"We have," she concluded, "got the Pico ranch in our hands. My five thousand is in it. There was fifty-five thousand paid down. Elijah did not tell me where he got the money, but I supposed at the time that he had pledged a part of his holdings in the Las Cruces to raise it."
Uncle Sid looked up. There was sternness but yet kindness in the keen eyes that held Helen's.
"Don't you think you ought to know, Helen?"
Helen's face grew suddenly drawn and white.
"I have told you all that I ought to tell you, perhaps more than was right. I went into this business of my own free will and there have come complications that I did not foresee, but I am not justified in trying to free myself at the expense of another. I am telling you the truth so far as I know it. It isn't for me to make inferences."
The interview, so far as its object was concerned, was ended. Uncle Sid rose stiffly and took the girl's hand in his own.
"I'm afraid that you've made mistakes, lassie, but so have the rest of us. You've got stuff in you worth savin', an' we're goin' to stand by you."
Winston also rose. As Helen placed her hand in his, he said:
"Uncle Sid has spoken for me too, Helen." He held her hand for a moment only, but there was, in the clasp of it, that which went straight to her heart. She did not dare to look in his eyes. She had told him the truth as she knew it, but not as she suspected it. How much more could she have known if she would; how much more ought she to have known? She had not until now, seen clearly where her course was bound to lead if followed to the end. Had she wilfully declined to see? She was going over her past, analyzing it clearly, logically, unsparing of herself. Even yet she could not understand the subtle influence with which Elijah had surrounded her, but at last her eyes were open to its danger. She had given admiration, sympathy, her best to help him, her warm but disquieting friendship. Here she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide open, her face scarlet, her heart throbbing in an agony of pain and shame. The parting pressure of Ralph's hand came to her, the eager look of sympathy which she had felt but not seen. She longed to hear his voice again, to feel the touch of his hand in her own. Slowly she raised her head. Her face was pale and set. Her sins were upon her; the sins of innocence, but the burden was none the lighter for that; yet she would bear it alone and in silence.