229
XXI. THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL 240
XXII. A MAN'S SUPPORT 246
XXIII. THE BRIDGING OF YEARS 258
XXIV. BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME 273
XXV. BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE 286
XXVI. IRONY 301
XXVII. THE WEB OF FATE 313
XXVIII. A BLACK NIGHT 325
XXIX. BEASLEY IN HIS ELEMENT 334
XXX. THE MOVING FINGER 356
XXXI. THE JOY OF BEASLEY 364
XXXII. STRONGER THAN DEATH 374
XXXIII. THE TEMPEST BREAKS 389
XXXIV. THE EYES OF THE HILLS 402
XXXV. FROM OUT OF THE ABYSS 407
XXXVI. THE CATACLYSM 420
XXXVII. ALONE-- 427
XXXVIII. --IN THE WILDERNESS 432
XXXIX. LOVE'S VICTORY 439

The Golden Woman

CHAPTER I

AUNT MERCY

An elderly woman looked up from the crystal globe before her. The
sound of horse's hoofs, clattering up to the veranda, had caught her
attention. But the hard, gray eyes had not yet recovered their normal
frigidity of expression. There were still traces in them of the
groping mind, searching on, amidst the chaos of a world unseen. Nor
was Mercy Lascelles posing at the trade which yielded her something
more than her daily bread. She had no reason for pose. She was an
ardent and proficient student of that remote science which has for its
field of research the border-land between earthly life and the
ultimate.

For some moments she gazed half-vacantly through the window. Then
alertness and interest came back to her eyes, and her look resumed its
normal hardness. It was an unlovely face, but its unloveliness lay in
its expression. There was something so unyielding in the keen,
aquiline nose and pointed chin. The gray eyes were so cold. The
pronounced brows were almost threatening in their marking and
depression. There was not a feature in her face that was not handsome,
and yet, collectively, they gave her a look at once forbidding, and
even cruel.

There was no softening, there never was any softening in Mercy
Lascelles' attitude toward the world now. Years ago she may have given
signs o