“Mark,” she whispered, for she could not speak out loud, “How came you here, when you have been dead so many years?” “To you, yes,” he said, coming nearer to her. “To you, yes; but very much alive to myself and others. That notice of my death was a mistake. I was not in or near the mine, but I let it pass. I preferred to be dead to you and my old life. With Jeff I came to Southern California, taking another name and marrying a little Spanish girl, Anita——” “Marrying, when you knew I was alive! Oh, Mark!” Helen interrupted him, while the hot blood stained her cheeks and the fire which leaped into her eyes made her like the Helen Tracy of his Chicago home when she was roused. Mark smiled at this flash of jealousy and replied, “You forget the divorce which made me free to marry. It was kind in you to see that I had that privilege. You sent me a copy of the decree you know. And then you married again. Why shouldn’t I? Anita was very lovely and sweet. She is dead.” “I thought you dead, too,” Helen replied, angry with him, angry with poor little Anita, and angry at herself for showing her anger. “Where did you come from, and why are you here?” she asked, glancing at the door in fear lest Fanny should come in. “Didn’t the servant tell you Mr. Rayborne wished to see you?” Mark said. “Mr. Rayborne, yes; but not Mr. Hilton. Are you Mr. Rayborne? Is that the name you took?” she asked, and he replied, “Yes, I am Mr. Rayborne, and I am here at Inez’s request. She is very ill,—dying, we fear,—the shock was so great. She wishes to see her sister.” For an instant Mark’s eyes, which usually moved rapidly from one object to another, were still and held the woman as if a spell were thrown over her. With a sensation of numbness in every limb Helen gasped, “Inez, your daughter! and sister to my Fanny! How do you know that?” She was almost prepared to deny Fanny’s paternity, but Mark’s reply prevented it. “Fanny told Inez that her own father, Mark Hilton, whom she could not remember, was killed in the mines of Montana and that she took Judge Prescott’s name when her mother married him. Do I want more proof than that? I suppose you changed her name from Frances to Fanny, which was natural enough. Sit down. You don’t look able to stand.”