by Zane Grey
CHAPTER XVIII. OLDRING'S KNELL
Some forty hours or more later Venters created a commotion inCottonwoods by riding down the main street on Black Star and leadingBells and Night. He had come upon Bells grazing near the body of a deadrustler, the only incident of his quick ride into the village.
Nothing was farther from Venters's mind than bravado. No thought cameto him of the defiance and boldness of riding Jane Withersteen's racersstraight into the arch-plotter's stronghold. He wanted men to see thefamous Arabians; he wanted men to see them dirty and dusty, bearing allthe signs of having been driven to their limit; he wanted men to see andto know that the thieves who had ridden them out into the sage had notridden them back. Venters had come for that and for more--he wanted tomeet Tull face to face; if not Tull, then Dyer; if not Dyer, then anyonein the secret of these master conspirators. Such was Venters's passion.The meeting with the rustlers, the unprovoked attack upon him, thespilling of blood, the recognition of Jerry Card and the horses, therace, and that last plunge of mad Wrangle--all these things, fuel onfuel to the smoldering fire, had kindled and swelled and leaped intoliving flame. He could have shot Dyer in the midst of his religiousservices at the altar; he could have killed Tull in front of wives andbabes.
He walked the three racers down the broad, green-bordered village road.He heard the murmur of running water from Amber Spring. Bitter watersfor Jane Withersteen! Men and women stopped to gaze at him and thehorses. All knew him; all knew the blacks and the bay. As well as if ithad been spoken, Venters read in the faces of men the intelligence thatJane Withersteen's Arabians had been known to have been stolen. Ventersreined in and halted before Dyer's residence. It was a low, long, stonestructure resembling Withersteen House. The spacious front yard wasgreen and luxuriant with grass and flowers; gravel walks led to the hugeporch; a well-trimmed hedge of purple sage separated the yard from thechurch grounds; birds sang in the trees; water flowed musically alongthe walks; and there were glad, careless shouts of children. For Ventersthe beauty of this home, and the serenity and its apparent happiness,all turned red and black. For Venters a shade overspread the lawn, theflowers, the old vine-clad stone house. In the music of the singingbirds, in the murmur of the running water, he heard an ominous sound.Quiet beauty--sweet music--innocent laughter! By what monstrous abortionof fate did these abide in the shadow of Dyer?
Venters rode on and stopped before Tull's cottage. Women stared at himwith white faces and then flew from the porch. Tull himself appearedat the door, bent low, craning his neck. His dark face flashed out ofsight; the door banged; a heavy bar dropped with a hollow sound.
Then Venters shook Black Star's bridle, and, sharply trotting, led theother horses to the center of the village. Here at the intersectingstreets and in front of the stores he halted once more. The usuallounging atmosphere of that prominent corner was not now in evidence.Riders and ranchers and villagers broke up what must have been absorbingconversation. There was a rush of many feet, and then the walk was linedwith faces.
Venters's glance swept down the line of silent stone-faced men. Herecognized many riders and villagers, but none of those he had hopedto meet. There was no expression in the faces turned toward him. Allof them knew him, most were inimical, but there were few who werenot burning with curiosity and wonder in regard to the return of JaneWithersteen's racers. Yet all were silent. Here were the familiarcharacteristics--masked feeling--strange secretiveness--expressionlessexpression of mystery and hidden power.
"Has anybody here seen Jerry Card?" queried Venters, in a loud voice.
In reply there came not a word, not a nod or shake of head, not so muchas dropping eye or twitching lip--nothing but a quiet, stony stare.
"Been under the knife? You've a fine knife-wielder here--one Tull, Ibelieve!... Maybe you've all had your tongues cut out?"
This passionate sarcasm of Venters brought no response, and the stonycalm was as oil on the fire within him.
"I see some of you pack guns, too!" he added, in biting scorn. In thelong, tense pause, strung keenly as a tight wire, he sat motionless onBlack Star. "All right," he went on. "Then let some of you take thismessage to Tull. Tell him I've seen Jerry Card! ... Tell him Jerry Cardwill never return!"
Thereupon, in the same dead calm, Venters backed Black Star away fromthe curb, into the street, and out of range. He was ready now to ride upto Withersteen House and turn the racers over to Jane.
