“And Mr. Slater?”

“Oh, we couldn’t exist without ‘Happy Tom’!  No, the only miracle about all this is the loyalty that has made it possible.  It is that which has broken all records in railroad-building; that’s what has pushed our tracks forward until we’re nearly up to one of Nature’s real miracles.  You shall see those glaciers, one of these days.  Sometimes I wonder if even the devotion of those men will carry us through the final test.  But—­you shall meet them all, to-night—­my whole family.”

“I can’t.  The ship leaves this afternoon.”

“I’ve arranged to send you to Hope in my motor-boat, just as Mr. Gordon sent me on my way a year ago.  You will stay with the Appletons to-night and help at the house-warming, then Dan will take you on in the morning.  Women are such rare guests at Omar that we refuse to part with them.  You agree?”

“How can I refuse?  Your word seems to be law here.  I’ll send word to mother by the ship that I am detained by royal decree.”

She spoke with a gaiety that seemed a little forced, and at mention of her departure a subtle change had come over her face.  O’Neil realized that she had matured markedly since his last meeting with her; there was no longer quite the same effect of naive girlishness.

“This was a very unhappy year for your loyal subject, Mr. O’Neil.”

“I’m sorry,” he declared with such genuine kindliness that she was moved to confide in him.

“Mother and I are ruined.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“It’s merely—­those wretched coal claims.  I have a friend in the Land Office at Washington, and, remembering what you said, I asked him to look them up.  I knew no other way to go about it.  He tells me that something was done, or was not done, by us, and that we have lost all we put in.”

“I urged Gordon to obey that ruling, last spring.”  Natalie saw that his face was dark with indignation, and the knowledge that he really cared set her heart to pounding gratefully.  She was half tempted to tell about that other, that greater trouble which had stolen in upon her peace of mind and robbed her of her girlhood, but she shrank from baring her wounds—­above all, a wound so vital and so personal as this.

“Does your mother know?” he queried.

“No, I preferred to tell her in Mr. Gordon’s presence.”  Murray noticed that she no longer called the man uncle.  “But now that the time has come, I’m frightened.”

“Never allow yourself to be afraid.  Fear is something false; it doesn’t exist.”

“It seems to me he was—­unfaithful to his trust.  Am I right?”

“That is something you must judge for yourself,” he told her, gravely.  “You see, I don’t know anything about the reasons which prompted him to sacrifice your rights.  He may have had very good reasons.  I dare say he had.  In building this railroad I have felt but one regret; that is the indirect effect it may have upon you and your mother.  Your affairs are linked closely with Gordon’s and the success of my enterprise will mean the failure of his.”