even, and long
before they laid down the burden of life, they had seen how the wife's
curse beat upon the head of the man who had so oppressed them. They had
learned to feel pity for him whom they had once despised. Not so Jessie
Blaine. She was a woman now, and had been, for a few brief years, till
death robbed her, a happy wife. But never could she forget that dismal
twilight hour when her innocent eyes had photographed the hateful,
sneering face of her mother's enemy; when her ears had phonographed his
mocking words. The scene had haunted her waking and sleeping, for many
days; and still after all these years she could and did remember.

She rejoiced when she heard that wild Ben Garrett had broken nearly
every law of the decalogue, and was wrecking the peace of all who cared
for him. "They richly deserve it all;" she said, when some fresh
escapade or misdemeanor would come to light. He had squandered his
father's thousands aimlessly, recklessly, and was fast bringing his
white hairs in sorrow to the grave. Jessie Forrester only smiled as she
read these items from the local press. Riches and honors were hers.
There was nothing lacking but the dear old home of her people, and this
could not be bought. She climbed to heights undreamed-of in her earlier
days, and became a shining light in the world of letters. Her books were
read in two continents. Statesmen and distinguished circles sought her
till her name became a power in the land. Her influence was widespread.
In an eastern city she at last came to revel in her books and
manuscripts, or in her sweet, healthful, domestic loves, renouncing all
thoughts of revenge, for the time being, and abandoning the hope of
recovering the sacred pile where she first saw the light.

One day there came a letter bearing the postmark of her native town.
With difficulty deciphering the straggling, tremulous address, she
broke the seal and read as follows:--

"Madam:

"A heart-broken father appeals to you in his hour of extremity, to
save his son from the gallows. My boy--my wayward, reckless boy,
who was once as innocent and pure as yourself, has fallen into the
hands of treacherous natives and half-breeds in Arkansas, and they
accuse him of murdering a traveller for his money. He is guiltless
of this crime--God knows he is; but the weight of evidence is fearful,
and I am powerless to refute it. The proceedings have been hurried
over and the verdict is against him