"Hello, Venters!" a familiar voice cried, hoarsely, and he saw a manrunning toward him. It was the rider Judkins who came up and grippedVenters's hand. "Venters, I could hev dropped when I seen them hosses.But thet sight ain't a marker to the looks of you. What's wrong? Hevyou gone crazy? You must be crazy to ride in here this way--with themhosses--talkie' thet way about Tull en' Jerry Card."
"Jud, I'm not crazy--only mad clean through," replied Venters.
"Mad, now, Bern, I'm glad to hear some of your old self in your voice.Fer when you come up you looked like the corpse of a dead rider withfire fer eyes. You hed thet crowd too stiff fer throwin' guns. Come,we've got to hev a talk. Let's go up the lane. We ain't much safe here."
Judkins mounted Bells and rode with Venters up to the cottonwood grove.Here they dismounted and went among the trees.
"Let's hear from you first," said Judkins. "You fetched back themhosses. Thet is the trick. An', of course, you got Jerry the same as yougot Horne."
"Horne!"
"Sure. He was found dead yesterday all chewed by coyotes, en' he'd beenshot plumb center."
"Where was he found?"
"At the split down the trail--you know where Oldring's cattle trail runsoff north from the trail to the pass."
"That's where I met Jerry and the rustlers. What was Horne doing withthem? I thought Horne was an honest cattle-man."
"Lord--Bern, don't ask me thet! I'm all muddled now tryin' to figurethings."
Venters told of the fight and the race with Jerry Card and its tragicconclusion.
"I knowed it! I knowed all along that Wrangle was the best hoss!"exclaimed Judkins, with his lean face working and his eyes lighting."Thet was a race! Lord, I'd like to hev seen Wrangle jump the cliff withJerry. An' thet was good-by to the grandest hoss an' rider ever on thesage!... But, Bern, after you got the hosses why'd you want to bolt rightin Tull's face?"
"I want him to know. An' if I can get to him I'll--"
"You can't get near Tull," interrupted Judkins. "Thet vigilante bunchhev taken to bein' bodyguard for Tull an' Dyer, too."
"Hasn't Lassiter made a break yet?" inquired Venters, curiously.
"Naw!" replied Judkins, scornfully. "Jane turned his head. He's mad inlove over her--follers her like a dog. He ain't no more Lassiter! He'slost his nerve, he doesn't look like the same feller. It's village talk.Everybody knows it. He hasn't thrown a gun, an' he won't!"
"Jud, I'll bet he does," replied Venters, earnestly. "Remember what Isay. This Lassiter is something more than a gun-man. Jud, he's big--he'sgreat!... I feel that in him. God help Tull and Dyer when Lassiter doesgo after them. For horses and riders and stone walls won't save them."
"Wal, hev it your way, Bern. I hope you're right. Nat'rully I've beensome sore on Lassiter fer gittin' soft. But I ain't denyin' his nerve,or whatever's great in him thet sort of paralyzes people. No later 'nthis mornin' I seen him saunterin' down the lane, quiet an' slow. An'like his guns he comes black--black, thet's Lassiter. Wal, the crowdon the corner never batted an eye, en' I'll gamble my hoss thet therewasn't one who hed a heartbeat till Lassiter got by. He went in Snell'ssaloon, an' as there wasn't no gun play I had to go in, too. An' there,darn my pictures, if Lassiter wasn't standin' to the bar, drinking en'talkin' with Oldrin'."
"Oldring!" whispered Venters. His voice, as all fire and pulse withinhim, seemed to freeze.
