The mother was gone now—­and Dorothy was sitting there.

“Ah, well!” sighed the major, trying to hide his thoughts, “we must talk of something pleasant.”

“But the Burlock affair,” ventured Dorothy.  “I thought it would be splendid to think of finding them.  I have not seen Mr. Burlock in some time.  What do you suppose has become of him?”

Major Dale took Dorothy’s hand into his own.

“Daughter,” he said, “Miles Burlock has passed away.”

“Dead!” gasped Dorothy.

“Yes, dead.  But he was happy, glad to go, although he left his task unfinished—­he had not found his wife and child.”

“What happened to him?” Dorothy asked, bewildered at the suddenness of her father’s words.

“He died from exhaustion as much as from any thing else.  That man Anderson had sent him word to go to Buffalo for ‘news.’  Believing the message meant good news, that of locating the wife and child, Burlock went, but not before he had legally made me guardian of the lost daughter, and put in my charge the estate that had lately come directly into his hands through the death of Mrs. Douglass.  So the poor man managed to settle his affairs before he was called away.  He came back to Dalton, sick and discouraged, and determined to put that man Andrew Anderson in jail.  But—­well it was not to be.  Ralph was with him all day and all night.  We did all we could to make it easier for him, and Dorothy dear, he closed his eyes—­blessing you!”

Dorothy was crying.  She tried hard to be brave, but somehow the tears would come—­and she had to cry!

“There, there, daughter,” said the major consolingly.  “I did not want to tell you just yet, but perhaps it is as well now as at any other time.  I knew you would be grieved.”

“Of course—­I am sorry—­” sighed Dorothy, “but wasn’t it splendid that he had reformed!”

“Yes, and I must confess I was proud to hear a dying man bless your name.  He declared that you, a mere child, had saved him from a death of shame.  I never knew Dorothy, until Ralph told me there at his bedside, that you had worked so hard to help in the crusade work, even speaking to men like Burlock, when they might not have known how to answer you.”

“Oh indeed, father,” she hurried to say, “I am sure Mr. Burlock was not intoxicated half the time others thought he was.  He seemed so sad always and would sit on a bench, just thinking of his child perhaps, when people called him ’drunk’!” and the girl’s eyes flashed indignantly at the thought.

“Well, well, daughter; you were right in showing charity.  Yes, charity is the love of God and our neighbor, and it was that love that led you to take the hand of that sick and discouraged man.  Ralph told me how you brought him into the Bugle office that afternoon, and how that was the beginning of a new life to Burlock for he never tasted strong drink after that day.”

“It was because I was like his own daughter or he thought I was, that he listened to me,” said Dorothy, not wanting to claim all the praise her father so prudently gave.