"That was a case of great minds running in similar trenches," said the father. "Now, we are going to have a good, long chat," began Dorothy, leaning against the arm of the major's chair so that her head touched his shoulder. "First, I want to tell you some news Tavia has heard of a woman in Rochester named Burlock!" "Burlock!" repeated the major, and he looked pained somehow; distressed at the mere mention of the name. "I thought perhaps--it might be the party you--that is, the woman wanted in the Burlock matter," faltered Dorothy. "I am afraid, daughter," said the major very solemnly, "you have been bothering your young head about affairs much too grave for you to handle. I have always regretted sending you to the Bugle office that morning, so many complications seemed to follow that experiment. Not but what you got out a splendid paper--better than this week's issue for that matter," the major hurried to say, for he noticed a look of disappointment come over Dorothy's face, "but because I seemed to thrust you out into the world, unprotected, and even in danger." Major Dale pressed his lips to his daughter's brow. Indeed she had always been his little helper, his one dear, only daughter. Her willingness and ambition to help might have misled him, sometimes he might have forgotten she was only fourteen years old, but now, seated there beside him, fussing with his "curls," as she insisted his rather long locks were, she was little Doro again, the baby that had so often climbed on his knee, in that very room, begging for one more story when mother announced "bed time." 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.