“Your father may be, but your mother is dead, and it is by her dying request that I have never told you before of your being an orphan.” “And have I no relations living?” “Your mother said she had a brother living, but she had not heard of him for ten years, up to the hour of her death.” “And you said my father _might_ be living, did you not?” “Yes; since the worst is known, I may as well tell all. Domestic trouble separated your parents. Your father enlisted as a soldier in the Mexican war, and as he never came back, it was supposed that he fell at the battle of Chapultepec. Your mother died shortly after the separation. Your father I never saw.” “And so none of the settlers here know but what I am your child?” “No. We came from the State of Maine here, while most of the other settlers are from Ohio, that is, we went from Maine to Ohio, and from there came here.” Clara bowed her head and wept sadly, bitterly. CHAPTER XVII. A REVELATION. True to their promise, Old Tumult and Town. returned to the cabin of Talbott Taft the following morning. As they approached the lonely hut, they saw no sign of life about it, but pushing on they reached the door, upon which Town. gently rapped. But no one bade them enter, and it was then that a strange suspicion rushed across our two friends’ minds, and pushing the door open they entered. True enough, their suspicions were verified by seeing Talbott Taft sitting bolt-upright in a chair near a rude table, stone _dead_! “Self-destruction,” muttered Town., as he pointed to a glass upon the table, in which there was some liquid of a greenish color; and then as his eyes fell upon a folded paper near the glass, he continued: “and here is no doubt a written confession, and a lengthy one too, for there are a number of pages.” He unfolded the papers and glanced at the head of the writing, which was well executed, though it showed some nervousness of the writer. “ROMANTIC IMAGINATION--TRAGICAL REALITY.” These were the words heading the MS., and Town. at once perceived that the writer thereof had been fostering some romantic hopes that had ended in a tragical death. The first thing our friends did was to bury the body of the trader by the side of his daughter. This last sad duty performed, the scout and Town. returned to the cabin and seated themselves. Town. now took up the manuscript and began reading it aloud. It ran thus: “In one of the loveliest rural districts of Virginia is a grand estate, with a great stone mansion and lovely surroundings--all that heart could wish, art devise, and wealth procure--known as The Golden Horn. Four years ago the owner of The Golden Horn lay dying. He was a bachelor, and no wife nor child was there to mourn his coming death. Only Mrs. Martha Hohn, his house-keeper, sat by his dying bed.