Jane, after one glance, drew back.

“Milly Erne!” she cried, wonderingly.

Venters, with tingling pulse, with something growing on him, recognized in the faded miniature portrait the eyes of Milly Erne.

“Yes, that’s Milly,” said Lassiter, softly.  “Bess, did you ever see her face—­look hard—­with all your heart an’ soul?”

“The eyes seem to haunt me,” whispered Bess.  “Oh, I can’t remember—­ they’re eyes of my dreams—­but—­but—­”

Lassiter’s strong arm went round her and he bent his head.

“Child, I thought you’d remember her eyes.  They’re the same beautiful eyes you’d see if you looked in a mirror or a clear spring.  They’re your mother’s eyes.  You are Milly Erne’s child.  Your name is Elizabeth Erne.  You’re not Oldring’s daughter.  You’re the daughter of Frank Erne, a man once my best friend.  Look!  Here’s his picture beside Milly’s.  He was handsome, an’ as fine an’ gallant a Southern gentleman as I ever seen.  Frank came of an old family.  You come of the best of blood, lass, and blood tells.”

Bess slipped through his arm to her knees and hugged the locket to her bosom, and lifted wonderful, yearning eyes.

“It—­can’t—­be—­true!”

“Thank God, lass, it is true,” replied Lassiter.  “Jane an’ Bern here—­they both recognize Milly.  They see Milly in you.  They’re so knocked out they can’t tell you, that’s all.”

“Who are you?” whispered Bess.

“I reckon I’m Milly’s brother an’ your uncle!...Uncle Jim!  Ain’t that fine?”

“Oh, I can’t believe—­Don’t raise me!  Bern, let me kneel.  I see truth in your face—­in Miss Withersteen’s.  But let me hear it all—­all on my knees.  Tell me how it’s true!”

“Well, Elizabeth, listen,” said Lassiter.  “Before you was born your father made a mortal enemy of a Mormon named Dyer.  They was both ministers an’ come to be rivals.  Dyer stole your mother away from her home.  She gave birth to you in Texas eighteen years ago.  Then she was taken to Utah, from place to place, an’ finally to the last border settlement—­Cottonwoods.  You was about three years old when you was taken away from Milly.  She never knew what had become of you.  But she lived a good while hopin’ and prayin’ to have you again.  Then she gave up an’ died.  An’ I may as well put in here your father died ten years ago.  Well, I spent my time tracin’ Milly, an’ some months back I landed in Cottonwoods.  An’ jest lately I learned all about you.  I had a talk with Oldrin’ an’ told him you was dead, an’ he told me what I had so long been wantin’ to know.  It was Dyer, of course, who stole you from Milly.  Part reason he was sore because Milly refused to give you Mormon teachin’, but mostly he still hated Frank Erne so infernally that he made a deal with Oldrin’ to take you an’ bring you up as an infamous rustler an’ rustler’s girl.  The idea was to break Frank Erne’s heart if he ever came to Utah—­to show him his daughter with a band of low rustlers.