er; I had always thought of Bob's sister as a mere child."

She arose to her feet, taking a single step toward him.

"I can only ask you to forgive me," she pleaded anxiously, her eyes
uplifted. "That is all I can ask. I ought to be ashamed, I am
ashamed, that I could ever have believed it possible for you to commit
such a deed. It seems incredible now that I have so believed. Yet how
could I escape such conviction? I heard the voices, the shot, and then
a man rushed past me through the darkness. Some rash impulse, a desire
to aid, sent me hastily forward. Scarcely had I bent over the dead
body, when some one came toward me from the very direction in which
that man had fled. I supposed he was coming back to make sure of his
work, and--and--it was you. Oh, I did not want to believe, but I had
to believe. You acted so strangely toward me, I accepted that as a
sign of guilt; it was a horror unspeakable."

"You thought--you actually thought I did that?" he asked, hardly
trusting his own ears.

"What else could I think? What else could I think?"

This new conception stunned him, left him staring at her, utterly
unable to control his speech. Should he tell her? Should he confess
his own equally mad mistake? the reason why all these years had passed
without his seeking her? It would be useless; it would only add to her
pain, her sense of wounded pride. Silence now would be mercy.

"Beth," he said, controlling his voice with an effort, "let us think of
all this as passed away forever. Let us not talk about it, let us not
think about it any more. You have reached the height which you set out
to gain; or, possibly you have not yet fully attained to your ideal,
yet you have travelled far toward it. Has it satisfied? Has it filled
the void in your life?"

She returned his questioning look frankly.

"Do you remember what I once said in a cabin out in Colorado?"

"I think so; yet, to avoid mistake, repeat it now."

"I told you I would give up gladly all ambition, all dreams of worldly
success, just to be alone with the man I loved, and bring him
happiness. To-night, as then, that is all I wish--everything."

A moment neither moved nor spoke.

"Beth," he whispered, as though half afraid even yet to put the
question, "am I all you wish--everything?"

"Yes, everything--only you must wait, Ned. I belong still to the
public, and must play out my engagement. After that it shall be home,
and you."

The