Lassiter took her into his arms.
“I reckon. It’s powerful fine to hear that,” replied Lassiter, unsteadily.
Venters, feeling his eyes grow hot and wet, turned away, and found himself looking at Jane Withersteen. He had almost forgotten her presence. Tenderness and sympathy were fast hiding traces of her agitation. Venters read her mind—felt the reaction of her noble heart—saw the joy she was beginning to feel at the happiness of others. And suddenly blinded, choked by his emotions, he turned from her also. He knew what she would do presently; she would make some magnificent amend for her anger; she would give some manifestation of her love; probably all in a moment, as she had loved Milly Erne, so would she love Elizabeth Erne.
“’Pears to me, folks, that we’d better talk a little serious now,” remarked Lassiter, at length. “Time flies.”
“You’re right,” replied Venters, instantly. “I’d forgotten time—place—danger. Lassiter, you’re riding away. Jane’s leaving Withersteen House?”
“Forever,” replied Jane.
“I fired Withersteen House,” said Lassiter.
“Dyer?” questioned Venters, sharply.
“I reckon where Dyer’s gone there won’t be any kidnappin’ of girls.”
“Ah! I knew it. I told Judkins—And Tull?” went on Venters, passionately.