"Why, Murray!" said Steve, "what can be the matter?"
"Matter? My dear boy, read that! Rita is an heiress."
"What?"
Steve certainly had good reason for thinking that his friend had lost his wits, but he took the "Talking Leaves" held out to him, and read the few lines to which Murray's finger pointed.
"The great English estate of Cranston Hall, with a baronetcy, is waiting for an heir. The late baronet left no children, and his only brother, to whom the title and all descend, was last heard of in America. He is believed to have been interested in mining in the far West, and the lawyers are hunting for him."
"Well," said Murray, when Steve ceased reading, "what do you think of that?"
"I don't know exactly what to think. Your name is Murray."
"Robert Cranston Murray, as my father's was before me. It was because he left me only my name that I left England to seek my fortune. Oh, Steve, I must find my way back now! Rita will be the lady of Cranston Hall."
"Instead of the squaw of some Apache horse-stealer."
Steve felt a little like dancing and a good deal like tossing up his hat and venting his feelings by a good hurrah, but the next thought was a sober one.