Beth Norvell

Her eyes blinded by a strange mist of tears, Beth Norvell clung to the

latch of the closed door, fearful lest the man within might decide to

follow, endeavoring to gaze about, while gaining control over her

sorely shattered nerves. Strong as she had appeared when nerved by

indignation and despair, that stormy interview with Farnham--his

scarcely veiled threats, his heartless scoffing--had left her a wreck,

for the moment scarcely mistress of her own mind. One thing alone

stood forth as a rallying point for all her benumbed energies--she must

save Winston from a real danger, the nature of which she did not in the

least doubt. The gambler's boast was no idle one; she, who had before

tasted of his depravity, felt fully convinced of his intention now.

Yet what could she hope to do? How best might she accomplish that

imperative duty of rescue?

There occurred to her only one feasible plan--a complete surrender of

her womanly pride, an immediate acceptance of the young man's proffered

aid to Denver, with an insistence that he also accompany her. Woman

enough to realize her power, she could not but have faith in the

results. The color crept back in her cheeks at this daring conception,

for, after those hastily uttered words of the previous night, what

construction would he be likely to put on this sudden yielding? An

instant she hesitated, afraid, shrinking back before the sacrifice as

from fire. Then her fine eyes darkened, the clinging tears vanishing

while her fingers clinched in passionate resolve. Do it? Why, of

course she must do it! What was her pitiful pride in the balance

against his life? He might never dream what so great a sacrifice cost

her; might even despise her for such an exhibition of weakness; but she

would know, and be the stronger in her own soul from the brave

performance of duty. Besides, she intended to tell him the whole

miserable story of her wrecked life--not now, not even to-night, but

some time, on their way back into the world,--as they were nearing

Denver, perhaps, and at the moment of final parting. It almost seemed

easy as she faced the stern necessity, so easy that her parted lips

smiled sarcastically when she heard Farnham rise and leave the darkened

box through the opposite entrance. Perhaps, when he comprehended it

all, this other, who had spoken love words to her, would understand

where the real blame lay, and so prove manly enough to absolve her from

any conception of evil. This hope was sweet, strengthening, yet it

faded immediately away. Ah, no; such result was not natural, as she

understood the world--it was always the woman who bore the burden of

condemnation. Far safer to expect nothing, but do the right simply

because it was right. She no longer questioned what that would be. It

stood there before her like a blazing cross of flame; she must hold

those two men apart, even though they both trampled her heart beneath

their feet. This was her destiny, the payment she must return the

world for having once made a mistake. One out of the multitude, she

felt strong enough in the crisis to choose deliberately the straight

and narrow path leading through Gethsemane.