knowing she would try to comfort me. She was dead. Her daughter
Myrtle, whom I had never seen, had been killed in an automobile
accident. That is what her aunt, a terrible woman named Martha Dean,
told me, although now I know it was a lie, told to cover her own
baseness in sending an unprotected child to the far West to seek an
unknown uncle. I paid Martha Dean back the money she claimed she had
spent for Myrtle's funeral; that was mere robbery, I suppose, but not
to be compared with the crime of her false report. I found myself
bereft of sweetheart, sister--even an unknown niece. Despair claimed
me. I took the first train for the West, dazed and utterly despondent.
Some impulse led me to stop off at the Grand Canyon, and there I saw
the means of ending all my misery. But Myrtle interfered."

Uncle John, now thoroughly interested and sympathetic, leaned over and
said solemnly:

"The hand of God was in that!"

Mr. Jones nodded.

"I am beginning to believe it," he replied. "The girl's face won me
even in that despairing mood. She has Kitty's eyes."

"They are beautiful eyes," said Uncle John, earnestly. "Sir, you have
found in your niece one of the sweetest and most lovely girls that
ever lived. I congratulate you!"

Mr. Jones nodded again. His mood had changed again since they began
to speak of Myrtle. His eyes now glowed with pleasure and pride. He
clasped Mr. Merrick's hand in his own as he said with feeling: