"Oh, Pete!" she cried, "tell me what it all means!"
"What's wrong, lassie?" he replied, somewhat embarassed by her searching look.
"The violin! It's my brother's! I gave it to him for a Christmas present two years ago. See, here are his initials upon this small silver plate," and she held the violin up close to his eyes.
"Waal, waal, so it is as ye say. Who'd a thought it?"
"But where is he? Do you know? Oh, please tell me!"
"I don't know much meself," and Pete scratched his head. "I met the chap who owned that fiddle last Fall, on the trail way yon East. He give it to me 'cause 'twas too heavy fer 'im to carry, so I 'jist brought her along, an' thar she be. Ye may keep her, lassie, if ye like."
Constance made no reply to these words, but grasped the violin firmly in her hands, while a look of hope shone in her eyes, Then she realized her position, and what a strange scene she was making before these men. The blood rushed to her face.
"Please take me home," she said to Pete, "I wish to be alone."
During this brief scene Keith was undergoing an agony of soul. How he longed to rush forward, clasp those little hands in his own, and speak words of comfort. But he had no comfort to give, he could only bring deep sorrow if he told what he knew. Should he speak? Would it be right? Whenever the question arose, he crushed it back. No, not now; some other time. And so he watched her leave the building without one word of farewell, and as the door closed behind her a sense of loneliness swept over him, which even the presence of the miners could not dispel.
"Pete," he asked that night, as the two sat alone in the cabin, "did Miss Radhurst question you much about her brother?"