“Yes—the truth. Bess, don’t misunderstand. I haven’t changed that way. I love you still. I’ll love you more afterward. Life will be just as sweet—sweeter to us. We’ll be—be married as soon as ever we can. We’ll be happy—but there’s a devil in me. A perverse, jealous devil! Then I’ve queer fancies. I forgot for a long time. Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing me again. I’ve got to kill them with the truth.” “I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she replied, frankly. “Then by Heaven! we’ll have it over and done with!... Bess—did Oldring love you?” “Certainly he did.” “Did—did you love him?” “Of course. I told you so.” “How can you tell it so lightly?” cried Venters, passionately. “Haven’t you any sense of—of—” He choked back speech. He felt the rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong hands and drew her close. He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes. They were shadowing with the old wistful light, but they were as clear as the limpid water of the spring. They were earnest, solemn in unutterable love and faith and abnegation. Venters shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul. He knew she could not lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth, looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief in purity. “What are—what were you to—to Oldring?” he panted, fiercely. “I am his daughter,” she replied, instantly. Venters slowly let go of her. There was a violent break in the force of his feeling—then creeping blankness. “What—was it—you said?” he asked, in a kind of dull wonder. “I am his daughter.” “Oldring’s daughter?” queried Venters, with life gathering in his voice. “Yes.” With a passionately awakening start he grasped her hands and drew her close. “All the time—you’ve been Oldring’s daughter?” “Yes, of course all the time—always.” “But Bess, you told me—you let me think—I made out you were—a—so—so ashamed.” “It is my shame,” she said, with voice deep and full, and now the scarlet fired her cheek. “I told you—I’m nothing—nameless—just Bess, Oldring’s girl!” “I know—I remember. But I never thought—” he went on, hurriedly, huskily. “That time—when you lay dying—you prayed—you—somehow I got the idea you were bad.” “Bad?” she asked, with a little laugh. She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absolute unconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering might of the truth. She did not understand his meaning.