For eight years he had believed his boy to be dead.  The terrible wreck at Cherry Brook had yielded up to him from its ashes only a few formless trinkets of all that had once been his child’s, only a few unrecognizable bones, to be interred, long afterward, where flowers might bloom above them.  The last search had been made, the last clew followed, the last resources of wealth and skill were at an end, and these, these bones and trinkets were all that could be found.  Still, the fact of the child’s death had not been established beyond all question, and among the millions of remote possibilities that this world always holds in reserve lingered yet the one that he might after all be living.

And now came this old man with his strange story, and the cap and the cloak and the locket.  Did it mean simply a renewal of the old hope, destined to fade away again into a hopelessness duller than the last?

But what if the man’s story were true?  What if the boy were really in life?  What if in two days’ time the father should clasp his living child in his arms, and bear him to his mother!  Ah! his mother.  She would have given her life any time to have had her child restored to her, if only for a day.  But she had been taught early to believe that he was dead It was better than to torture her heart with hopes that could only by the rarest possibility be fulfilled.  Now, now, if he dared to go home to her this night, and tell her that their son was alive, was found, was coming back to them!  Ah! if he only dared!

The sunlight, streaming through the western window, fell upon him as he walked.  It was that golden light that conies from a sun low in the west, when the days are long, and it illumined his face with a glow that revealed there the hope, the courage, the honor, the manly strength that held mastery in his heart.

There was a sudden commotion in the outer office.  Men were talking in an excited manner; some one opened the door, and said:—­

“There’s been an accident in the breaker mine, Mr. Burnham.”

“What kind of an accident?”

“Explosion of fire-damp.”

“What about the men?”

“It is not known yet how many are injured.”

“Tell James to bring the horses immediately; I will go there.”

“James is waiting at the door now with the team, sir.”

Mr. Burnham put away a few papers, wrote a hurried letter to his wife, took his hat and went out and down the steps.

“Send Dr. Gunther up to the breaker at once,” he said, as he made ready to start.

The fleet horses drew him rapidly out through the suburbs and up the hill, and in less than twenty minutes he had reached the breaker, and stopped at the mouth of the shaft.

Many people had already assembled, and others were coming from all directions.  Women whose husbands and sons worked in the mine were there, with pale faces and beseeching words.  There was much confusion.  It was difficult to keep the crowd from pressing in against the mouth of the shaft.  Men were busy clearing a space about the opening when Robert Burnham arrived.