"She is much better," said Houston with a smile, but before he could say anything further, Morton turned toward his brother, saying in gentle, quiet tones, but with a look in his eye which spoke volumes to Ned's inner consciousness: "Ned, this is Miss Maverick no longer, but Miss Washburn, the grand-daughter of the Mr. Cameron whom we expect here to-morrow." Poor Ned Rutherford! If he had ever laid any claim to dignity and self-possession, they both deserted him now. Utterly bereft of speech, he stood for a moment as if petrified. Then approaching Lyle, he stammered: "I beg your pardon, Miss,--Miss Washburn, but that is always Mort's way, to spring anything on me in such a fashion as to knock me out completely. I beg your pardon for appearing so stupid, and I congratulate you on the good news, and extend you my best wishes, Miss----" "Oh, call me Lyle," she interrupted, with a rippling laugh. "I have a right to that name yet." "Is that so?" said Ned, with the air of a drowning man clutching at a straw. "Thank you; I'm glad that's left for a sort of land mark, you know. I'll call you 'Lyle' then, 'till I can get accustomed to the new name," and he sank in a heap in the nearest chair. The letter was read, and bitter were the denunciations against Maverick. "The scoundrel! He ought to be lynched this very night," said Ned. "That's the way they do those things out here." "Not late years, Ned," corrected his brother, "and even if they did, that would not be best." "It is a question with me," said Houston, "situated just as we are at present, and with Mr. Cameron expected in a few hours, whether it would be wise to do anything about this until after his arrival." "I think not," said Morton, "under the circumstances, you do not want to arouse the antipathy of any of the miners before Mr. Cameron's coming, and as Maverick knows nothing of this discovery, he will of course remain here, and Mr. Cameron can advise in this matter as he thinks best." And this was the final decision. CHAPTER XLII. A few hours later Lyle stood in the gloaming, taking leave of Jack, in the quaint, cozy room in the cabin, little dreaming that they stood there together for the last time. They had talked long and earnestly of the new life opening up before her, and her tears flowed fast as she recalled the happy hours they had spent together, or as she anticipated the days to come. Her tears were not the only ones, but the friendly twilight, rapidly deepening, concealed the others. "And to think that you have known so much of this all the time, and did not tell me!" she exclaimed.