kill, and
appeared to think that she had operated under its direction. And nature
never denied it.

As Garrison opened his eyes, dazed, weak as water, memory, full,
complete, rushed into action. His brain recalled everything--everything
from the period it is given man to remember down to the present. It
was all so clear, so perfect, so workmanlike. The long-halted clock of
memory was ticking away merrily, perfectly, and not one hour was missing
from its dial. The thread of his severed life was joined--joined in such
a manner that no hitch or knot was apparent.

To use a third simile, the former blank, utterly fearsome space, was
filled--filled with clear writing, without blotch or blemish. And on
the space was not recorded one deed he had dreaded to see. There were
mistakes, weaknesses--but not dishonor. For a moment he could not grasp
the full meaning of the blessing. He could only sense that he had indeed
been blessed above his deserts.

And then as Garrison understood what it all meant to him; understood the
chief fact that he had not deserted wife and children; that Sue might
be won, he crushed his face to the pillow and cried--cried like a little
child.

And a big man, sitting in the shelter of a screen, hitched his chair
nearer the cot, and laid both hands on Garrison's. He did not speak, but
there was a wonderful light in his eyes--steady, clear gray eyes.

"Kid," he said. "Kid."

Garrison turned swiftly. His hand gripped the other's.

"Jimmie Drake," he whispered. For the first time the blood came to his
face.

CHAPTER XIII.

PROVEN CLEAN.

Two months had gone in; two months of slow recuperation, regeneration
for Garrison. He was just beginning to look at life from the standpoint
of unremitting toil and endeavor. It is the only satisfactory
standpoint. From it we see life in its true proportions. Neither
distorted through the blue glasses of pessimism--but another name for
the failure of misapplication--nor through the wonderful rose-colored
glasses of the dreamer. He was patiently going back over his past life;
returning to the point where he had deserted the clearly defined path of
honor and duty for the flowery fields of unbridled license.

It was no easy task he had set himself, but he did not falter by the
wayside. Three great stimulants he had--health, the thought of Sue
Desha, and the practical assistance of Jimmie Drake.

It was a month, dating from the memorable meeting with the turf