The Border Legion

"Oh, he'd been drunk--he was drunk!" whispered Joan. "He isn't to be

blamed. He's not my old Jim. He's suffering--he's changed--he

doesn't care. What could I expect--standing there like a hussy

before him--in this--this indecent rig? ... I must see him. I must

tell him. If he recognized me now--and I had no chance to tell him

why I'm here--why I look like this--that I love him--am still good--

and true to him--if I couldn't tell him I'd--I'd shoot myself!"

Joan sobbed out the final words and then broke down. And when the

spell had exercised its sway, leaving her limp and shaken and weak,

she was the better for it. Slowly calmness returned so that she

could look at her wild and furious rush from the spot where she had

faced Jim Cleve, at the storm of shame ending in her collapse. She

realized that if she had met Jim Cleve here in the dress in which

she had left home there would have been the same shock of surprise

and fear and love. She owed part of that breakdown to the suspense

she had been under and then the suddenness of the meeting. Looking

back at her agitation, she felt that it had been natural--that if

she could only tell the truth to Jim Cleve the situation was not

impossible. But the meeting, and all following it, bore tremendous

revelation of how through all this wild experience she had learned

to love Jim Cleve. But for his reckless flight and her blind

pursuit, and then the anxiety, fear, pain, toil, and despair, she

would never have known her woman's heart and its capacity for love.