"Bess!" cried Jane, with a sudden leap of blood to her pale
cheek.
It was entirely beyond Venters to see any luck in that
meeting.
Jane Withersteen took one flashing, woman's glance at Bess's
scarlet face, at her slender, shapely form.
"Venters! is this a girl--a woman?" she questioned, in a voice
that stung.
"Yes."
"Did you have her in that wonderful valley?"
"Yes, but Jane--"
"All the time you were gone?"
"Yes, but I couldn't tell--"
"Was it for her you asked me to give you supplies? Was it for her
that you wanted to make your valley a
paradise?"
"Oh--Jane--"
"Answer me."
"Yes."
"Oh, you liar!" And with these passionate words Jane Withersteen
succumbed to fury. For the second time in her life she fell into
the ungovernable rage that had been her father's weakness. And it
was worse than his, for she was a jealous woman--jealous even of
her friends.
As best he could, he bore the brunt of her anger. It was not only
his deceit to her that she visited upon him, but her betrayal by
religion, by life itself.
Her passion, like fire at white heat, consumed itself in little
time. Her physical strength failed, and still her spirit
attempted to go on in magnificent denunciation of those who had
wronged her. Like a tree cut deep into its roots, she began to
quiver and shake, and her anger weakened into despair.
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