al and the illusions
that every woman craves for and clings to.

"This," the Bishop was going on quietly, "is the new man we are to
consider; the one who stands in the light and sees Truth. We must not
hear the little mouthings of the world. Does he care for the opinions
or the words that are said here? See, he stands in the great open
space, all alone, and dares to look up to the Great God and tell Him
all. Will you be afraid to stand in the court and tell these people,
who do not matter at all?

"Remember, it is not for Jeffrey Whiting. It is not for the sake of
Ruth Lansing. It is because the man you loved calls back to you, from
where he has gone, to do the thing which the wisdom he has now learned
tells him must be done. He has learned the lesson of eternal Truth. He
would have you tell."

"_Mon Pere_, I will tell the tale," said the girl simply as she rose
from her knees. "I will go quickly, while I have yet the courage."

The Bishop went with her to one of the counsel rooms in the courthouse
and sent for Dardis.

"This girl," he told the lawyer, "has a story to tell. I think you
would do wisely to put her on the stand and let her tell it in her own
way. She will make no mistakes. They will not be able to break her
down."

Then the Bishop went back to take up again his business with God.

As a last, and almost hopeless, resort, Jeffrey Whiting had been put
upon the stand in his own defence. There was nothing he could tell
which the jurors had not already heard in one form or another.
Everybody had heard what he had said that morning on Bald Mountain. He
had not been believed even then, by men who had never had a reason to
doubt his simple word. There was little likelihood that he would be
believed here now by these jurors, whose minds were already fixed by
the facts and the half truths which they had been hearing. But there
was some hope that his youth and the manly sincerity with which he
clung to his simple story might have some effect. It might be that a
single man on that jury would be so struck with his single sturdy tale
that he would refuse to disbelieve it altogether. You could never tell
what might strike a man on a jury. So Dardis argued.

Jeffrey Whiting did not care. If his counsel wished him to tell his
story he would do so. It would not matter. His own friends did not
believe his story. Nobody believed it. Two people _knew_ that it was
true. And those two people had stood up there upon the