All day he rode slowly and cautiously up the Pass, taking time to peer around corners, to pick out hard ground and grassy patches, and to make sure there was no one in pursuit.  In the night sometime he came to the smooth, scrawled rocks dividing the valley, and here set the burro at liberty.  He walked beyond, climbed the slope and the dim, starlit gorge.  Then, weary to the point of exhaustion, he crept into a shallow cave and fell asleep.

In the morning, when he descended the trail, he found the sun was pouring a golden stream of light through the arch of the great stone bridge.  Surprise Valley, like a valley of dreams, lay mystically soft and beautiful, awakening to the golden flood which was rolling away its slumberous bands of mist, brightening its walled faces.

While yet far off he discerned Bess moving under the silver spruces, and soon the barking of the dogs told him that they had seen him.  He heard the mocking-birds singing in the trees, and then the twittering of the quail.  Ring and Whitie came bounding toward him, and behind them ran Bess, her hands outstretched.

“Bern!  You’re back!  You’re back!” she cried, in joy that rang of her loneliness.

“Yes, I’m back,” he said, as she rushed to meet him.

She had reached out for him when suddenly, as she saw him closely, something checked her, and as quickly all her joy fled, and with it her color, leaving her pale and trembling.

“Oh!  What’s happened?”

“A good deal has happened, Bess.  I don’t need to tell you what.  And I’m played out.  Worn out in mind more than body.”

“Dear—­you look strange to me!” faltered Bess.

“Never mind that.  I’m all right.  There’s nothing for you to be scared about.  Things are going to turn out just as we have planned.  As soon as I’m rested we’ll make a break to get out of the country.  Only now, right now, I must know the truth about you.”

“Truth about me?” echoed Bess, shrinkingly.  She seemed to be casting back into her mind for a forgotten key.  Venters himself, as he saw her, received a pang.

“Yes—­the truth.  Bess, don’t misunderstand.  I haven’t changed that way.  I love you still.  I’ll love you more afterward.  Life will be just as sweet—­sweeter to us.  We’ll be—­be married as soon as ever we can.  We’ll be happy—­but there’s a devil in me.  A perverse, jealous devil!  Then I’ve queer fancies.  I forgot for a long time.  Now all those fiendish little whispers of doubt and faith and fear and hope come torturing me again.  I’ve got to kill them with the truth.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” she replied, frankly.

“Then by Heaven! we’ll have it over and done with!...Bess—­did Oldring love you?”

“Certainly he did.”

“Did—­did you love him?”

“Of course.  I told you so.”