"
"Jane--stop him--please stop him," gasped Venters. "I've lost my
strength. I can't do--anything. This is hell for me! Can't you
see that? I've ruined you--it was through me you lost all. You've
only Black Star and Night left. You love these horses. Oh! I know
how you must love them now! And--you're trying to give them to
me. To help me out of Utah! To save the girl I love!"
"That will be my glory."
Then in the white, rapt face, in the unfathomable eyes, Venters
saw Jane Withersteen in a supreme moment. This moment was one
wherein she reached up to the height for which her noble soul had
ever yearned. He, after disrupting the calm tenor of her peace,
after bringing down on her head the implacable hostility of her
churchmen, after teaching her a bitter lesson of life--he was to
be her salvation. And he turned away again, this time shaken to
the core of his soul. Jane Withersteen was the incarnation of
selflessness. He experienced wonder and terror, exquisite pain
and rapture. What were all the shocks life had dealt him compared
to the thought of such loyal and generous friendship?
And instantly, as if by some divine insight, he knew himself in
the remaking--tried, found wanting; but stronger, better,
surer--and he wheeled to Jane Withersteen, eager, joyous,
passionate, wild, exalted. He bent to her; he left tears and
kisses on her hands.
"Jane, I--I can't find words--now," he said.
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