"When I had waited a reasonable length of time I wrote again to the postmaster of the same place, asking him if he knew of such a person as Mrs. Greyfield, in Oregon. The reply came this time from a man named Seabrook, who said that there had been a woman of the name of Greyfield in Portland at one time, but that both she and her child were dead. This news put an end to inquiries in that direction, though I continued to look for any one who might have known you, and finally found one of our original party, who confirmed the intelligence of your having gone to Oregon instead of California, and so settled the question, as I supposed, forever. "You may wonder, dear Anna, that I did not go to Oregon when I had the barest suspicion of your being there. The distance and the trouble of getting there were not what deterred me. I was making money where I was, and did not wish to abandon my claim while it was producing well, for an uncertain hint that might mislead me." "Stop there!" interrupted Mrs. Greyfield. "Do you think _I_ should have hesitated in a case like that? But go on." "I knew you had considerable property, and thought I knew you were with friends who would not let you suffer--" "Though they had abandoned him while still alive, in the wilderness! Beg pardon; please go on again." "And that Oregon was really a more comfortable, and safe place for a family than California, as times were then--" Mrs. Greyfield groaned. "And that you, if there, would do very well until I could come for you. I could not suspect that you would avail yourself of the privilege of widowhood within so short a time, if ever." "Oh!" ejaculated my listener, with irrepressible impatience. I read on without appearing to observe the interruption. "To tell the truth, I had not thought of myself as dead, and that is probably where I made the greatest mistake. It did not occur to me, that you were thinking of yourself as a widow; therefore, I did not realize the risk. But when the news came of your death, if it were really you, as I finally made up my mind it must be--" An indignant gesture, accompanied by a sob, expressed Mrs. Greyfield's state of feeling on this head. "I fell into a state of confirmed melancholy, reproaching myself severely for not having searched the continent over before stopping to dig gold! though it was for you I was digging it, and our dear boy, whom I believed alive and well, somewhere, until I received Mr. Seabrook's letter.