“And they hadn’t been divorced?” Brainard pursued, bewildered. “Not that! He was bad enough, gave mother a dreadful life, took her up to that desolate mining town in Arizona, and left her there. Poor ma! But he sent her money when he had any—even that last time when he was in New York—and always called her his wife. I have letters to show it.” “But you weren’t his child!” Brainard mused. “Only by adoption; but I am my mother’s only living relative, and she died _after_ him!” “So, as the old man seems to have had no other living heirs to make claim, it is all your money!” Melody shook her head smilingly. “Not quite that! A good part of it must belong to my able trustee, who discovered the sulfur and made it pay. Dad Krutzmacht couldn’t have had very much to the good when he died. He wasn’t a nice sort of man, Dad Krutzmacht,” she added thoughtfully. “Well, he left you a nice little fortune—something that should run into the millions. You will have to think more tenderly of the old fellow.” “Ugh! How I hated him and Monument! That’s why I dropped his name. And just as soon as mother was gone, I fled.” “In the night—rode down to the railroad. I remember it all. But tell me, where did you go then, and what happened to you? How did you escape the search I made for you all over the world?” “That’s _my_ story! I’ll tell it to you some day—how I dishwashed and cooked on a ranch for a living, peddled corsets, and worked in a factory—it’s a long yarn. Some of it is in the play; I told Ned the amusing things. But he has fixed it up a whole lot—I don’t know myself!” “It must have been hard for a girl.” “It was, but I am not sorry. It gave you a chance to work the mine, for one thing.” There was a pause, and then Brainard rose to leave, saying: “Well, Miss White—” “Just plain Melody, please! I like the name—don’t you?” “It means a good deal to me, as I told you.” The girl blushed, remembering what Brainard had said about his unknown mistress, and drawled: “But you didn’t like my taking it a little bit.” “No,” Brainard admitted. “But I don’t mind now.” “You oughtn’t to, really, seeing that it is my own name by baptism.” They both laughed at this. Melody danced about the small room, woke up the new Boston bull, and made him dance with her. She was once more the child Brainard had first known at the opening of the theater. “You’ll have to squelch that woman who’s trying to take poor mama’s place,” she remarked, in a pause. “Of course I shall attend to that at once—and all other business until I can straighten out your property and hand it over to you clear of tangles.”