Her grey and troubled eyes gazed into space now, dreamily. “He died long since. But my mother is living. And I believe she lives near Catharines-town to-day!”

“What! Why do you think so?” I exclaimed, astounded.

“Is not the Vale Yndaia there, near Catharines-town?”

“Yes. But why — — ”

“Then listen, Euan. Every year upon a certain day — the twelfth of May — no matter where I chance to be, always outside my door I find two little beaded moccasins. I have had them thirteen times in thirteen years. And every year — save the last two — the moccasins have been made a little larger, as though to fit my growing years. Now, for the last two years, they have remained the same in size, fitting me perfectly. And —