ou back to him. It seems
Oldrin' wasn't all bad, en' he sure loved you."

Venters leaned forward in passionate remorse.

"Oh, Bess! I know Lassiter speaks the truth. For when I shot Oldring he
dropped to his knees and fought with unearthly power to speak. And he
said: 'Man--why--didn't--you--wait? Bess was--' Then he fell dead.
And I've been haunted by his look and words. Oh, Bess, what a strange,
splendid thing for Oldring to do! It all seems impossible. But, dear,
you really are not what you thought."

"Elizabeth Erne!" cried Jane Withersteen. "I loved your mother and I see
her in you!"

What had been incredible from the lips of men became, in the tone,
look, and gesture of a woman, a wonderful truth for Bess. With little
tremblings of all her slender body she rocked to and fro on her knees.
The yearning wistfulness of her eyes changed to solemn splendor of joy.
She believed. She was realizing happiness. And as the process of thought
was slow, so were the variations of her expression. Her eyes reflected
the transformation of her soul. Dark, brooding, hopeless belief--clouds
of gloom--drifted, paled, vanished in glorious light. An exquisite rose
flush--a glow--shone from her face as she slowly began to rise from her
knees. A spirit uplifted her. All that she had held as base dropped from
her.

Venters watched her in joy too deep for words. By it he divined
something of what Lassiter's revelation meant to Bess, but he knew he
could only faintly understand. That moment when she seemed to be lifted
by some spiritual transfiguration was the most beautiful moment of his
life. She stood with parted, quivering lips, with hands tightly clasping
the locket to her heaving breast. A new conscious pride of worth
dignified the old wild, free grace and poise.

"Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from any
Venters had ever seen on her face.

Lassiter took her into his arms.

"I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that," replied Lassiter,
unsteadily.

Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found
himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her
presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her
agitation. Venters read her mind--felt the reaction of her noble
heart--saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others.
And suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her also.
He knew what she would do presently; she would make s