For an instant Venters felt himself whirl dizzily in the center of vast circles of sage. He recovered partially, enough to see Lassiter standing with a glad smile and Jane riveted in astonishment. “Why, Bern!” she exclaimed. “How good it is to see you! We’re riding away, you see. The storm burst—and I’m a ruined woman!... I thought you were alone.” Venters, unable to speak for consternation, and bewildered out of all sense of what he ought or ought not to do, simply stared at Jane. “Son, where are you bound for?” asked Lassiter. “Not safe—where I was. I’m—we’re going out of Utah—back East,” he found tongue to say. “I reckon this meetin’s the luckiest thing that ever happened to you an’ to me—an’ to Jane—an’ to Bess,” said Lassiter, coolly. “_Bess!_” cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale cheek. It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that meeting. Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman’s glance at Bess’s scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form. “Venters! is this a girl—a woman?” she questioned, in a voice that stung. “Yes.” “Did you have her in that wonderful valley?” “Yes, but Jane—” “All the time you were gone?” “Yes, but I couldn’t tell—” “Was it for _her_ you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for _her_ that you wanted to make your valley a paradise?” “Oh—Jane—” “Answer me.” “Yes.” “Oh, you liar!” And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into the ungovernable rage that had been her father’s weakness. And it was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman—jealous even of her friends. As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by religion, by life itself. Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had wronged her. Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began to quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair. And her ringing voice sank into a broken, husky whisper. Then, spent and pitiable, upheld by Lassiter’s arm, she turned and hid her face in Black Star’s mane. Numb as Venters was when at length Jane Withersteen lifted her head and looked at him, he yet suffered a pang. “Jane, the girl is innocent!” he cried. “Can you expect me to believe that?” she asked, with weary, bitter eyes. “I’m not that kind of a liar. And you know it. If I lied—if I kept silent when honor should have made me speak, it was to spare you. I came to Cottonwoods to tell you. But I couldn’t add to your pain. I intended to tell you I had come to love this girl. But, Jane I hadn’t forgotten how good you were to me. I haven’t changed at all toward you. I prize your friendship as I always have. But, however it may look to you—don’t be unjust. The girl is innocent. Ask Lassiter.”