"Let go my arm!" exclaimed Judkins. "Thet's my bad arm. Sure it wasOldrin'. What the hell's wrong with you, anyway? Venters, I tell yousomethin's wrong. You're whiter 'n a sheet. You can't be scared of therustler. I
don't believe you've got a scare in you. Wal, now, jest letme talk. You know I like to talk, an' if I'm slow I allus git theresometime. As I said, Lassiter was talkie' chummy with Oldrin'. Therewasn't no hard feelin's. An' the gang wasn't payin' no pertic'larattention. But like a cat watchin' a mouse I hed my eyes on them twofellers. It was strange to me, thet confab. I'm gittin' to think a lot,fer a feller who doesn't know much. There's been some queer deals latelyan' this seemed to me the queerest. These men stood to the bar alone,an' so close their big gun-hilts butted together. I seen Oldrin' wassome surprised at first, an' Lassiter was cool as ice. They talked, an'presently at somethin' Lassiter said the rustler bawled out a curse, an'then he jest fell up against the bar, an' sagged there. The gang in thesaloon looked around an' laughed, an' thet's about all. Finally Oldrin'turned, and it was easy to see somethin' hed shook him. Yes, sir, thetbig rustler--you know he's as broad as he is long, an' the powerfulestbuild of a man--yes, sir, the nerve had been taken out of him. Then,after a little, he began to talk an' said a lot to Lassiter, an' by an'by it didn't take much of an eye to see thet Lassiter was gittin' hithard. I never seen him anyway but cooler 'n ice--till then. He seemed tobe hit harder 'n Oldrin', only he didn't roar out thet way. He jest kindof sunk in, an' looked an' looked, an' he didn't see a livin' soulin thet saloon. Then he sort of come to, an' shakin' hands--mind you,shakin' hands with Oldrin'--he went out. I couldn't help thinkin' howeasy even a boy could hev dropped the great gun-man then!... Wal, therustler stood at the bar fer a long time, en' he was seein' things faroff, too; then he come to an' roared fer whisky, an' gulped a drink thetwas big enough to drown me."
"Is Oldring here now?" whispered Venters. He could not speak above awhisper. Judkins's story had been meaningless to him.
"He's at Snell's yet. Bern, I hevn't told you yet thet the rustlers hevbeen raisin' hell. They shot up Stone Bridge an' Glaze, an' fer threedays they've been here drinkin' an' gamblin' an' throwin' of gold. Theserustlers hev a pile of gold. If it was gold dust or nugget gold I'd hevreason to think, but it's new coin gold, as if it had jest come from theUnited States treasury. An' the coin's genuine. Thet's all been proved.The truth is Oldrin's on a rampage. A while back he lost his MaskedRider, an' they say he's wild about thet. I'm wonderin' if Lassitercould hev told the rustler anythin' about thet little masked,hard-ridin' devil. Ride! He was most as good as Jerry Card. An', Bern,I've been wonderin' if you know--"
"Judkins, you're a good fellow," interrupted Venters. "Some day I'lltell you a story. I've no time now. Take the horses to Jane."
Judkins stared, and then, muttering to himself, he mounted Bells, andstared again at Venters, and then, leading the other horses, he rodeinto the grove and disappeared.
Once, long before, on the night Venters had carried Bess through thecanyon and up into Surprise Valley, he had experienced the strangenessof faculties singularly, tinglingly acute. And now the same sensationrecurred. But it was different in that he felt cold, frozen, mechanicalincapable of free thought, and all about him seemed unreal, aloof,remote. He hid his rifle in the sage, marking its exact location withextreme care. Then he faced down the lane and strode toward the centerof the village. Perceptions flashed upon him, the faint, cold touch ofthe breeze, a cold, silvery tinkle of flowing water, a cold sun shiningout of a cold sky, song of birds and laugh of children, coldly distant.Cold and intangible were all things in earth and heaven. Colder andtighter stretched the skin over his face; colder and harder grew thepolished butts of his guns; colder and steadier became his hands as hewiped the clammy sweat from his face or reached low to his gun-sheaths.Men meeting him in the walk gave him wide berth. In front of Bevin'sstore a crowd melted apart for his passage, and their faces and whisperswere faces and whispers of a dream. He turned a corner to meet Tullface to face, eye to eye. As once before he had seen this man pale toa ghastly, livid white so again he saw the change. Tull stopped in histracks, with right hand raised and shaking. Suddenly it dropped, and heseemed to glide aside, to pass out of Venters's sight. Next he sawmany horses with bridles down--all clean-limbed, dark bays orblacks--rustlers' horses! Loud voices and boisterous laughter, rattle ofdice and scrape of chair and clink of gold, burst in mingled din from anopen doorway. He stepped inside.
With the sight of smoke-hazed room and drinking, cursing, gambling,dark-visaged men, reality once more dawned upon Venters.
His entrance had been unnoticed, and he bent his gaze upon the drinkersat the bar. Dark-clothed, dark-faced men they all were, burned by thesun, bow-legged as were most riders of the sage, but neither lean norgaunt. Then Venters's gaze passed to the tables, and swiftly it sweptover the hard-featured gamesters, to alight upon the huge, shaggy, blackhead of the rustler chief.
