Together they entered the cabin, and seated in the little, familiar room, Lyle told the story of her discovery, and opening the locket, placed it in Jack's hands. For a moment he gazed silently at the little trinket, then he said in low tones, as if half to himself, "It is she, and you are her child, as I have always believed," then added, "I rejoice with you, Lyle, I am glad for your sake." But even as he spoke, Lyle, notwithstanding the exuberance of her own joy, could not fail to observe in his face indications of poignant pain, as he looked at the lovely pictured face, and as she repeated the name inscribed opposite. "Jack!" she suddenly exclaimed, "have I made you suffer by my thoughtlessness? Forgive me!" "No, my dear," he answered tenderly, "you have caused me no pain; if I suffer, it is on account of bitter memories of which you as yet know nothing, and I pray you may never know. What letter have you there?" Lyle read the letter, Jack silently pacing up and down the room, listening, with a look of intense indignation deepening on his face, until she had finished. "It is as I have suspected all these years," he said, "the dastardly villain! the scoundrel! Thank God, it is not yet too late, there are those who can and will right the wrong, so far as it is possible to right it." At Lyle's request, they compared the picture with the photograph in Jack's possession; they were one and the same, except that the latter had been taken a few years earlier. "Jack," said Lyle earnestly, "can you tell me anything about my relatives? Are my grandparents living? and had my parents brothers or sisters?" "I have learned quite recently that your grandparents are still living," Jack answered slowly, after a pause, "as to the others I cannot say; even of your own mother I can trust myself to say but very little, it is too painful!" "What would you advise me to do now?" Lyle asked wistfully, but with slight hesitation. "What would be the best course for me to take?" With an expression unlike anything she had ever seen on his face, and a depth of pathos in his voice she had never heard, he replied very tenderly: "I can no longer advise you, my dear Lyle; take these proofs which you have found to Everard Houston; he can advise you now far better than I; show them to him, my dear, and you will have no further need of counsel or help from me, much as I wish it were in my power to give both." "To Mr. Houston?" Lyle had risen in her surprise, and stood regarding Jack with tearful, perplexed astonishment; there was a hidden significance in his words which as yet she could not fathom. "I do not understand you, Jack; why do you speak as though you could no more be to me the friend and counselor that you have been?" He smiled one of his rare, sweet smiles. "Do as I have suggested, dear,--then you will understand; and I shall want to see you for a few moments again to-night, after you have seen him."