d, which at once
fixed my resolution to remain in the valley--at least until some
unforeseen chance might enable us to leave it with a better prospect of
safety."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

THE MYSTERIOUS FLOOD.

"Well, my friends, I shall now detail to you the strange incident, which
at once decided me to adopt the suggestion of my wife, and make our home
in the valley. Perhaps we did not, at the time, contemplate staying
here for the remainder of our lives--but only for a few years. However,
we resolved to remain for the present, and give our lonely life a fair
trial, leaving the future an open question.

"The reason why I had hesitated at all upon the subject was this:--I
could not think of settling down with no prospect of improving our
condition; for, however much we might exercise our industry, its
products could not enrich us beyond the satisfying of our own wants. We
should have no market, thought I, for any superfluous produce, even
could we cultivate the whole valley. We could, therefore, become no
richer, and would never be in any fitter state to return to civilised
society--for, in spite of all, a thought of this still remained in my
mind.

"Mary, who was of a far more contented disposition than I, still
persisted in arguing that as our happiness did not depend upon
possessing riches, we would never desire to leave that lovely spot, and
that, consequently, we should stand in no need of wealth.

"Perhaps hers was the true philosophy--at all events, it was the natural
one. But the artificial wants of society implant within us the desire
of accumulating individual property; and I could not rid myself of this
provident feeling. `If we could only find some object,' said I, `upon
which we might be exercising our industry, so that _our time should not
be wasted_, and by which we might prepare ourselves for returning to
society, then might we live most happily here.'

"`Who knows?' said Mary, in reply to this; `there may be objects in this
valley that may occupy us, and enable us to lay up the very store you
speak of, as well as if we were to continue on to New Mexico. What
opportunities should we have there better than here? We have nothing
now to begin life with anywhere. Here we have food and land, which I
think we may fairly call our own; there we should have neither. Here we
have a home; and how know you, Robert, that we may not yet make a
fortune in the Desert?'

"We both laughed at the idea;