So long as there had appeared a chance of overtaking the men, who had injured him, he had been sustained by the hope of revenge; but on our relinquishing the pursuit, the recollection of the many misfortunes that had darkened his life, added to this new chagrin, came palpably before his mind, suggesting thoughts of suicide! "'Twas folly to pursue them at all," said he. "I should have known that the chance of overtaking them would have been a stroke of fortune too good to be mine. Fate has never yet been so kind to me, as to grant a favour I so much desired; and I was a fool to expect it. Shall I die?" I used every means in my power to direct his thoughts to some other subject; but he seemed not to heed, either what I said or did. Suddenly arousing himself from a long reverie, he emphatically exclaimed: "No! I will war with fate, till God calls me hence! All the curses of fortune shall not make me surrender. All the powers of Hell shall not subdue me. I will live, and conquer them all!" His spirit, after a terrible struggle, had triumphed; and now rose in opposition to fate itself. We rode back to the Stanislaus. It was a dreary journey; and I was glad when it was over. There had been an excitement in the chase, but none in returning from it. Even the horses seemed to participate in the cloudy change that had come over our thoughts. After arriving at the Stanislaus, I went to see Stormy Jack. I found him hard at work, and doing well in his claim--which was likely to afford him employment for several weeks longer. I was pleased to hear of his success; and strongly urged him to abstain from drink. "I don't intend to drink any more," said he, "leastwise, as long as I'm on the diggings; and sartinly not when I have any gold about me. That last spree, when I came so near losin' it, has larnt me manners." Guinane accompanied me on this visit to Stormy; and on our return, we passed through the town. My partner had left his name at the office of "Reynold's Express," for the purpose of having his letters forwarded from the General Post-office in San Francisco. As we passed the Express Office, he called in, to see if any had arrived for him. A letter was handed to him--for which he paid in postage and express charges, one dollar and fifty cents! After getting the letter, we stepped into a tavern, where he commenced reading it. While thus occupied, I noticed that he seemed strangely agitated. "We are friends," said he, turning short towards me. "I have told you some of my troubles of the past. Read this letter, and make yourself acquainted with some more. It is from Amanda Milne." He held the letter before my eyes, and I read:--