“Wansfell—listen,” she whispered, with more force. “I—I should have told you.... Genie is not poor. No!... She’s rich!... Her father found gold—over in the mountains.... He slaved at digging.... That killed him. But he found gold. It’s hidden inside the hut—under the floor—where I used to lie.... Bags of gold! Wansfell, my child will be rich!”
“Well!... Oh, but I’m glad!” exclaimed Adam.
“Yes. It sustains me.... But I’ve worried so.... My husband expected me—to take Genie out of the desert.... I’ve worried about that money. Genie’s uncle—John Shaver is his name—he’s a good man. He loved her. He used to drink—but I hope the desert cured him of that. I think—he’ll be a father to Genie.”
“Does he know about the gold that will be Genie’s?”
“No. We never told him. My husband didn’t trust John—in money matters.... Wansfell, if you’ll say you’ll go with Genie—when her uncle comes—and invest the money—until she’s of age—I will have no other prayer except for her happiness.... I will die in peace.”
“I promise. I’ll do my best,” he declared.
* * * * *
The next time she spoke to him was that evening at dusk. Frogs were trilling, and a belated mocking bird was singing low, full-throated melodies. Yet these beautiful sounds only accentuated the solemn desert stillness.
“Wansfell—you remember—once we talked of God,” she said, very low.
“Yes, I remember,” replied Adam.