She spoke strongly, as she felt. So early orphaned, she had come to think of her parents as the most wonderful blessing in the power of God to leave one. She loved her Uncle Hugh like a second father, but her tenderest dreams were over the pictured faces of her dead. “Where is your father buried?” It was the simplest, most natural question. “I--don’t--know.” They stared at one another. It was proof of her childlike acceptance of her life that she had never asked--had never thought to do so, even. She had been told that he had passed out of sight before they came to Peace Island and the forest, and had asked no further concerning him. Of his character and habits she had heard much. Her uncle was never weary in extolling his virtues; but of his death he had said only what has been written. “But--I must know right away!” In her eagerness she ran, and Adrian followed as swiftly. He was sorry for his thoughtless inquiry, but regret came too late. He tried to call Margot back, but she would not wait. “I must know--I must know right away. Why have I never thought before?” Hugh Dutton was resting after a day of study and mental labor, and his head leaned easily upon his cushioned chair. Yet as his dear child entered his room he held out his arms to draw her to his knee. “In a minute, uncle. But Adrian has asked me something and it is the strangest thing that I cannot answer him. Where is my father buried?” If she had dealt him a mortal blow he could not have turned more white. With a groan that pierced her very heart, he stared at Margot with wide, unseeing eyes; then sprang to his feet and fixed upon poor Adrian a look that scorched. “You! you!” he gasped, and, sinking back, covered his face with his hands. X PERPLEXITIES What had he done? Ignorant why his simple question should have such strange results, that piercing look made Adrian feel the veriest culprit, and he hastened to leave the room and the cabin. Hurrying to the beach, he appropriated Margot’s little canvas canoe and pushed out upon the lake. From her and Pierre he had learned to handle the light craft with considerable skill, and he now worked off his excitement by swift paddling, so that there was soon a wide distance between him and the island. Then he paused and looked around him, upon as fair a scene as could be found in any land. Unbroken forests bounded this hidden Lake Profundus, out of whose placid waters rose that mountain-crowned, verdure-clad Island of Peace, with its picturesque home and its cultured owner, who had brought into this best of the wilderness the best of civilization.