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Grey, Zane, 1872-1939

"Riders of the Purple Sage"

A new conscious pride of worth dignified the old
wild, free grace and poise.
"Uncle Jim!" she said, tremulously, with a different smile from
any Venters had ever seen on her face.
Lassiter took her into his arms.
"I reckon. It's powerful fine to hear that," replied Lassiter,
unsteadily.
Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and
found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost
forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding
traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind--felt the reaction
of her noble heart--saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the
happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by his
emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do
presently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger;
she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in a
moment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love Elizabeth
Erne.
"'Pears to me, folks, that we'd better talk a little serious
now," remarked Lassiter, at length. "Time flies."
"You're right," replied Venters, instantly. "I'd forgotten
time--place-- danger. Lassiter, you're riding away. Jane's
leaving Withersteen House?"
"Forever," replied Jane.
"I fired Withersteen House," said Lassiter.
"Dyer?" questioned Venters, sharply.
"I reckon where Dyer's gone there won't be any kidnappin' of
girls.


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