"Oldring!" he cried, and to him his voice seemed to split a bell in hisears.
It stilled the din.
That silence suddenly broke to the scrape and crash of Oldring's chairas he rose; and then, while he passed, a great gloomy figure, again thethronged room stilled in silence yet deeper.
"Oldring, a word with you!" continued Venters.
"Ho! What's this?" boomed Oldring, in frowning scrutiny.
"Come outside, alone. A word for you--from your Masked Rider!"
Oldring kicked a chair out of his way and lunged forward with a stampof heavy boot that jarred the floor. He waved down his muttering, risingmen.
Venters backed out of the door and waited, hearing, as no sound had everbefore struck into his soul, the rapid, heavy steps of the rustler.
Oldring appeared, and Venters had one glimpse of his great breadth andbulk, his gold-buckled belt with hanging guns, his high-top bootswith gold spurs. In that moment Venters had a strange, unintelligiblecuriosity to see Oldring alive. The rustler's broad brow, his largeblack eyes, his sweeping beard, as dark as the wing of a raven, hisenormous width of shoulder and depth of chest, his whole splendidpresence so wonderfully charged with vitality and force and strength,seemed to afford Venters an unutterable fiendish joy because for thatmagnificent manhood and life he meant cold and sudden death.
"Oldring, Bess is alive! But she's dead to you--dead to the life youmade her lead--dead as you will be in one second!"
Swift as lightning Venters's glance dropped from Oldring's rollingeyes to his hands. One of them, the right, swept out, then toward hisgun--and Venters shot him through the heart.
Slowly Oldring sank to his knees, and the hand, dragging at the gun,fell away. Venters's strangely acute faculties grasped the meaningof that limp arm, of the swaying hulk, of the gasp and heave, of thequivering beard. But was that awful spirit in the black eyes only one ofvitality?
"Man--why--didn't--you--wait? Bess--was--" Oldring's whisper died underhis beard, and with a heavy lurch he fell forward.
Bounding swiftly away, Venters fled around the corner, across thestreet, and, leaping a hedge, he ran through yard, orchard, and gardento the sage. Here, under cover of the tall brush, he turned west and ranon to the place where he had hidden his rifle. Securing that, he againset out into a run, and, circling through the sage, came up behind JaneWithersteen's stable and corrals. With laboring, dripping chest, andpain as of a knife thrust in his side, he stopped to regain his breath,and while resting his eyes roved around in search of a horse. Doorsand windows of the stable were open wide and had a deserted look. Onedejected, lonely burro stood in the near corral. Strange indeed was thesilence brooding over the once happy, noisy home of Jane Withersteen'spets.
He went into the corral, exercising care to leave no tracks, and led theburro to the watering-trough. Venters, though not thirsty, drank till hecould drink no more. Then, leading the burro over hard ground, he struckinto the sage and down the slope.
He strode swiftly, turning from time to time to scan the slope forriders. His head just topped the level of sage-brush, and the burrocould not have been seen at all. Slowly the green of Cottonwoods sankbehind the slope, and at last a wavering line of purple sage met theblue of sky.
To avoid being seen, to get a
way, to hide his trail--these were the soleideas in his mind as he headed for Deception Pass, and he directed allhis acuteness of eye and ear, and the keenness of a rider's judgment fordistance and ground, to stern accomplishment of the task. He kept to thesage far to the left of the trail leading into the Pass. He walked tenmiles and looked back a thousand times. Always the graceful, purple waveof sage remained wide and lonely, a clear, undotted waste. Coming to astretch of rocky ground, he took advantage of it to cross the trail andthen continued down on the right. At length he persuaded himself that hewould be able to see riders mounted on horses before they could see himon the little burro, and he rode bareback.
Hour by hour the tireless burro kept to his faithful, steady trot. Thesun sank and the long shadows lengthened down the slope. Moving veils ofpurple twilight crept out of the hollows and, mustering and forming onthe levels, soon merged and shaded into night. Venters guided theburro nearer to the trail, so that he could see its white line from theridges, and rode on through the hours.
