“I don’t believe you will ever go there, Robert,” said the hermit, looking earnestly at the strong, energetic face of the boy before him. “No, sir, I don’t believe we will. But you are doing a great deal for us, sir. How can I ever repay you? If there was anything I could do for you I should be glad.” “Perhaps you can,” said the hermit in a musing tone. “Let me know what it is, sir, and I’ll be glad to do it.” “Have you ever wondered,” asked the hermit abruptly, “why I have left the haunts of men and retired to this out-of-the-way spot?” “Yes, sir. I have thought of that often.” “Your curiosity is natural. I am not a poor man--in fact I should be called rich. Poverty and pecuniary troubles, therefore, have nothing to do with my strange act--as the world considers it. In my life there have been two tragedies. I was married, at the age of thirty, to a very beautiful young lady, whom I tenderly loved. I made my home in a city of considerable size and lived as my means warranted. One evening, as my wife stood before the open grate, dressed for a party, her dress caught fire, and before help could arrive she was fatally injured. Of course the blow was a terrible one. But I had a child--a boy of five--on whom my affections centered. A year later he mysteriously disappeared, and from that day I have never heard a word of him. When search proved unavailing, I became moody and a settled melancholy took possession of me. I could not endure the sight of other parents happy in the possession of children, and I doomed myself to a solitary life, wandering here and there till, two years since, I chanced to find this cave and made my home here.” “How old would your son be now?” asked Robert with interest. “About your own age--perhaps a little older. It was this and a fancied resemblance which attracted me toward you.” “Had you any suspicion that your son was stolen?” asked Robert. “Yes. In particular I suspected a cousin who would be my probable heir in case my boy died. But I could never prove anything, and the man expressed so much sympathy that I was ashamed to avow any suspicions. But Charles Waldo was a covetous man, insatiable in his greed of money and absolutely cold and unsympathetic, though his manner was plausible. He hoped that this second blow would kill me, but he has been disappointed.” “If the boy is living, perhaps he knows where he is,” said Robert. “If he abducted him--yes. He would not kill him, for he is too cautious a man and has too great fear of the law.” “Where is Mr. Waldo now living?” “In Ohio. He has a large farm and a moderate amount of money invested--some twenty thousand dollars perhaps--so that he is able to live at ease. He was disappointed because I would not give him the charge of my property, but with the lingering suspicion in my mind I could not make up my mind to do it. He also sought a loan of ten thousand dollars, which I refused.” “How then does he expect to be your heir?” asked Robert.