Ezekiel.
Uncle Dick's voice faltered a little in the reading. The black eyes were glowing with new hope beneath the beetling white brows, as he lifted his gaze to the mountain peaks. For the first time, he felt a thrill of jubilation over the young man whom he had rejected, whom now he accepted--jubilation for the fresh, virile, strength of the lad, for the resourcefulness that this message so plainly declared. The old man's lips moved in vague, mute phrases, which were the clumsy expressions of emotions, of gratitude to Providence for the blessing of another's energy, on which to lean in this time of trial. There had been desperate need of haste in getting the hounds on the trail. Now, they were coming--to-night. Zeke was bringing them. Perhaps, after all, an old man's declining years would know the fond tenderness of a daughter's care--and a son's. Thank God that Zeke was coming!