Beth Norvell

Winston stood there in silence, yet holding the paper in his hand.

Almost timidly she glanced up at him across the back of the chair.

"And you have never suspected who I was until to-night?"

"No, never; I had always thought of Bob's sister as a mere child."

She arose to her feet, taking a single step toward him.

"I can only ask you to forgive me," she pleaded anxiously, her eyes

uplifted. "That is all I can ask. I ought to be ashamed, I am

ashamed, that I could ever have believed it possible for you to commit

such a deed. It seems incredible now that I have so believed. Yet how

could I escape such conviction? I heard the voices, the shot, and then

a man rushed past me through the darkness. Some rash impulse, a desire

to aid, sent me hastily forward. Scarcely had I bent over the dead

body, when some one came toward me from the very direction in which

that man had fled. I supposed he was coming back to make sure of his

work, and--and--it was you. Oh, I did not want to believe, but I had

to believe. You acted so strangely toward me, I accepted that as a

sign of guilt; it was a horror unspeakable."

"You thought--you actually thought I did that?" he asked, hardly

trusting his own ears.

"What else could I think? What else could I think?"

This new conception stunned him, left him staring at her, utterly

unable to control his speech. Should he tell her? Should he confess

his own equally mad mistake? the reason why all these years had passed

without his seeking her? It would be useless; it would only add to her

pain, her sense of wounded pride. Silence now would be mercy.

"Beth," he said, controlling his voice with an effort, "let us think of

all this as passed away forever. Let us not talk about it, let us not

think about it any more. You have reached the height which you set out

to gain; or, possibly you have not yet fully attained to your ideal,

yet you have travelled far toward it. Has it satisfied? Has it filled

the void in your life?"

She returned his questioning look frankly.

"Do you remember what I once said in a cabin out in Colorado?"

"I think so; yet, to avoid mistake, repeat it now."

"I told you I would give up gladly all ambition, all dreams of worldly

success, just to be alone with the man I loved, and bring him

happiness. To-night, as then, that is all I wish--everything."