She was very firm, as she usually was when her mind was made up. All summer she had been planning this trip to California, intending, either on her way there, or on her return, to visit the mines in Montana where Mark had met his death. She would not like to admit to anyone the great desire she had to see some of the people who had known him and, if possible, to learn what had become of Jeff. For a brief space of time she had loved Mark passionately, and she always thought of him now with regret for the bitter things she had said to him. He had once told her there was in him, about equally balanced, the making of an angel or a devil, and a woman’s hand would turn the scale. She had turned it and sent him to destruction, and the widow’s weeds she wore were almost as much for Mark Hilton as for the courtly Judge Prescott. Sometimes in her sleep she heard Mark’s voice calling to her from beyond the Rockies and bidding her come to him with their child. Again she sat with him in the ghost-haunted room in Ridgefield and promised to prove false to the vows made to Craig only the night before. On such occasions she would wake suddenly, bathed with perspiration and thank God it was all a dream. She did not wish Mark back. Their paths diverged more widely now than when they separated. It was her treatment of him which she regretted, and her many sleepless nights and restless days had undermined her health, until a change was necessary. She must go to California and Roy must wait for his bride until another year. “Why can’t I go with you? You need some man to take care of you, especially in the Yosemite, where the brigands are so thick that the stages are stopped every few days,” Roy said. But Mrs. Prescott was not afraid of the brigands, and didn’t need a man as an escort, and Roy was compelled to acquiesce in waiting a year, which seemed to him as endless. Mrs. Prescott promised to bring Fanny to Boston before leaving for California, and with this to comfort him he left New York the following day, anxious to carry the glad news of his engagement to his father and mother. He made very short work of it. “I have asked Fanny to be my wife, and she has consented,” he said. “She is not Fanny Prescott at all, but Fanny Hilton. I know all about it, ’Tina and all, and don’t care.” Craig and Alice did not care, either. To them it was an old story nearly forgotten, and they congratulated their son and at once forwarded a letter to Helen inviting her and Fanny to spend Thanksgiving with them. CHAPTER III. ANCESTRY.