“Never mind, my boy. Money isn’t everything. You are about to give to the world a knowledge it has long hungered for, and true love is of more value than either. Besides you are—or would have been—my heir, if my ship had come into port. As it is, perhaps I can help a little. I have had a good deal of time to prospect, over yonder, during the past twenty years, and I have found indications that may develop something in the way of mining. We’ll go over to-morrow, and take a look. Good night, now—I mean good morning—you must try and rest some.” I retired, but sleep seemed far from me. The events of the day had been too momentous. And then my uncle’s words had left in me a spark of comfort—of hope. Yet, from somewhere out of the spaces sleep did come, and the sun was pouring into the uptilted port-hole of my stateroom when I awoke. We were off for the island again, immediately after breakfast. My uncle, trimmed, and arrayed in one of Captain Biffer’s uniforms, made now a most imposing figure, and this time Captain Biffer himself, with Chauncey and Edith Gale, completed the party. As we passed the point of rock where I had noticed what had seemed to me signs of hammering, my uncle paused. “Here is one place where I prospected,” he said. He pointed to a thread-like vein of yellow. “I believe that is gold. But I have never had tools to follow a ledge vein, and have done rather more at looking for placers, such as I saw in California, in the fifties.” My hopes withered. The tiny yellow streak seemed to me so small and uncertain. As for “placers,” I only knew dimly that they were connected in some way with “pockets,” and “washing.” We pushed on to his hut of stones. A very comfortable hut we had found it to be, and more roomy than it had appeared from without. My uncle entered first, and presently called to us. Within, he indicated seats on the stone benches ranged around the walls. He first exhibited a few curiosities he had gathered during his long exile, then also seating himself, he said: “My nephew Nicholas confided to me last night a matter I take to be well understood by all present. It concerns chiefly himself and a certain young lady, who is not far away.” He looked toward Edith Gale, who blushed and smiled, but said nothing. “Nicholas told me further,” my uncle continued, “of his lack of fortune, and his unwillingness to hold her to a promise made with different prospects ahead.” At this point Chauncey Gale started to speak, but my Uncle Nicholas checked him. I did not look at Edith, but she told me afterwards how she felt, and I sympathized with her. My uncle proceeded. “I told my nephew that money was not all of life. That he would give to the world a treasure of information, and that love was still greater than either knowledge or riches.”