ime went in regretting that he had not been frank
with his loyal friend, Jane Withersteen.

But, he kept continually recalling, when he had stood once more face to
face with her and had been shocked at the change in her and had heard
the details of her adversity, he had not had the heart to tell her of
the closer interest which had entered his life. He had not lied; yet he
had kept silence.

Bess was in transports over the stores of supplies and the outfit he had
packed from Cottonwoods. He had certainly brought a hundred times
more than he had gone for; enough, surely, for years, perhaps to make
permanent home in the valley. He saw no reason why he need ever leave
there again.

After a day of rest he recovered his strength and shared Bess's pleasure
in rummaging over the endless packs, and began to plan for the future.
And in this planning, his trip to Cottonwoods, with its revived hate
of Tull and consequent unleashing of fierce passions, soon faded out
of mind. By slower degrees his friendship for Jane Withersteen and his
contrition drifted from the active preoccupation of his present thought
to a place in memory, with more and more infrequent recalls.

And as far as the state of his mind was concerned, upon the second day
after his return, the valley, with its golden hues and purple shades,
the speaking west wind and the cool, silent night, and Bess's watching
eyes with their wonderful light, so wrought upon Venters that he might
never have left them at all.

That very afternoon he set to work. Only one thing hindered him upon
beginning, though it in no wise checked his delight, and that in the
multiplicity of tasks planned to make a paradise out of the valley he
could not choose the one with which to begin. He had to grow into the
habit of passing from one dreamy pleasure to another, like a bee going
from flower to flower in the valley, and he found this wandering habit
likely to extend to his labors. Nevertheless, he made a start.

At the outset he discovered Bess to be both a considerable help in some
ways and a very great hindrance in others. Her excitement and joy were
spurs, inspirations; but she was utterly impracticable in her ideas,
and she flitted from one plan to another with bewildering vacillation.
Moreover, he fancied that she grew more eager, youthful, and sweet; and
he marked that it was far easier to watch her and listen to her than
it was to work. Therefore he gave her tasks that necessitated