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“What the dickens do you mean by not reporting this morning? Just because Mr. Whitney is away, do you think you can take a vacation when you feel like it? And King, too; wait till I get hold of him! But what have you got to say for yourself, young man?”,

This left only Uncle Isaac and Jeremias and Tellef, and there would be about twenty cents to spend on their presents. Oh, yes! He could manage very well.,

And spread the blast of Desolation wide.,

“I said no such thing,” interrupted Aunt Grenertsen.

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When the men got their cigars lighted they began to talk. Whitney was of course anxious to know what the situation was on the job he was to tackle in the morning. If the laborers were satisfied, how the work was progressing, and a thousand and one other things he needed to know bubbled forth. The assistant engineer was a veritable mine of information. Practically every question was answered without a moment’s hesitation. Bob was contented to sit and listen, drinking in all the information he could. This was the Reclamation Service and to-morrow would see him taking an active part in the work.,

The night came down cold. The boys were glad to bundle up into their sleeping bags and get what rest they could. The novelty and excitement could keep Bob awake for only a little while, for the danger into which he was headed did not worry him for a moment, and he was very tired. He wanted adventure and he was going to have it. Only one thing deterred him at all, and that was the thought of his father. But before he had left the hotel at the Grand Canyon he had written a letter explaining to the older Hazard what he was planning to do. He had, of course, minimized the danger. But, even so, when Mr. Hazard got the letter he was very much upset and had an impulse to get on the next train and bring his boy back to civilization, if he still had a boy to bring back.,

“Dad! Dad! But I’m glad to see you!” he cried.,

Ferdinand, in the stillness and solitude of his dungeon, brooded over the late calamity in gloomy ineffectual lamentation. The idea of Hippolitus—of Hippolitus murdered—arose to his imagination in busy intrusion, and subdued the strongest efforts of his fortitude. Julia too, his beloved sister—unprotected—unfriended—might, even at the moment he lamented her, be sinking under sufferings dreadful to humanity. The airy schemes he once formed of future felicity, resulting from the union of two persons so justly dear to him—with the gay visions of past happiness—floated upon his fancy, and the lustre they reflected served only to heighten, by contrast, the obscurity and gloom of his present views. He had, however, a new subject of astonishment, which often withdrew his thoughts from their accustomed object, and substituted a sensation less painful, though scarcely less powerful. One night as he lay ruminating on the past, in melancholy dejection, the stillness of the place was suddenly interrupted by a low and dismal sound. It returned at intervals in hollow sighings, and seemed to come from some person in deep distress. So much did fear operate upon his mind, that he was uncertain whether it arose from within or from without. He looked around his dungeon, but could distinguish no object through the impenetrable darkness. As he listened in deep amazement, the sound was repeated in moans more hollow. Terror now occupied his mind, and disturbed his reason; he started from his posture, and, determined to be satisfied whether any person beside himself was in the dungeon, groped, with arms extended, along the walls. The place was empty; but coming to a particular spot, the sound suddenly arose more distinctly to his ear. He called aloud, and asked who was there; but received no answer. Soon after all was still; and after listening for some time without hearing the sounds renewed, he laid himself down to sleep. On the following day he mentioned to the man who brought him food what he had heard, and enquired concerning the noise. The servant appeared very much terrified, but could give no information that might in the least account for the circumstance, till he mentioned the vicinity of the dungeon to the southern buildings. The dreadful relation formerly given by the marquis instantly recurred to the mind of Ferdinand, who did not hesitate to believe that the moans he heard came from the restless spirit of the murdered Della Campo. At this conviction, horror thrilled his nerves; but he remembered his oath, and was silent. His courage, however, yielded to the idea of passing another night alone in his prison, where, if the vengeful spirit of the murdered should appear, he might even die of the horror which its appearance would inspire.