A little nearer he came, as Job, hardly believing his ears, listened.
"Job," he cried, "I don't deserve it, God knows! I have wronged you beyond all hope of mercy. But I must be forgiven, or I must die. You must forgive me. I cannot live another day with this awful feeling in my heart. I cannot sleep—I cannot work. I don't care whether I die or not, but I cannot go into eternity without knowing that you forgive me!"
At last the tears came, and Dan sank, crutch in hand, beside Jane's grave.
Job could not speak. For a moment, only the sound of a strong man's sobs and the hoot of an owl filled the air, then a passionate cry burst from Dan's lips:
"Tell me, Job, tell me, is it possible for you to forgive?"
For a moment Job faltered. He could see Trapper Bill pace the tepee and say, "Bill forgive Mono Indian;" he could hear the Master saying, "After this manner pray ye, Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us;" and, kneeling and putting his arm about the quivering form, he whispered:
"Dan, I forgive!"
Long hours they stayed there, praying and talking, till Dan, grown quiet as a child, looked up with a strange, new expression, and said:
"You forgive and God forgives! Oh, Job, this is more than I ever hoped for! I can hardly stand it!"