“There is many a tear among them. They will lie, tonight on memory's couch of sad dreams.” “You are wrong, my friend,” said Dick bitterly; “they are more like to hasten down to the gambling hells to kill the visions memory would recall.” * * * * * “Sweet Bird, you cannot believe this thing of me!” The Singer-Lady raised her bright head from Dick's shoulder, and met, steadfastly, his passionately adoring eyes. “Richard, how can you for one moment doubt me? I know you to be good and true. Were you not exonerated from the last accusation of which you informed me before you asked for my hand in marriage. And do we not know that this man is actuated by the motive of jealousy?” “The Mormon beast! He knows well that I did not steal his mule.” “No' naughty boy,” tapping him playfully with her fan, “'Twas something else you stole from Master Crow the woman he wanted. Often have I noticed on the streets how all women, every one, turn to look after you.” “I cared not for her.” He shook his tall and beautiful head, impatient of the silky black lock which fell across his forehead. “Perhaps then 'tis your magnificent carriage they would admire,” laughed the girl, teasingly. Dick swept her close to his heart. “My golden-throated dove, I cannot join in your sweet laughter, for I have a boding heart, this day. I have enemies. They will use my past record. The courts are new, and judgments swift and cold. If they should send me again to the penitentiary I--” “Dearest I should know you to be innocent, and I should wait for you.” He kissed her tenderly on cheeks, and eyes, and mouth. He took her hands from his shoulders, slipping off the little silken mitts and putting them in an inner pocket, and kissed the soft, pink palms. “Ah, Lady-Bird, if I should not return you'll remember me?” “Always.” “My own pure love! No breath of shame shall ever sully your fair name through me.” “Right well I know that, Richard. God bless you. I will pray for you every hour.” At evening George Taylor brought her a note from Dick. “Oh, George,” she wailed, “they have sentenced him?” “Two years in prison.” “But he was innocent!” “Yes, and some day it will be proven.” He looked at her strangely, “I must tell you--Dick has broken jail and fled north to Shasta county, where he will begin life anew. Then, if you still wish it, he will come to you.” * * * * * After four years the Singer-Lady returned for a concert at the little Opera House in Rattlesnake. She went to her old quarters at the Widow Miller's, on the edge of town. “Eh, Dearie,” cried the good woman, “what have they been doing to ye, so to dim your bright youth, and to bring the sad lines to your mouth?” “Mrs. Miller, where is he?” “Ah--so that's the answer.” The girl's eyes filled with tears. “Four years--and for the last two, no word. I must find George Taylor. Perhaps he--”