Once down in the Pass without leaving a trail, he would hold himselfsafe for the time being. When late in the night he reached the break inthe sage, he sent the burro down ahead of him, and started an avalanchethat all but buried the animal at the bottom of the trail. Bruised andbattered as he was, he had a moment's elation, for he had hidden histracks. Once more he mounted the burro and rode on. The hour was theblackest of the night when he made the thicket which inclosed his oldcamp. Here he turned the burro loose in the grass near the spring, andthen lay down on his old bed of leaves.
He felt only vaguely, as outside things, the ache and burn and throbof the muscles of his body. But a dammed-up torrent of emotion at lastburst its bounds, and the hour that saw his release from immediateaction was one that confounded him in the reaction of his spirit. Hesuffered without understanding why. He caught glimpses into himself,into unlit darkness of soul. The fire that had blistered him and thecold which had frozen him now united in one torturing possession of hismind and heart, and like a fiery steed with ice-shod feet, ranged hisbeing, ran rioting through his blood, trampling the resurging good,dragging ever at the evil.
Out of the subsiding chaos came a clear question. What had happened?He had left the valley to go to Cottonwoods. Why? It seemed that he hadgone to kill a man--Oldring! The name riveted his consciousness upon theone man of all men upon earth whom he had wanted to meet. He had met therustler. Venters recalled the smoky haze of the saloon, the dark-visagedmen, the huge Oldring. He saw him step out of the door, a splendidspecimen of manhood, a handsome giant with purple-black and sweepingbeard. He remembered inquisitive gaze of falcon eyes. He heard himselfrepeating: "OLDRING, BESS IS ALIVE! BUT SHE'S DEAD TO YOU," and he felthimself jerk, and his ears throbbed to the thunder of a gun, and hesaw the giant sink slowly to his knees. Was that only the vitalityof him--that awful light in the eyes--only the hard-dying life ofa tremendously powerful brute? A broken whisper, strange as death:"MAN--WHY--DIDN'T--YOU WAIT! BESS--WAS--" And Oldring plunged faceforward, dead.
"I killed him," cried Venters, in remembering shock. "But it wasn'tTHAT. Ah, the look in his eyes and his whisper!"
Herein lay the secret that had clamored to him through all the tumultand stress of his emotions. What a look in the eyes of a man shotthrough the heart! It had been neither hate nor ferocity nor fear ofmen nor fear of death. It had been no passionate glinting spirit of afearless foe, willing shot for shot, life for life, but lacking physicalpower. Distinctly recalled now, never to be forgotten, Venters sawin Oldring's magnificent eyes the rolling of great, gladsurprise--softness--love! Then came a shadow and the terrible superhumanstriving of his spirit to speak. Oldring shot through the heart, hadfought and forced back death, not for a moment in which to shoot orcurse, but to whisper strange words.
What words for a dying man to whisper! Why had not Venters waited? Forwhat? That was no plea for life. It was regret that there was not amoment of life left in which to speak. Bess was--Herein lay renewedtorture for Venters. What had Bess been to Oldring? The old question,like a specter, stalked from its grave to haunt him. He had overlooked,he had forgiven, he had loved and he had forgotten; and now, out of themystery of a dying man's whisper rose again that perverse, unsatisfied,jealous uncertainty. Bess had loved that splendid, black-crownedgiant--by her own confession she had loved him; and in Venters's soulagain flamed up the jealous hell. Then into the clamoring hell burst theshot that had killed Oldring, and it rang in a wild fiendish gladness,a hateful, vengeful joy. That passed to the memory of the love andlight in Oldring's eyes and the mystery in his whisper. So the changing,swaying emotions fluctuated in Venters's heart.
This was the climax of his year of suffering and the crucial struggleof his life. And when the gray dawn came he rose, a gloomy, almostheartbroken man, but victor over evil passions. He could not change thepast; and, even if he had not loved Bess with all his soul, he had growninto a man who would not change the future he had planned for her. Only,and once for all, he must know the truth, know the worst, stifle allthese insistent doubts and subtle hopes and jealous fancies, and killthe past by knowing truly what Bess had been to Oldring. For that matterhe knew--he had always known, but he must hear it spoken. Then, whenthey had safely gotten out of that wild country to take up a new and anabsorbing life, she would forget, she would be happy, and through that,in the years to come, he could not but find life worth living.
