"It is true," she hurried on nervously. "He said he was desperate and must have money to get away." "Had he any claim upon you?" he asked, scanning her with cold, searching eyes. She hesitated and made answer, "No--none." "Yet he pushed his demand with eloquence?" "He did." "And with success?" "I gave him all I had." "Even although he had no claim on you?" "Yes." "Oh, Jane--Jane!" he cried with a burst of bitter sorrow; "why couldn't you have been truthful to the end? Why--why must you make me look back--always and only to despise you!" She looked at him stonily, but made no reply. "Jane, it cuts me to the heart to say it--but I saw you--do you hear?--saw you. He took both your hands in his--you threw your arms about his neck and kissed him. Do you deny this?" She still looked him straight in the face, but two tears brimmed into her eyes and rolled slowly down her cheeks. "No, it is true," she then answered. "You own this too," he cried furiously. "Jane, who is this man?" She remained silent. "I ask you again, Jane--and for the last time--who is this man?" "I cannot tell you." "You refuse?" "I must." "Then farewell. We can meet no more." He turned, and stood with his hand on the door, and with the action the girl's overstrained nerves gave way. "Oh, no, no, no! Oh, Chester, I have loved you so! Don't--for mercy's sake--don't leave me in anger--when I so need comfort--help--and--p--pity!" She fell on her knees by the bed, and with her face in her hands, sobbed aloud. As she did so, a burst of strange, mocking laughter resounded from the adjoining room, and Harding started as if he had been stung. "It must be!" he hissed, all that was hardest and worst in his nature suddenly possessing him. "After this it would only be torture--to both!" He bent suddenly and kissed--not her lips, no longer pure--but her forehead, once, twice, thrice, passionately, and then fled away into the darkness. CHAPTER V. GOOD OUT OF EVIL. Harding went up to his lonely tent. Like a wounded animal, he sought his lair, and the memory of the many solitary hours he had passed there, even at this sad moment, refreshed his spirit. There he could be alone--away from men's eyes--free from their curiosity, from their comments, or, what would be worse, from their pity. He had made himself comparatively rich; he had built up a home, as it were, in the wilderness; he had even tried, and with some success, to gain men's esteem--and what were all these worth to him now? Such bitter thoughts as these filled Harding's mind as he arranged his coarse pallet, and then, throwing himself upon it, sought to forget his grief during the short space that remained before daylight. He was awakened, almost instantly, it seemed to him--although, in fact, three hours had passed--by the sharp crack of a rifle. Harding leaped up and ran to his door.