Lyle looked surprised.
“Has no one ever told you you could sing?” asked Miss Gladden.
“I never sang for any one, excepting once, for Jack,” answered Lyle.
“What did he say of your voice?” inquired Miss Gladden.
“He said, like Mr. Houston, that he had heard but one voice like mine, but that he did not like to hear me, so I have never sung since, excepting by myself.”
“Lyle,” said Miss Gladden suddenly, “how old is this man whom you call Jack?”
“Possibly forty, perhaps a little less,” she answered indifferently.
A new thought had flashed into Miss Gladden’s mind. For some time she had doubted whether Lyle were really a child of Maverick and his wife, she was so utterly unlike them; could it be possible that Jack, whose life seemed so much a mystery, was the father of Lyle? Was that the reason for his interest in her? and had Lyle had some beautiful mother,––unfortunate perhaps,––whose life had suddenly gone out, as the little life had just begun, and whose memory was recalled too vividly by Lyle’s song? Miss Gladden determined, if possible, to find a clue to this mystery.
The boat was now on its homeward way, and a song with which all were familiar having been found, the four voices blended in exquisite harmony.
“It seems to me there are some rare treats in store for us,” was Rutherford’s comment, as the friends separated for the night; then, a few moments later, when alone with Houston, he exclaimed: