eless, it seemed. And yet
into her mind as she sat there crept a determination--a resolution to
tell her father what she knew; to tell him that she could no longer
endure the disgrace of his crimes.

That meant of course that she would have to leave him, for she knew he
was weak, and that he had been drawn into crime and had not the moral
strength to redeem himself.

When about midnight she heard the beating of hoofs near the cabin she
sat very quiet, rigid, still determined, her eyes flashing with
resolution.

She was standing near the door of her room when her father entered, and
as he stood for an instant blinking at the light, trying to accustom his
eyes to it after riding for some time through the darkness; she watched
him, noting--as she had noted many times before--the weakness of his
mouth and the furtive gleam of his eyes.

He had not always been like that. Before the death of her mother she had
always admired him, aware of the sturdiness of his character, of his
rugged manliness, and of his devotion to her mother.

Adversity had changed him, had weakened him. And now, watching him,
noting the glow in his eyes when he saw her--the pathetic worship in
them--her heart protested the decision that her cold judgment had made,
and she ran to him with a little, quavering, pitying cry and buried her
face on his shoulder, shuddering, murmuring sobbingly:

"O Daddy; O Daddy, what have you done!"

He stood rigid, his eyes wide with astonishment, looking down at her as
she clung to him as though wondering over a sudden miracle. For he knew
she was not an emotional girl, and this evidence of emotion almost
stunned him.

"Why, Honey!" He patted her hair and her cheeks and hugged her tightly
to him. And presently he gently disengaged himself and held her at arm's
length, peering into her face.

And then, when her clear eyes met his--her gaze direct and searching
even though her cheeks had paled, his eyes drooped, and his arms fell to
his sides.

"I've done enough, Ruth," he said, soberly.

"Why, Daddy--why did you do it? Oh, you have made it so hard for me!"

"There, there, Honey," he consoled, reaching out and patting her
shoulders again. "I've been a heap ornery, but it ain't goin' to happen
again." His eyes shone through a mist that had come into them.

"I've been talkin' with Kane Lawler, an' he opened my eyes. I've been
blind, Ruth--blind to what it all meant to you. An' from now on I'm
goin' straight--s