"Thank you; it is much more than I deserve. Since you do not ask it, you shall have the assurance,--the best I can give. I shall leave Denver in a day or two, and you may take your own measures for safeguarding Margaret in the interval. Perhaps it won't be as difficult as you may imagine. If I have read her aright you may ask large things of her loyalty and devotion to you." The battle was over, and she had but to hold her peace to be quit of him. But having won her cause it was not in the loving heart of her to let him go unrecompensed. "You are going away? Then we may not meet again. I gave you bitter words a few minutes ago, Mr. Jeffard, but I believed they were true. Won't you deny them--if you can?" His foot was across the threshold, but he turned to smile down upon her. "You are a true woman. You said I lied to you, and now you ask me to deny it, knowing well enough that the denial will afterward stand for another falsehood. I know what you think of me,--what you are bound to think of me; but isn't it conceivable that I would rather quench that fire than add fuel to it?" "But you are going away," she insisted. "And since we may never meet again, you crave the poor comfort of a denial. You shall have it for what it is worth. When you are inclined to think charitably of me, go back to first principles and remember that the worst of men have sometimes had promptings which were not altogether unworthy. Let the major accusation stand, if you choose; I did have an appointment here with Margaret Gannon. But when your faith in humankind needs heartening, conceive that for this once the tryst was one which any woman might have kept with me. Believe, if you care to, that my business here this evening was really with this poor fellow whose sins have found him out. Would you like to be able to believe that?" For the first time since doubt and fear had gotten the better of indignation she was able to lift her eyes to his. "I will believe it," she said gratefully. He smiled again, and she was no longer afraid. Now that she came to think of it, she wondered if she had ever been really afraid of him. "Your faith is very beautiful, Miss Elliott. I am glad to be able to give it something better than a bare suggestion to build on. Will you give this to Margaret when she comes?" It was a folded paper, with a printed title and indorsement blanks on the back. She took it and glanced at the filing. It was the deed to a burial lot in the name of Owen David. "Oh!" she said; and there was a world of contrition and self-reproach in the single word. "Can you ever forgive me, Mr. Jeffard?" As once before, when Lansdale had proffered it, Jeffard pushed aside the cup of reinstatement. "Don't take too much for granted. Remember, the indictment still stands. Margaret Gannon's tempter might have done this and still merit your detestation." And at the word she was once more alone with the still figure on the bed. CHAPTER XXXII