All day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time to peeraround corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches, and to makesure there was no one in pursuit. In the night sometime he came to thesmooth, scrawled rocks dividing the valley, and here set the burro atliberty. He walked beyond, climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge.Then, weary to the point of exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave andfell asleep.
In the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun waspouring a golden stream of light through the arch of the great stonebridge. Surprise Valley, like a valley of dreams, lay mystically softand beautiful, awakening to the golden flood which was rolling away itsslumberous bands of mist, brightening its walled faces.
While yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silver spruces, andsoon the barking of the dogs told him that they had seen him. He heardthe mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of thequail. Ring and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ranBess, her hands outstretched.
"Bern! You're back! You're back!" she cried, in joy that rang of herloneliness.
"Yes, I'm back," he said, as she rushed to meet him.
She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely,something checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled, and with it hercolor, leaving her pale and trembling.
"Oh! What's happened?"
"A good deal has happened, Bess. I don't need to tell you what. And I'mplayed out. Worn out in mind more than body."
"Dear--you look strange to me!" faltered Bess.
"Never mind that. I'm all right. There's nothing for you to be scaredabout. Things are going to turn out just as we have planned. As soon asI'm rested we'll make a break to get out of the country. Only now, rightnow, I must know the truth about you."
"Truth about me?" echoed Bess, shrinkingly. She seemed to be castingback into her mind for a forgotten key. Venters himself, as he saw her,received a pang.
"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 assweet--sweeter to us. We'll be--be married as soon as ever we can. We'llbe happy--but there's a devil in me. A perverse, jealous devil! ThenI've queer fancies. I forgot for a long time. Now all those fiendishlittle whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing meagain. 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 Oldringlove 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'tyou any sense of--of--" He choked back speech. He felt the rush of painand passion. He seized her in rude, strong hands and drew her close. Helooked straight into her dark-blue eyes. They were shadowing with theold wistful light, but they were as clear as the limpid water of thespring. They were earnest, solemn in unutterable love and faith andabnegation. Venters shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul.He knew she could not lie in that moment; but that she might tell thetruth, looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief inpurity.
"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 ofhis 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 herclose.
"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--soashamed."
"It is my shame," she said, with voice deep and full, and now thescarlet 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 gotthe idea you were bad."
"Bad?" she asked, with a little laugh.
She looked up with a faint smile of bewilderment and the absoluteunconsciousness of a child. Venters gasped in the gathering might of thetruth. She did not understand his meaning.
"Bess! Bess!" He clasped her in his arms, hiding her eyes against hisbreast. She must not see his face in that moment. And he held her whilehe looked out across the valley. In his dim and blinded sight, inthe blur of golden light and moving mist, he saw Oldring. She was therustler's nameless daughter. Oldring had loved her. He had so guardedher, so kept her from women and men and knowledge of life that her mindwas as a child's. That was part of the secret--part of the mystery.That was the wonderful truth. Not only was she not bad, but good, pure,innocent above all innocence in the world--the innocence of lonelygirlhood.
He saw Oldring's magnificent eyes, inquisitive, searching, softening. Hesaw them flare in amaze, in gladness, with love, then suddenly strain interrible effort of will. He heard Oldring whisper and saw him sway likea log and fall. Then a million bellowing, thundering voices--gunshots ofconscience, thunderbolts of remorse--dinned horribly in his ears. He hadkilled Bess's father. Then a rushing wind filled his ears like a moan ofwind in the cliffs, a knell indeed--Oldring's knell.
He dropped to his knees and hid his face against Bess, and grasped herwith the hands of a drowning man.
"My God!... My God!... Oh, Bess!... Forgive me! Never mind what I'vedone--what I've thought. But forgive me. I'll give you my life. I'lllive for you. I'll love you. Oh, I do love you as no man ever loveda woman. I want you to know--to remember that I fought a fight foryou--however blind I was. I thought--I thought--never mind what Ithought--but I loved you--I asked you to marry me. Let that--let me havethat to hug to my heart. Oh, Bess, I was driven! And I might have known!I could not rest nor sleep till I had this mystery solved. God! howthings work out!"
"Bern, you're weak--trembling--you talk wildly," cried Bess. "You'veoverdone your strength. There's nothing to forgive. There's no mysteryexcept your love for me. You have come back to me!"
And she clasped his head tenderly in her arms and pressed it closely toher throbbing breast.
