its stead there was an expression of bewildered joy.
“You my daughter?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “You Marion Brisbane?”
“Yes, I am,” was the faint response. “Didn’t you know me?”
Hugo’s only reply was to reach out and gather her in his great arms. The tension of long years was broken. The man of iron, the terror of interferers, and the enigma of the trails was at last subdued. His head rested upon his daughter’s shoulder, while great sobs shook his mighty frame. At length he stepped back and held her at arm’s length.
“Yes, I can see your mother’s looks,” he mused as if to himself. “I thought I couldn’t be mistaken. Tell me, is she alive?”
“No, she has been dead for some time.”
“Ah!” Hugo’s hands dropped, and he stood staring off into space. The past was sweeping upon him like a flood, and overwhelming him. He turned and sat down heavily upon a rough block of wood which served as a seat. With back bowed and head bent he remained very still. Marion went to his side and laid a hand upon his shoulder.
“But you have me, father,” she began. “I have been searching for you a long time.”
“You have!” Hugo looked at her in surprise. “How did you know me?”
“By your white lock.”
“When did you see that?”
“At the hospital when you were asleep on the kitchen floor.”
“But my cap was on.”
“I know it was. But I crept in and lifted it.”
“So you followed me here?”
