d. "Won't you tell me that they are
not true?"

His shoulders shook convulsively. O for the right to turn to her and
tell her that they were lies! He would have bartered his soul for it.
What was all the power in the world compared to this priceless treasure
he had lost? Once before he had cast it away, though without meaning to.
Then he did not know the eternal value of love--of such love as those
two women had given him. Now he knew that it was beyond value, the one
precious gift of life, and the knowledge had come too late. Could he
have saved his life if he had listened to that other Cynthia?

"Won't you tell me that they are not true?"

Even then he did not turn to her, but he answered. Curious to relate,
though his heart was breaking, his voice was steady--steady as it always
had been.

"I--I've seen it comin', Cynthy," he said. "I never knowed anything
I was afraid of before--but I was afraid of this. I knowed what your
notions of right and wrong was--your--your mother had them. They're the
principles of good people. I--I knowed the day would come when you'd
ask, but I wanted to be happy as long as I could. I hain't been happy,
Cynthy. But you was right when you said I'd tell you the truth. S-so I
will. I guess them things which you speak about are true--the way I got
where I am, and the way I made my livin'. They--they hain't put just as
they'd ought to be, perhaps, but that's the way I done it in the main."

It was thus that Jethro Bass met the supreme crisis of his life. And
who shall say he did not meet it squarely and honestly? Few men of finer
fibre and more delicate morals would have acquitted themselves as well.
That was a Judgment Day for Jethro; and though he knew it not, he spoke
through Cynthia to his Maker, confessing his faults freely and humbly,
and dwelling on the justness of his punishment; putting not forward any
good he may have done; nor thinking of it; nor seeking excuse because
of the light that was in him. Had he been at death's door in the face of
nameless tortures, no man could have dragged such a confession from him.
But a great love had been given him, and to that love he must speak the
truth, even at the cost of losing it.

But he was not to lose it. Even as he was speaking a thrill of
admiration ran through Cynthia, piercing her sorrow. The superb strength
of the man was there in that simple confession, and it is in the nature
of woman to admire strength. He had fought his fight