"And are they buried there?"
The man seemed to grow nervous under this questioning, and replied:
"Your mother is buried in New York, your father in the Black Hills, where he died."
"He was killed, you say?"
"Yes."
"By whom?"
"It was never known, my child; but it was supposed that a brother miner did the deed, for he was found dead in his cabin, and had been robbed."
"My poor, poor father. Would that I knew his murderer, for never would I rest until I had seen him ascend the gallows," said Jennie, in a tone that showed she was in deadly earnest.
"You will never know, Jennie, for I tried in vain to find out. As I told you, your father and I were friends, the dearest of friends, and his interests and mine were the same. I had gone East, on account of the illness of my wife, and returned after an absence of several months to find that he had been killed and robbed of his savings, which were considerable. What money he had was in his wife's hands at home, but she died, and, of course, you are the heir, and it amounts to some twenty thousand dollars, that I now hold in trust for you. Not a large fortune, but a nice little sum, my child. I gave up the mine after your poor father's death, and went elsewhere and one day struck it rich. It was when I took my first large savings home that I went to see you, and so took you into my keeping, for it had been your father's wish, as his papers showed. Then I returned to the mines, worked at my mine until I got the cream out of it, and sold out for a fair price, when I looked about for a home and established myself here. When settled I sent for your mother and brother to come here with you. Now, Jennie, you know my story, and the secret we have long kept from you."
"Yes, and I thank you, father, for telling me, for I would rather have it so. You have, indeed, been most kind to me, and I will do all in my power to repay you—you and my adopted mother. But, father, may I ask if Herbert knows me as I am, as not being his sister?"