“Jane, she’s jest as sweet an’ innocent as little Fay,” said Lassiter. There was a faint smile upon his face and a beautiful light. Venters saw, and knew that Lassiter saw, how Jane Withersteen’s tortured soul wrestled with hate and threw it—with scorn doubt, suspicion, and overcame all. “Bern, if in my misery I accused you unjustly, I crave forgiveness,” she said. “I’m not what I once was. Tell me—who is this girl?” “Jane, she is Oldring’s daughter, and his Masked Rider. Lassiter will tell you how I shot her for a rustler, saved her life—all the story. It’s a strange story, Jane, as wild as the sage. But it’s true—true as her innocence. That you must believe.” “Oldring’s Masked Rider! Oldring’s daughter!” exclaimed Jane. “And she’s innocent! You ask me to believe much. If this girl is—is what you say, how could she be going away with the man who killed her father?” “Why did you tell that?” cried Venters, passionately. Jane’s question had roused Bess out of stupefaction. Her eyes suddenly darkened and dilated. She stepped toward Venters and held up both hands as if to ward off a blow. “Did—did you kill Oldring?” “I did, Bess, and I hate myself for it. But you know I never dreamed he was your father. I thought he’d wronged you. I killed him when I was madly jealous.” For a moment Bess was shocked into silence. “But he was my father!” she broke out, at last. “And now I must go back—I can’t go with you. It’s all over—that beautiful dream. Oh, I _knew_ it couldn’t come true. You can’t take me now.” “If you forgive me, Bess, it’ll all come right in the end!” implored Venters. “It can’t be right. I’ll go back. After all, I loved him. He was good to me. I can’t forget that.” “If you go back to Oldring’s men I’ll follow you, and then they’ll kill me,” said Venters, hoarsely. “Oh no, Bern, you’ll not come. Let me go. It’s best for you to forget me. I’ve brought you only pain and dishonor.” She did not weep. But the sweet bloom and life died out of her face. She looked haggard and sad, all at once stunted; and her hands dropped listlessly; and her head drooped in slow, final acceptance of a hopeless fate. “Jane, look there!” cried Venters, in despairing grief. “Need you have told her? Where was all your kindness of heart? This girl has had a wretched, lonely life. And I’d found a way to make her happy. You’ve killed it. You’ve killed something sweet and pure and hopeful, just as sure as you breathe.” “Oh, Bern! It was a slip. I never thought—I never thought!” replied Jane. “How could I tell she didn’t know?” Lassiter suddenly moved forward, and with the beautiful light on his face now strangely luminous, he looked at Jane and Venters and then let his soft, bright gaze rest on Bess. “Well, I reckon you’ve all had your say, an’ now it’s Lassiter’s turn. Why, I was jest praying for this meetin’. Bess, jest look here.”