. It's she I'm going to seek;
but don't you think so bad of her as you do, I am so much worse than
she. I wanted to tell you that all along, but I didn't dar