"Haven't you any sense of--of--" He choked back speech. He felt
the rush of pain and passion. He seized her in rude, strong hands
and drew her close. He looked straight into her dark-blue eyes.
They were shadowing with the old wistful light, hut they were as
clear as the limpid water of the spring. They were earnest,
solemn in unutterable love and faith and abnegation. Venters
shivered. He knew he was looking into her soul. He knew she could
not lie in that moment; but that she might tell the truth,
looking at him with those eyes, almost killed his belief in
purity.
"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 of his 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
her close.
"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--so ashamed."
"It is my shame," she said, with voice deep and full, and now the
scarlet fired her cheek. "I told you--I'm nothing--nameless--just
Bess, Oldring's girl!"
"I know--I remember.
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