“Ralph!  Ralph!  I have found you!”

He had not understood it then; he knew now what it meant.

He raised the paper to the level of his eyes, and read, again and again, the convincing words:—­

    “Do not allow any one to persuade you that this boy is not our
    son.  I know he is.”

Then Ralph felt again that honest pride in his blood and in his name, and that high ambition to be worthy of his parentage, that had inspired him in the days gone by.  Again he looked forward into the bright future, to the large fulfilment of all his hopes and desires, to learning, culture, influence, the power to do good; above all, to the sweetness of a life with his own mother, in the home where he had spent one beautiful day.

He had drawn himself to his full height; every muscle was tense, his head was erect with proud knowledge, high hope flashed from his eyes, gladness dwelt in every feature of his face.

Then, suddenly, the light went out from his countenance, and the old look of pain came back there.

His face had changed with his changing thought as it did that day in the court-room at Wilkesbarre.  The fact of his imprisonment had returned into his mind, and for the moment it overcame him.  He sat down on a jutting rock to consider it.  Of what use was it to be Robert Burnham’s son, with two hundred feet of solid rock between him and the outside world, and the only passage through it blocked with burned and broken timbers?

For a time despondency darkened his mind and despair sat heavily upon him.  He even wished that the joy of this new knowledge had not come to him.  It made the depth of his present misfortune seem so much greater.

But, after a while, he took heart again; courage came back to him; the belief that he would be finally saved grew stronger in his mind; hope burned up brightly in his breast, and the pride of parentage within him filled him with ambition to do what lay in his power to accomplish his own deliverance.  It was little he could do, indeed, save to wait with patience and in hope until outside help should come, but this little, he resolved, should be done with a will, as befitted his birth and position.

He folded the precious bit of paper he had found and fastened it in his waistcoat pocket so that he should not lose it as Robert Burnham had lost it; then he took up his lamp and went back through the half-walled entrance, down the chamber and along the side-heading to the air-way door where Jasper had been left.

There was a small can of oil sitting just inside the door-way.  It was the joint property of Ralph and the door-boy.  It was fortunate, he thought, that he had selected that place for it, as he was now in great need of it.  He filled his lamp, from which the oil had become nearly exhausted, and then passed out through the door.

The mule was still there and uttered a hoarse sound of welcome when he saw the boy.